Chapter VI: Part 6

People often fail to get at the meaning of this glorious text because they mistake that word _conversation_. Really the text means--our citizenship is in Heaven, we belong to the Eternal City. Once S. Paul declared with pride that he was a Roman citizen; and when the Chief Captain in surprise declared that he himself had purchased that privilege at a great price, the Apostle answered, "but I was free born." Every Christian has the right to call himself a citizen of Heaven, and to declare that he is free born. When in Holy Baptism we were born again of water, and of the Holy Ghost, the freedom of the City was given to us, and we were made a peculiar people, citizens of the Heavenly Jerusalem, with all the privileges, and all the responsibilities, belonging to such a position. Get this glorious fact into your minds, brethren, not that you are _going_ to belong to Heaven, but that you _do_ belong to it now. Here in earth you are foreigners, strangers and pilgrims. Here God's Israel is in exile by the waters of Babylon, Jerusalem on high, the Heavenly Sion, is yonder, and that is home. Heaven is yours now, if you forfeit it, if you lose your inheritance, it will be from your own fault, your own sin.

First, I think that the fact of Heaven being our home should make us _love_ it. Sometimes we find people who have willingly settled in a foreign country, and done their best to forget the manners and language of their native land. But such cases are very rare. If you meet with an Englishman out in the Colonies, he always speaks of the old country as home. Even colonists who have been born in our foreign settlements, and have never seen England, speak of _going home_ when they visit it. In many an Australian hut, or New Zealand farm, there is a swelling of the heart, or a glistening in the eyes, as the faded flowers drop from the home letter. The flowers are poor enough, and dead enough, but they once grew in a home garden, or blossomed in an English meadow. One of our great novelists tells us how two men in Australia walked many weary miles only to listen to the song of the skylark. That homely bird was precious in their eyes because it reminded them of home. I have read that when Swiss soldiers are abroad, they are not allowed to play, or listen to, their national airs. The music reminds them of their cow-bells ringing among the fair valleys and mountains of their native land, and under its influence some have deserted the army, and some even died of grief. The German loves to talk of the _Fatherland_, and has a word in his language which very strongly expresses home-sickness. Talk to a Scotsman about the beauties of Venice, or Rome, and he will tell you that you should see Edinburgh, or Aberdeen. Speak to an Irishman of the wonders of the tropics, and he will at once begin the praises of the Green Isle. The love of home is the very root and core of our nature. Well, if we love our earthly home, where we stay for so short a time, where, after all, we are but strangers and pilgrims, we ought still more to love Heaven, whose citizens we are. A child was once asked where his home was, and answered with eyes full of love--"Where mother is." Brothers, our home is where Jesus is.

Next, I think we ought to be _proud_ of being citizens of so fair a city as Heaven. A Greek of old was proud to belong to a country which could boast of the learning of Athens, the wisdom of Plato, the courage of Leonidas. If a Roman in former days was asked to do a mean, or dishonourable action, it was enough for him to answer, "I am a Roman citizen!" A burgess of London City to-day is proud of the position which he holds, and of the rights and privileges gained by many an ancient charter of freedom. But what ought we to think of the privileges and glory of belonging to that City which is God's Home; of being fellow citizens with the saints in light; of claiming as our brethren that great multitude which no man can number? Each town and city of earth is proud of its most famous citizens, but what city can show such names as our City, Jerusalem on high? What streets are crowded with such a goodly company as the streets of Heaven? All that is great and good, glorious, pure, gentle, self-sacrificing, finds a place in Heaven. Mighty Preachers and Apostles, like S. Paul or S. Chrysostom; simple girls, like Naaman's maid, or Veronica, the farm-servant; brave women who died martyrs for Jesus in the Arena, and those who _lived_ as witnesses for Jesus, like Grace Darling, and Florence Nightingale, and Sister Dora; these, and such as these, of whom the time would fail me to tell, form the company of Heaven. "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, think on these things." And think, too, "'Tis mine, 'tis mine, that country, if I but persevere."

We must remember, however, that a citizen has certain duties, as well as rights and privileges, and if he neglects the former he forfeits the latter. We, as citizens of Heaven, though exiles here in earth, have certain duties and responsibilities laid upon us; if we fail to perform them, we lose our position as God's people. When an Englishman goes abroad to a foreign country he is at once recognised. When the foreigner sees the reckless courage, the cool daring, the love of adventure, displayed by his visitor, he says at once, "that is an Englishman." We are here in a strange land, does the world take notice of us as those who belong to Jesus? Does the world recognise us, by our manners, and way of life, as citizens of Heaven?

Think of some of the duties laid upon us as those who have received the freedom of the City. We are bound, first of all, to keep ourselves, as far as possible, unspotted from the world. We must live in the world for a time, but we must not be of it. If an Englishman were compelled to live for a season among savages, whose habits were horrible and disgusting, he would take care not to become like them. He would think of himself as being a civilized man, to whom the manners of the people were revolting, and he would endeavour, whilst avoiding their example, to set them a better. So should a Christian man be in the world. He cannot avoid seeing and hearing much that is evil. But let him take care lest, like Israel of old, he mingles with the unbeliever, and learns their ways. Let him remember that he is a citizen of Heaven, and that he has no more right to take part in the frauds, and lies, and impurity of the world, than Lot had to join in the abominations of Sodom. A Christian man should stand above the waves of this troublesome world, as a lighthouse stands above the tumbling billows of the sea. And, like that beacon, he should give forth a warning light, clear, bright, and steady.

Next, as citizens of Heaven, we are bound to work for our Heavenly Master. No matter that we are in a foreign workshop here in this world, no matter that we are employed by earthly masters, one Master is ours, and He is in Heaven. We must be busy about our Father's business, we must do all, looking unto Jesus. Suppose that the Queen were passing through this parish, and were to stop at one of your homes, say that of a cabinetmaker. And suppose that she were to order him to make her a cabinet after a particular pattern. Well, the man would be very much flattered at the order, and you may be sure he would take the greatest pains to put good work into the cabinet. "You see it is for the Queen," he would say to his neighbour, in explanation of his extra care. Now, my brothers, whatever kind of work we have to do, we ought to do it as well as we can, saying to ourselves, "it is for the King of kings, you see." Oh! if men would only remember that, then there would be no more cheating, and swindling, and lying in trade; no more labourers and artizans scamping their work, putting in bad material, working short time, and committing the endless dishonest acts which disgrace a Christian land. Try to remember that whatever you have to do, you are working for God, you are a citizen of Heaven, and to your Heavenly Master must the account be rendered. There shall enter into Heaven nothing that maketh a lie. If our lives are not quite genuine and honest here, we are locking ourselves out of Heaven. Let us, as citizens of no mean city, keep aloof from the hypocrite, the teller or maker of a lie, and speak every man truth with his neighbour. Again, I think that as citizens of Heaven, we ought to take very good heed to our _words_. You know how our streets and lanes in this world are defiled and made hideous by vile language. Can you fancy that sort of talk in the streets of the Heavenly City? No, there shall not enter there anything that defileth, peace is upon her palaces. The swearing tongue, the impure tongue, the angry tongue, can find no place there. The cruel, slandering tongue talks many a soul into ruin, for they have no room for the scandal-monger in Heaven. Let us guard our speech, brethren, let us remember that, as Heavenly citizens, our lips should be sanctified by the fire of God's Altar. "Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth his soul from troubles."

Once more, as citizens of Heaven, we must keep our home ever fresh in our minds. Here we are strangers in a strange land. You know how we English abroad always cling to anything which reminds us of _home_. The settler in the Australian Bush keeps Christmas Day beneath the burning summer sky exactly as he always kept it amid the snow and ice of an English winter. When letters come, how eagerly are they read if they come from home! Many a rough miner on the other side of the world grows gentler as he looks at the faded photograph, or the yellow note paper; they remind him of home. Well, here in earth, far from our Heavenly home, we have certain means of keeping its memory fresh. We can go to God's Holy Church, and there join with Angels and Archangels and all the company of Heaven in praise and adoration of our King. We can read our Bible, and then we gaze, as it were, upon the picture of Saviour Jesus, and upon the faces of our brother citizens who have entered by the gates of pearl. We can pray, and so send a message to our City, and get an answer back again, a blessing coming like a sweet flower sent from the fields of Paradise. When our soldiers do noble deeds abroad, their thought is--what will they say in England? Let us do our duty here in a strange land, thinking--what will they say in Heaven? My brother, my sister, let this thought help you to struggle against temptation--I must walk worthy of my vocation, I am a citizen of Heaven.

SERMON LIX.

THANKFUL SERVICE.

(Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.)

COL. i. 12.

"Giving thanks."

In one of our northern coal-pits there was a little boy employed in a lonely and dangerous part of the mine. One day a visitor to the coal-pit asked the boy about his work, and the child answered, "Yes, it is very lonely here, but I pick up the little bits of candle thrown away by the colliers, and join them together, and when I get a light I sing." My brothers, every day of our lives we are picking up blessings which the loving Hand of God has scattered around, every day we get the light, but how many of us sing?

I want to talk to you about the duty and blessing of thankfulness, and how it can be shown. Gratitude is the root of all true Christian service and worship. If we go to Church, and give money for religious purposes, only because we want to stand well with God, or to get something from Him, our service is mere selfishness. We are like people buying votes to get themselves into a charitable asylum. All we do in the service of God should be done from a motive of thankfulness. The thought should be, "What shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits?"

If a man does the state some great service we give him a pension, or a statue. It is nothing very much, but we do what we can to show our gratitude. During the last American War a farmer was discovered one day kneeling by the grave of a soldier lately killed in battle. He was asked if the dead man were his son, and answered that the soldier was no relation: and then he told his story. The farmer, who had a sickly wife, and several children, was drafted for the army, and had no one who could carry on his farm, or take care of his family, whilst he went to the war. Whilst he was overwhelmed with trouble, the son of a neighbour came forward, and said, "I have no one depending on me, I will go to the war in your place." He went, and was killed in action, and the farmer had travelled many a weary mile to kneel beside his grave, and to carve on the headstone the words--"_Died for me._"

Brethren, what ought our gratitude to be to the Lord Jesus, who loved us, and died for us upon the Cross of Calvary? True gratitude is shown by deeds as well as words. We must try to show our thankfulness to God not only with our lips but in our lives. Too many people are content to get all they can from God, and never to give anything in return. They tell us that they are poor miserable sinners, who can do nothing, and give nothing, they must leave all to the mercies of Jesus. Now, brethren, this is very often mere selfishness. They do not _want_ to give anything to God, they are not really thankful. It is not true to say that we can give nothing to God. We are bidden in the Gospel to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's. We can all give God _worship_, and we should give it in the best way possible, as a token of our thankfulness.

It is for this reason that we build beautiful Churches, and decorate them with stained glass windows, and rich carvings. Such Churches are thank-offerings, signs of our gratitude to Him who on earth was homeless, who was born in a stable, who had not where to lay His head. There are people who murmur at the expense of building and decorating such Churches. They say, "To what purpose was this waste?" They are very nearly related to Judas Iscariot of old, who asked the same question, and, like him, they love themselves, and the money bag, better than their Master. These people tell us that God does not care for handsome Churches and stately services. So they would give the Almighty a white-washed building, whilst they dwell in a fair and costly mansion. They would have fine damask and soft covering for their table, whilst they have dirty linen and a moth eaten cloth for the Altar of their God. They will drink out of cut-glass and silver at their feasts, and they leave the feast of Christ's dying love, the Blessed Sacrament of praise and thanksgiving, to be celebrated in vessels of base metal. Their houses are kept in excellent repair, and cleansed by careful hands, but they suffer the House of God to fall to decay, and allow His Presence Chamber to be defiled with dirt. And all this arises from a want of thankfulness to God. If we are thankful we do not grudge what we give, we feel that we can never do enough for Him who has redeemed us. But these people say, "God does not care for a beautiful Church, He loves simplicity." Where has God told us this? David believed just the opposite. He said that he was ashamed that he should dwell in a house of cedars, whilst the Ark of God dwelt among curtains. You know how he was prevented from building the Temple, and how Solomon did the work. Now, did Solomon act upon the mean principle of building a poor, cheap house for God, whilst he erected a gorgeous palace for himself? No! the Temple was one of the most glorious buildings ever seen, and those that were erected in later times were splendid also. We find our Blessed Lord attending the Temple services, and those services were beautiful and elaborate. There was nothing in the Temple or its worship to suggest that God prefers the ugly, white-washed building, and the slovenly, irreverent, service which some would offer Him.

If you love someone very dearly you do not visit him in your oldest and dirtiest garments, you do not send him the cheapest present you can buy, nor put up a roughly erected tombstone to his memory. You give him the very best you have. If you love God you will do the same to Him.

Again, we show our thankfulness to God by giving Him a hearty worship in His Church. I wonder how many people know exactly why they come to Church at all. Some say they come to get good. That is mere selfishness. Some say they come because it is respectable. Yes, but worthless, unless it means something more. Others would tell us, if they were quite honest, that they come to Church because they want to stand well in the good opinion of the Clergyman, or with the Squire. This is sheer hypocrisy. There is only one true reason for coming to Church,--the fact that we love God, and are grateful to Him for all His mercies, and want to show it. We should come to Church to _worship_ God with the best member that we have; we should come with the feeling--"I was glad when they said unto me we will go into the House of the Lord;" "I love the place, O Lord, wherein Thine honour dwells." All slovenliness in the performance of the service, all irreverence, or signs of inattention, and indifference, are tokens of a want of thankfulness. We should get this thought fixed in our minds when we enter Church,--I have come here to-day mainly to thank God for His great goodness to me, and to all men. I have come also to ask for certain things, the forgiveness of my sins if I am truly penitent, the help and strength of the Holy Spirit to renew my life; I have come to ask for those things, which are requisite and necessary as well for the body as the soul, and I seek instruction in the lessons, the Gospel and Epistle, and the sermon. But the chief object of my presence here is the worship, the glory, the honour of God. And so I will give Him the best I have. If you once grasped that fact, my brothers, we should have no silent lips, no sleepy eyes, no lounging bodies, no irreverent conduct in God's Holy Church. Remember God is present in His Church, therefore we must behave with the greatest humility and reverence. In some Churches you will see the people obstinately sitting throughout the service, but if one of the Royal Family enters, they all rise up. Now, if we remember that the King of kings, and Lord of lords, the only Ruler of princes, is present, we shall stand up to do Him honour. It is defrauding God of the honour due to Him when we refuse to show Him marks of reverence. Do you know that in the House of Lords it is always the rule for members to bow to the throne, although it is empty, as being the seat of the Majesty of England. We bow to the Altar as being the throne of the Most High God, the place where He visits His people in the Blessed Sacrament. There we should honour and reverence God, in whose presence we are, with the best members that we have. Our heads should bow in humility before the God of Heaven and earth. Our knees should bend in adoration before Him who is worshipped by the Heavenly Host. Our eyes should be fixed upon our Prayer Books that they may not wander. Our thoughts should be centred on the fact that God is there with us, that we are in the presence-chamber of the great King. Our voices should be used to praise God in chant, and psalm, and hymn, and to offer prayer or thanksgiving. If we are silent we are defrauding God. God's Priest does not say, "let _me_ pray for you," he says, "let _us_ pray." We cannot worship God by proxy, we cannot give God what He asks by means of a choir, whilst the congregation is silent. Let us, each one of us, for the future, remember why we have come to Church, and that it is our individual business to worship God with reverence and holy fear. And in all you sing or say here, be in earnest, _mean_ what you say. It is an insult to God to say words which you do not believe, or understand. Once in a certain Church, during Lent, an Easter hymn had been put down by mistake, and was sung very heartily by the choir. The choirmaster after service spoke to the singers, regretting that such a mistake should have occurred. And he was answered, "Oh, it does not matter, we only think of the tune, and do not trouble about the _words_." I am afraid that too many hymns are sung in the same careless fashion, but if so, they are not _praise_. "Sing ye praises with _understanding_."

One word more; we are bidden to render unto Caesar what belongs to him, and to God what is His. This world has certain claims upon us. Part of our time and our money must be devoted to our business and our position in the world. But not _all_ of our time and money must be so given. God claims His share, and our gratitude for His mercies ought to make us gladly render unto God the things that are God's. He claims a certain part of our time for His public worship in Church. If we stay away from His House, or if, when there, we are careless, and indifferent, we are robbing God. God claims a certain part of our money, to be dedicated to the relief of the poor, or the maintenance of His Church. If we spend all our money on the world we are defrauding God of His right. May He grant us all more thankful hearts, for Jesus Christ's sake.

SERMON LX.

GATHERING THE FRAGMENTS.

(Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity.)

S. JOHN vi. 12.

"Gather up the fragments that remain."

The fragments that remain! What are they? Something more than the remnants of that miracle of feeding. We have come to the last Sunday of the Church's year, only a few more fragments, a few more days, remain, and then Advent will have come, and we shall begin a new year. Again we shall hear the warning cry--"Prepare to meet thy God." Brothers, are we ready to meet Him? We are one year nearer the day when we must render in our account; one year nearer the time when the Master will come to reckon with His servants; one year nearer the return of the Bridegroom. What of our lamps, are they burning? What of our talents, have they yielded interest? Another year gone--eternity nearer by twelve months; surely this is a solemn time for us all. Let us gather up the fragments of time that remain before Advent. Do not put off making resolutions, or giving up bad habits, till next Sunday. We know not how few fragments of our life remain. As says a Bishop of our Church, "they who dare lose a day are prodigals, but those who dare misspend it are desperate. Time is the seed of eternity, the less that remains the more valuable it becomes. To squander time is to squander all." The events of one brief day have often influenced a whole life, aye, a whole eternity. The flight of a bird determined the career of Mohammed; a spider's spinning that of Bruce; and a tear in his mother's eye that of Washington. Voltaire, when only five years old, committed to memory an infidel poem, and grew to live and die an unbeliever; whilst Doddridge, as a child, studied the Bible from the pictured tiles at the fireside explained by his mother. Use the moments, the fragments, that remain, and so begin this Advent season rightly, your lamp burning, the works of darkness cast away, the armour of light girded on. But not only must we look forward, the end of the Church's year is a fitting time for looking back. Some of us can do so joyfully, thankfully, peacefully. Week by week the teachings of Holy Church have shown them the life of duty, and they feel that they have tried to live that life by the help of God's Holy Spirit. The first half of the year's teaching showed us God's love for us, the second half taught us how we can show our love to God. Last Advent told us of the battle of life, the good fight of the faith, and the love of God strengthening us in the conflict, and promising the crown of victory. Christmas brought us once more the dear, glad, tidings that Jesus is our brother, bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh. Epiphany showed us our Saviour manifested in our work, in the changed character of a believer who out of weakness is made strong, in the cleansed sinner whose leprosy is healed, in the storm of life made calm. The star of Epiphany led us to Jesus, to hope, to rejoicing, and gladly we offered our gifts, to the King our gold, to the Great High Priest our incense, to the Crucified our myrrh. Lent showed us the sterner side of the life of duty, and brought its lessons of self-denial and self-restraint. Those of us who went out into the wilderness of this world with Jesus, "glad with Him to suffer pain," resisting the tempter, found their reward at the glad Easter-tide. The sorrow which had endured for the night of Lent gave place to the joy which came with Easter morning. And so in every Sunday of the year we trace the golden thread of God's loving mercy lying along the narrow way, the path of duty. If we have tried to keep in that path, then we can look back joyfully over the year that is gone, and for the future we can, like S. Paul, "thank God, and take courage."

They tell us that the fishermen of Brittany, when going forth on a voyage, offer this prayer--"Save us, O God, thine ocean is so large, and our little boat so small." That may well be our prayer as we begin another year. "Gather up the fragments." For some of us that will be a sorry task; we are like children crying in the midst of the broken pieces of some costly vase, shattered by our carelessness. The fragments that _remain_! How many remain of the lessons and warnings of the past year? How much of the good seed remains undestroyed by the choking thorn? Some of us made good resolutions last Advent, we started well with the beginning of the Church's year, we girded on our armour, we determined to make a fight for the true faith, and we took a firm stand on the promises of the Gospel. And now nothing remains of those good resolutions except the broken fragments to witness against us and upbraid us. As for the good fight, we have fled from the battle beaten, our shield has been left disgracefully behind, we have turned ourselves back in the day of battle. My brother, what is that dark stain upon the white robe of your purity? It was not there a year ago. Last Advent you could look father and mother, aye, the whole world, in the face. And now you have a guilty secret spoiling your life. You may cry with Macbeth--

"Had I but died an hour before this chance
I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant,
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left."

You cannot wash away that stain, even though you could "weep salt oceans from those eyes." To look back mournfully will not help to undo the past. To lament over the fragments of a misspent year, or the memory of broken resolutions, vows unfulfilled, and chances lost, will not bring back "the tender grace of a day that is dead." The thought would be maddening if we did not believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. The knowledge that we cannot recall one lost day, nor alter one past page in our life's story, would bring a remorse cruel as the fabled vulture which ever fed upon the vitals of the chained Prometheus. But thanks be to God, Jesus says, "He that sitteth upon the throne saith, Behold, I make all things new." Dear brothers and sisters, some of us need to turn over a new leaf, to make a fresh start, how shall we do it? Let us take our secret sin, our secret sorrow, to Jesus now. Let not the sun go down and find us impenitent, unpardoned. Let us no longer go through life like galley slaves, chained and labouring at the oar. Jesus waits to strike off our chains, He came to preach liberty to the captives. Think of that, you who are yet prisoners, slaves of some sin. Jesus will set you free. As long as you hide your fault you are a slave, you are torn and bitten by remorse, the worm that dieth not, the fire that is not quenched. Tell the story of your sin to Jesus _now_. Never mind how sad, how shameful it is. He is the _same_ Jesus, remember. The same who cleansed the Magdalene, who pardoned the adulteress. Can you, will you, say to-day--

"We come to Thee, sweet Saviour,
With our broken faith again;
We know Thou wilt forgive us,
Nor upbraid us, nor complain.

We come to Thee, sweet Saviour,
Fear brings us in our need;
For Thy hand never breaketh
Not the frailest bruised reed."

"Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost." Let Advent find us once more fighting the battle from which some had retreated. Let the marks and scars upon our armour teach us our danger, and help us to fight more watchfully, more humbly. Let the mistakes, the weaknesses, the negligences, the ignorances of the past, be warnings to us for the future.

"Saint Augustine, well hast thou said
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame.

Deem not the irrevocable past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain."

Do you remember the Eastern story of the magician, who gave a ring of vast beauty to a certain prince? Not only was the ring set with priceless gems, but it had this wonderful quality. If the king indulged in any evil thought or wish, or devised any sinful act, the ring contracted on his finger, and warned him by its painful pressure. My brothers, does the ring of conscience press no finger here to-day? Is there no one here now who says in his heart: "Would to God that I were as in years past?" If so, cling to the cleansing Hand of Jesus _now_. A well-known Scottish physician tells us that, during a terrible outbreak of cholera, he was summoned to a small fishing village where the plague had broken out. As they approached the place by boat, they saw a crowd of anxious watchers waiting for the doctor's arrival. Suddenly an old man, of great height and strength, dashed into the water, reached the boat ere it could reach the land, and seizing the doctor in his mighty arms, carried him helpless through the crowd to the bedside of his cholera-stricken grandson.

Brethren, if the plague spot of sin is upon you, seize upon the Hand of the Good Physician, clasp Him in your arms, cry to Him now: "wash me throughly [Transcriber's note: thoroughly?] from my wickedness, and cleanse me from my sin!"

SERMON LXI.

WHAT THE FLOWERS SAY.

(Children's Flower Service.)

PSALM ciii. 15.

"As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth."

Children, have you ever heard of the language of flowers? Now, of course, we know that flowers cannot speak as we can. I wish they could. I think they would say such sweet things. But in one way flowers do talk to us. When you give them some water, or when God sends a shower of rain upon them, they give forth a sweet smell; I think that the flowers are speaking then, I think that they are saying, "thank you." Let us listen to the preaching of the flowers to-day. What do they say to us? Well, some say one thing, some another; but there is one thing which all of them say--"trust God." God takes care of the flowers, and sends them dew, and rain, and sunshine, and fresh air, and they tell us that the same God who cares for the flowers cares also for us. And next, I think, all the flowers say to us, "thank God." See how the daisies in the meadow seem to look up thankfully to God. Someone says that God smiles on the earth, and that the earth smiles back again with its flowers. Is not that a pretty thought, children, that the flowers are the smiles of the grateful earth? Next, the flowers say to us, "be contented." They are quite satisfied to grow, and smell sweet, and look pretty, in the place where God puts them. Now, just as God plants the flowers in a certain place, some up high on the hills, others down low in the valley; some in the Queen's greenhouse, others in the cottager's garden, so He puts you children in your right place. Be quite sure, my children, that the best place for us is where God puts us. Have you ever noticed the sweet-scented wall flowers growing on an old stone wall? They have scarcely any earth for their roots, only a little bit between the stones, yet they make the old wall beautiful, and no flower smells sweeter. They teach us to be contented. They seem to say, we have no grand place to grow in, no carefully-prepared bed, only a bit of old wall for our home, but we are quite satisfied, and we mean to make home as bright and sweet as we can. Let us learn the lesson of the wall flower. Let us try to make home bright and happy, and sweet, no matter how poor it is. Another thing which all the flowers tell us is this, "remember that you must die." When the Autumn and Winter come we say the flowers are dead because we cannot see them. But the flowers are not really dead. They are sleeping in the earth till the Spring comes again. God has put them to bed in the warm ground, and when the proper time comes they will waken up. Just what God does to the flowers He does to us. One day He will send us to sleep, and take our soul to a safe place in Paradise, whilst our body is put to bed in the earth beneath the soft and pleasant grass. People will say that we are dead, just as they say the flowers are dead. One day the resurrection morning will come, it will be our spring-time, and God, who raised Jesus Christ from the grave, will raise us up again.

So you see, children, the flowers tell us not only that we must die, but that we must rise again. What else do the flowers say to us? I think they say, "keep in the sunshine, be happy." You always find that flowers are on the sunny side of things. So ought we to be. A plant cannot grow, and blossom, in a dark cellar. It must have sunshine. So if you want to be God's children, that is, good children, you must have sunshine in your hearts, sunshine in your faces. Look at the face of an innocent child, one who is gentle, obedient, loving, pure. You will see the face full of sunshine. But look at the face of a child who has done something wrong; who has told a lie, or done some cruel, mean, or dishonest act. There is no sunshine on _that_ face. There is nothing but a dark heavy cloud. The ill-tempered child has no sunshine on his face. He lives down in a dark cellar. The discontented child has no sunshine on his face. He lives down in a black dungeon with Giant Despair. My children, ask God to keep you innocent; or if you have done wrong, ask God to forgive you for Jesus Christ's sake, then you will have sunshine, you will be happy.

There is another thing which the flowers say to us--"Be sweet." There is nothing so delicious as to go into a flower garden after a warm shower, and to smell the sweet scents. Well, God has sent you into the garden of this world to be sweet like the flowers. How can you be sweet? You can be sweet-tempered, sweet-mannered, sweet-spoken. Sometimes you hear people say that someone has a sweet face. Now that need not mean a pretty face; a person may be pretty, and yet not sweet. Those who are sweet-tempered show it in their faces. You know how a bunch of flowers in a room makes it sweet and wholesome. Now every good child in a home, or a school, is like a nosegay of blossoms, making the place sweet and wholesome; and every bad, vicious, unruly, child is like the smell which comes from poisoned water. When I used to visit the sailors in their ships to talk to them about God, I used to say to them, "Now I want one of you men to be a little pinch of salt in this ship, I want you to keep things sweet. Who will be the little pinch of salt?" You understand what I mean, children? I wanted a good man, who prayed, and read his Bible, to help the others, to try and stop bad talking, to keep things sweet, as salt does. Well, I want each of you children to be God's sweet flower, and to try to make your home sweet by your gentleness, your good temper, your love. Some children are regular stinging nettles in a home, or a school. They always make people uncomfortable. They sting with their tongues, and they sting with their looks and their tempers. Make up your minds, dear little ones, to be, by God's help, sweet flowers, not stinging nettles.

And now, before I leave you, let us think what one special flower teaches us. I told you that there is such a thing as the language of flowers, that is, that each flower has its special meaning. Well, what does the rose say? Surely the rose says, "love one another!" Do you know who it is who loves us best, and who has done most for us? Our Lord Jesus Christ. Yes, and it is for that reason, I think, that He is called in the Bible a Rose,--the Rose of Sharon. Whenever you see a rose, think of Jesus, the Rose of Sharon, and remember what He says to you, "Little children, love one another." I will tell you a story about a rose. A little brother and sister lived in a crowded court in a great city. It was a wretched, dirty, ugly, place, where scarcely any sunshine ever came, and where the people were often rough and wicked. Little Willie and his sister knew nothing about green fields spotted with daisies, they had never seen a flower. One day a kind friend took all the poor children living in the court for a drive into the country. I cannot tell you how happy Willie and his sister were when they saw the trees and hedges, which were all new and strange to them. Presently they passed a garden in which were growing some sweet-smelling red flowers. Willie had never seen anything half so lovely, and he was anxious to know what the flowers were called, so they told him that they were roses. Well, after a time, when the Winter came, little Willie fell ill. Day after day his sister sat beside him, holding his thin white hand in hers. Often they talked about that wonderful day in the country, where they had seen the roses. Often, too, they talked about Jesus, and the still more beautiful country where He lived. The children were very ignorant, but they had been to Sunday School, and learnt something about the dear Lord who loves children. One cold, dark day, little Willie was much worse, and he said to his sister--"Oh! I wish I could see a rose once more. I wish you would go and get me one of those roses we saw that day!" So the little sister, who loved him dearly, set out to walk to the place where they had seen the flowers. After a long and weary journey, she came to the field where they had played, and the garden where the roses grew. But the field and the garden were white with snow, and there were no roses there. The little girl was worn out with hunger and fatigue, and she dropped on her knees in the snow, and prayed, and this was her prayer--"Dear Jesus, send me one rose, only one, for little Willie." Just then a carriage came along the road, and the lady who rode in it had a beautiful red rose in her hand, which had grown in a greenhouse. She dropped it from the window, I suppose, by accident, but when the little girl saw it lying on the snow, she thought that Jesus had sent it to her, and took it up lovingly to carry to her brother. But she had no more strength to struggle through the cold night, and when the morning came they found her dead upon the white snow, with the red rose in her hand. That night little Willie, lying alone in the cold, dark, garret, also died. And the writer of this story thinks that when the brother and sister met in the Paradise of God, the sister, who gave her life for love, carried a beautiful flower in her hand, and said, "Willie, here's your rose." So thinks the writer, and I think so too.

SERMON LXII.

DAILY BREAD.

(Harvest Thanksgiving.)

PSALM lxv. 9.

"Thou preparest them corn."

"Come, ye thankful people, come," and let us thank God for another harvest. Once more the Father, the Feeder, has given bread to strengthen man's heart, and we turn from the corn stored in the garner, to God's own garner the Church, where He has stored up food for our souls.

And first of all, my brothers, let us be honest with ourselves. Are we quite sure that we _are_ thankful to God for the harvest? We have decorated God's House with the first-fruits of the year, we have met together now to celebrate our Harvest Festival; but is there real _meaning_ in all this? Are we thankful to God? if not our Festival is a mockery. Let me give you a few thoughts which may help you to be thankful. The first thought is this: the harvest is _God's_ harvest, not yours. "Thou preparest them corn," is spoken of God, not of man. Corn is unlike any other kind of food, it is the direct gift of God to man in fully-developed state. Other fruits of the earth are given to man in a wild state, and he must improve them by care and cultivation, till the wild vine is turned into the rich wine-producing plant of the vineyard, and the sour crab into the delicious apple. It is not the case with corn. No one, says a writer, whose thoughts I am following, has ever discovered wild corn. Ages ago, when the Pharaohs reigned in Egypt, and the Pyramids were a'building, men sowed just the same corn that you sow to-day. Corns of wheat like our own have been found in the hands of Egyptian mummies which have been dead for thousands of years. The grain which Joseph stored in Pharaoh's granaries, and with which he fed his brethren, was precisely similar to the produce of your own fields. Geologists tell us that there is no trace of corn to be found in the earth before the creation of man. When God made man He created corn to supply him with food. The old Greeks and Romans had a dim perception of this when they thought that corn was the gift of the goddess Ceres. You know we call all varieties of corn _cereals_, after that same goddess. In these days there is, with some, less religion than ever the old heathen possessed. They would shut God out of the world of Nature, and see in a harvest-field only man's cleverness and energy. Let us rather humble ourselves before God, and see that it is His Hand which sendeth the springs into the rivers which run among the hills, where all the beasts of the field drink thereof, and the wild asses quench their thirst; beside them shall the fowls of the air have their habitation, and sing among the branches. Let us believe that it is God who watereth the hills from above, so that the earth is filled with the fruits of His works; that it is God who bringeth forth grass for the cattle, and green herb for the service of men, that He may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make him a cheerful countenance, and bread to strengthen man's heart. Whilst the unbeliever, blinded by his self-conceit, is worshipping his own little stock of knowledge, and neglecting God, let us be singing our _Te Deum_--"We praise Thee, O God, we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord."

Here is another thought which will help you to recognise corn as being specially the gift of God to man. It grows all over the world. Wherever man can live, corn of one kind or another flourishes. "From the bleak inhospitable wastes of Lapland to the burning plains of Central India, from the muddy swamps of China to the billowy prairies of America, from the level of the sea-shore to the lofty valleys and table-lands of the Andes and the Himalayas, it is successfully cultivated. The emigrant clears the primaeval forest of Canada, or the fern-brakes of New Zealand, and there the corn seed sown will spring up as luxuriantly as on the old loved fields of home." [1] All this should teach us to see in the harvest the result, not of our skill and cleverness, but of the good God's lovingkindness. Ask yourselves now, my brothers, whether you are truly thankful to God for this harvest: is your presence here to-day a real act of thanksgiving, or only an idle form?

Among the many curious relics of the past which were dug up in the buried city of Pompeii were some loaves of bread, looking just as they did when they came out of the oven. Think of those loaves baked eighteen hundred years ago, and still preserved as witnesses against that wicked city. God was good to those people in Pompeii, and prepared their corn, and bread to strengthen their heart, just as He does for us. And they went on thankless and careless in their sin, till the fiery stream overtook them, and that same fire which destroyed them preserved the bread, as a sign of God's goodness and man's ingratitude.

There is yet another thought about the corn, which ought to make us feel how dependent we are upon God for our _daily_ bread. Unlike the grass which is permanent as a food for cattle, or certain trees which bring forth fruit season by season, corn must be sown annually. Man depends upon the result of each year's sowing for the staff of life. And we are told that as a fact there is only as much corn in the world in each year as the world can consume in that time. "It is not probable that there was ever a year and a half's supply of the first necessary of life at one time in the world." Thus, as every harvest-time comes round, we are almost looking famine in the face, and then God opens His Hand and filleth all things living with plenteousness. Rightly indeed do we pray, "Give us day by day our daily bread."

And now let us look at the spiritual meaning of all this. As corn is the special gift of God to man, so is the gift of grace and pardon. God gives us what we cannot obtain for ourselves, does for us what we are powerless to do. As He feeds our bodies with the bread of corn, He feeds our souls with the Bread of Heaven. His Holy Catholic Church all over the world is a great granary stored with precious food. Just as corn grows wherever man lives, so wherever two or three are gathered together in Christ's Name there is He in the midst of them, feeding their souls. The exile in a foreign land can sow his corn seed, and gather the same food as in the fields of home. The same exile can find beneath other skies the same holy teachings, the same blessed Sacraments, the same prayers, as in the Church of his childhood. The bread of earth and the Bread of Heaven are God's two universal gifts to man. The penitent sinner can kneel at the Feet of Jesus, and find the grace of pardon beneath the skies of England, and India, and New Zealand, alike. The faithful Churchman can come to the Altar and receive the Body and Blood of his Saviour, even the Heavenly Bread to strengthen man's heart, all over the Christian world. As God gives us everywhere light and food, without which we cannot live, so does He give light and food for our soul. As says a Saint of old (S. Thomas à Kempis), "I feel that two things are most especially necessary to me in this life; prisoned in the dungeon of the body, I acknowledge that I need two things, food and light. Therefore Thou hast given me, a sick man, Thy Body for the refreshment of my soul and body, and hast made Thy Word a lantern unto my feet. Without these two I cannot live well; for the Word of God is the light of my soul, and Thy Sacrament is the Bread of Life."

My brothers, whilst we thank God for giving us this harvest of corn, let us still more thank Him for the harvest of spiritual blessing, for the precious grace and mercy which make glad the hearts of hardened sinners, for the anointing of the Holy Spirit which makes our faces shine with joy and gladness, for the Bread which came down from Heaven, and which strengthens our hearts to be Christ's faithful soldiers and servants.