clean lips, whom God has so graciously purged, hears the Divine inquiry, "Whom shall I send?" It is a word thrown out. His quick, uncalculating impulse is to reply, "Here am I; send me." So God's call comes to men still. How? Not by miraculous visions or utterances, as to Isaiah. But by spiritual quickening impulses, and developments of spiritual life; so that the man is quick and intense with spiritual sympathies and yearnings: by visions of God-realisations of what God is, in the musings of a man's thought, in the cherished spiritual feelings of his heart, until the idea of God possesses him, and it is "his meat to do the will of his Father in heaven." And the thought of God that inspires the prophet is compounded of the Divine holiness and the Divine forgiveness. Holiness alone would be no inspiration of a prophet, for it would have no impulse of hope. Holiness is essential for producing the feeling of sin and of its ruin. But the thought of God's great purpose of redemption combines with it and makes it an inspiration. God has purposes of mercy and salvation for sinful men. For what does God need a prophet? Not to tell men of His holiness so much, as of His mercy, to carry to them the glad tidings, to instruct and urge them concerning the great salvation. For the prophets of our own day-the revelation of the Bible is the authority for this it is the record of the mediation of Christ, of His incarnation and death for the purpose of accomplishing this, of His resurrection and ascension as proof that it is accomplished. Nothing in the revelation of God is so prominent as His merciful purpose. Every man who receives Christ's teachings concerning the Father must chiefly recognise this. Therefore God's purposes of mercy become the inspiration of His prophets. We are constrained to think about men as God thinks, to feel towards them as He feels, to seek for them what He seeks. We " are workers together with Him." We have necessary affinities with Him. We are We are "partakers of the Divine nature; through our mercy others are to obtain mercy." And, as spiritual life is quickened and deepened, this yearning gathers strength; spiritual feeling becomes sensitive to human appeal; the spiritual ear is finely attuned to Divine voices. Necessity and opportunity are a sufficient call not to be to be resisted. Necessity is laid upon us. Woe is unto us if we preach not the gospel." The spiritual man sees manifestations of God, and hears calls of God, where the unspiritual hear and see nothing. Nothing is more appalling than the blind eyes and deaf ears with which men walk amid Divine things. What is a call of God? Only a man's own soul can recognise and determine it. I cannot hear the call that comes to another man. Chiefly it is an inward inspiration, a moral constraint, a fire in the heart. We must speak or die. Just as a poet, only with infinitely weaker impulse, must lisp in numbers; just as an artist must devise figure; just as a musician must give expression to melody; just as every distinctive gift finds expression for itself without waiting for outward recognition or sanction, but through sheer internal impulse, so the calling of the prophet will assert itself. Circumstance will give it occasion; but inspiration is greater than circumstance, and will often make it. How is a man to know whether his impulse be of God? By what shibboleth can we test prophetic speech? What analysis can we apply to prophetic afflatus? How often even good men have denounced as fanaticism the very loftiest inspirations of prophetic souls! There is absolutely no substitution for individual responsibility. Men must take the risk of their own delusions. Only their work can justify them. And for ourselves, it is upon our own responsibility that we judge the prophet's appeal. We are not to "believe every spirit, but to try the spirits whether they be of God." An unspiritual man reviles Baxter on the judgment seat, denounces Whitefield or Wesley, puts John Bunyan into prison. A good man like Barnabas " sees the grace of God, and is glad." The most terrible of all moral conditions is inability to discern the grace of God. And the nearest approach to the sin against the Holy Ghost is, through lack of spiritual sympathy, to excommunicate and persecute men who minister it. How eagerly and irresistibly the inspired soul responds, "Here am I; send me!" It is a prophet that God asks—a person ; not a thing, a sacrament, a church, a Bible; but a man with a human heart and voice, and experience. Only life can quicken life; only men can move men. Who among men will be God's prophet? forego other things-wealth, honours, literature, social comforts—to do a prophet's work, to be a preacher in the wilderness, a missionary of the cross among pagans and savages? Who will sacrifice all that this demands, proffer his life for this high service? Will God accept me for His prophet? Nay, the strong impulse overpowers even this con It is a tingency, "Here am I; send me." startling proffer from this overawed, self-conscious man. What a change in his profound feeling of unworthiness his purging has made! "I do not even ask for what He wants me. He does not specify either the service or its conditions. He asks simply for a prophet. Here am I, ready for any work, to go to any place, at any time and under any conditions." Like the cherubim with the two wings, wherewith they fly, his soul stands with plumed pinions, ready at any moment to fly-ready to carry God's message in any direction. It is a response without reservation, a reply in the dark. It does not stipulate for pleasant work, or a safe place. It does not weigh its own fitness even; there is no finessing humility, no calculating selfishness, no stipulating fear. It is simple, frank, large; the prophet commits himself without hesitancy: Immediately I conferred not with flesh and blood." And God as fully accepts him. Isaiah's mission was a sorrowful one. Instead of a successful process and a triumphant result, it was one of the saddest missions ever intrusted to a prophet. His mission failed through its very loftiness; it was too spiritual for a people so grossly carnal; the greatness of a mission, the nobleness of a prophet, are not tested by results. If men be unfit, the more spiritual a mission, the more likely it is to fail. Isaiah's word would only harden; according to the great law of spiritual things. Nothing destroys a moral nature like the abuse of spiritual things. Where they are not a savour of life unto life they are a savour of death unto death." His words would "make the people's ears heavy, so that they would become incapable of hearing, and their heart gross, so that they would be incapable of feeling." They would become more unspiritual, hardened, and defiant by his very preaching-a law of moral retribution, three times cited in the New Testament. Isaiah was not to know the reward of success. By-and-by he would lift up his voice in a great wail-"Lord, who hath believed our report, and to whom hath the arm of the Lord been revealed?" His preaching would only seal their condemnation. Israel would "not be gathered." The prophet could only weep, as Christ wept! Does he therefore repent of his mission? Does he make success one of its conditions? Does he suggest that God has not kept faith with him? Does he even complain? No! Only a sad solitary question, "Lord, how long?" His faith does not doubt the ultimate issue; it inquires only concerning time. It is an inquiry neither of repentance, reluctance, nor unbelief, only of sorrowful solicitude for the people; and the only reply to it is a vague and distant hope. God's prophet may not stipulate even for success. There are conditions in which failure is essential to the greatest success: "The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church;" "One soweth, another reapeth." It is enough to have any part in the processes of the kingdom of God. Isaiah prepares for other prophets and apostles, whose work is the garnering of the harvest. No true work of a prophet can be done in vain. It may demand a large and patient faith, it may be utterly discouraging, the sense of inadequacy may be great, the sense of failure painful. "Who is sufficient for these things?" "But the word of the Lord endureth for ever; the purpose of God cannot fail. God's yearning love shall have its satisfaction. Christ shall " see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied." Truth and goodness do advance in the world. One other great word comes to us from the Temple vision: "The whole earth is full of His glory." And it is the strength and stay of God's prophets, that "our sufficiency is of God." SUNDAY EVENINGS WITH THE CHILDREN. BY THE REV. B. WAUGH AND MRS. GARNETT. as she saw the progress of the fire, the mother's anguish was wilder still. What an age they were in returning! It seemed long to those who, as fast as they could move, were fetching the way of escape; but it seemed longer far to those who were waiting Doing nothing, yet watching the danger as moment by moment it was increasing, the distracted woman could wait no longer. Suddenly she thought of the creepers growing up the house, and of the lattice, and saw in these a ladder to her hand: by these she might reach the children's windows! But would they bear? She could not wait to think of this. Failure, falling, death, anything would be better to risk than doing nothing, waiting. Quicker than it has taken to tell she reached the creepers, and foot over foot, hand over hand, up she climbed, fast and nimble as a squirrel. The creepers swayed, the lattice gave; crack, crack, went branch and timber. But not one fear entered the eager mother's mind. Whilst all below expected every second to see her fall, fearlessly on she went, reached the window, and how, no one ever knew, amid cheers from below, actually got into it and through it into the children's room. It was the work of an instant to get the children to that window, tie them in a bundle in a sheet, and with counterpane and blankets tied together to form a rope to let them down. The children safely at the bottom, the brave mother began to descend by the way she had come, but at the first step the branches which had cracked and the lattice which had crashed as she went her. Our thoughts are like God's thoughts when our knowledge is like God's knowledge; so let us hear about her. It was the woman's poor face which people spoke about when they carelessly called her horrid; for it was a strange purplish colour, and much drawn and seamed, and one of her eyes was-longing, looking, agonizing, and helpless. closed and looked wounded. But it was just this marred face which was the poor woman's greatest glory. Listen while I tell you why. One evening in a little village there was a great alarm; a house—one which stood in its own grounds, a pretty little house-was found to be on fire. Water was brought, but the fire was too big for all the water they could bring to put it out; so the flames roared with louder roar, and leaped on from floor to ceiling and from room to room. When at length it had become quite hopeless to put out the fire and save the house, they began to consider the safety of the people in it; for it was night, and some of the family were in bed. Master and mistress and servants fled into the garden, but not before they had thought of the two little boys soundly asleep in the nursery bed up at the top of the house. The father rushed to the stairs, but he had not gone many steps before he found the flames had already caught hold of them; half-way to the first landing they were ablaze. His brave heart would have rushed through these flames, and have trusted to the burning wood still carrying his weight; but how could he get back again, carrying his two boys? By his return the stairs would have been quite burnt away. So, quick as thought, he rushed back again through the house into the garden, and, call-up utterly broke, and with a shriek the brave ing some of the men who had collected there from the village to follow him, ran with them to a neighbouring farm, to get the farmer's long ladder. By that he would be able to climb up to his boys' bedroom window, and fetch them out of the burning house. Love works fast, and not many seconds had gone before the farm was reached and the place for the ladder found: but, sad to say, the ladder was not there; it was away on some service in the field. Not a moment was lost. Away went father and men to the distant spot, where they found the ladder, and, as fast as they could carry it, returned to the burning house. But long before the ladder had been found the swift flames, fanned by the fresh wind, had laid hold on almost half the house, and were fast reaching the very room in which the sleeping children were. The father was wild with anguish through the long time his work was taking him; but, woman fell on to the ground below, dragging her face against the wall as she fell. She was taken up faint and mangled, almost dead, her face frightfully torn. The father returned with the ladder just in time to see the accident. The poor woman was carried into a neighbour's house, the doctor sent for, medicine was given, and her wounds were dressed, and I am sure you are glad to know that she did not die. But for all her life her face was painfully marred and one of her eyes was entirely destroyed. Now, do you wonder that her children grew up to love, nay, to deeply adore that poor marked face? Every year of life it became more tenderly beautiful. Its marks were the sign of a great and suffering love; when they grew up to be men i meant to them the greatness and grandeur of their mother's soul. But though the story it told was of a noble life, yet many carelessly called it horrid. They knew not what they did, Now, let us for one moment turn from that mother's face to the face of Jesus. In that face careless, thoughtless men saw no beauty." Its great and suffering love-love which would not, could not cease, day nor night, to long and strive to save and bless was ugly to them. But, oh, my dear children, they were so wrong. If they had but known how and why it was that face, once bright as morn, was now so sad with anguish, they would have felt and said with deep and solemn joy that it was, Oh, altogether lovely. Jesus said of them, as they nodded and mocked and sneered, "Oh, Father, forgive | them; oh, God, forgive them; for they know not what they do." But when wicked men do know what His great sorrow means then they will be sorry, very, very sorry for what they have done, and with all their hearts they will admire and adore Jesus, as those two boys admired and adored their loving, suffering mother. God has always loved the face of Jesus, and has given to Jesus a name which for sweetness and glory and honour is above every name. Let us, my dear children, try to think and feel about the loving, suffering Jesus just as God does. That only is the true and the blessed thought. BENJAMIN WAUGH. SECOND EVENING. Opening Hymn: "And is it true, as I am told?" Lesson : Thou Saviour dear." John xii. 1-18. Concluding Hymn: "Sun of my soul, One day there was a great battle, and in the battle a great king was defeated and killed. Then all the king's relations, when they heard that he was killed, thought that the men who had killed the king would be sure to come and kill them also. So they took fright and ran away till they were far out of the dead king's country, and there they stopped, for they felt safe. Now one of those who went into that safe country was a boy, a grandson of the dead king; but this boy was too little to run; indeed, he was too little to have any reason for running, for he was too young to be even afraid of being killed. The older people trembled in their dreadful danger, but this little fellow did not tremble. He was as happy as though no calamity had happened, and there was no danger at all. He would have liked to have stayed in his pretty home amongst his toys and little friends. But had he been allowed his own way, very likely some rough soldier would have rushed into the house and have cruelly hurt him and wounded him, and have killed him with a sword. Perhaps the little fellow cried to be torn away from what he liked, but it is sometimes kind, you see, for older people to displease little people and even to make them cry, for they are too young to be wise to themselves. When they do pain you thus, it is not because they do not love you, but just because they love you so much. They want to save you from some harm. Well, whether he liked it or not, the little boy had to leave his home; for, as soon as she heard that the king was killed, his good old nurse picked him up and ran for his life. Now while she was running, and long before she had reached the place where her little charge would be safe, her poor old legs got weary. The road was rough and long, the boy became heavier and heavier. At last she stumbled, dropped the little fellow, and he fell—and fell on to the rough stones, and broke the bones in both his feet. Poor little child! The nurse picked him up, folded him in her arms, and continued her flight. He was in great pain and cried piteously. But much as she grieved for him, she dare not go back to seek for a doctor; there were the soldiers! The woman might have put her burden down and have left him to take his chance to be killed by the soldiers, and have continued to run to save herself; but no, though she should drop beneath her burden, she would carry the poor little boy; and if they could not both escape, they would both together fall into the cruel soldiers' hands, and both together die. What a good, loving nurse she was! We do not know her name, but God knows it, and long since-for all this happened many, many years ago-God has rewarded the dear old faithful creature for her loving, Christlike deeds. Though we do not know his nurse's name, we do know the boy's name, and a long, funny name you will think it is. His name was Mephibosheth. But it is only funny because it is foreign; it is not English, but Hebrew. For years after this we hear no more of this little boy. But one day, when he had grown up, the good King David wanted to do a kindness to some of the relations of the king who had been killed in the battle that I have told you about. That king's name was Saul. David had not loved Saul much, but he had loved Jonathan, who was a son of Saul, and him he had loved with all his soul. Well, one day it came into David's heart to ask, "Is there any that is left of the house of Saul, that I may show the kindness of God for Jonathan's sake?" And they told David that Mephibosheth was alive and he was one of Jonathan's sons. Then David sent for Mephibosheth, sent into the country to which his nurse had taken him when a very little boy. He was grown up now. And he came to the King. Now the King lived in a palace full of royal splendour, and of course all the people in it were richly dressed. So when poor lame Mephibosheth, lame on both his feet, hobbled and shuffled along the courts up to the King, perhaps, too, in ragged dress, his heart sank in him, and he felt ashamed and wretched, and wished himself back again. He felt that the King, when he saw him, would be sure to despise him. But good King David's heart was far too kind for that. The sight of the poor cripple's shame and confusion confusion touched the King's heart, and he said to him, VIII. N.S. "Don't be afraid; I will be very kind to thee. I will give thee a house and lands, and thou shalt live at my table. Don't think of thyself at all; for I will do this for thy father Jonathan's sake." So, however miserable the poor cripple might be, he was now comforted. He need never fear that his own shortcomings would get him sent away; for he was there, not for his own sake, as the learned men and fine strong soldiers were, but for the King's dear, dead friend Jonathan's sake. Though he was sometimes too miserable to hope in David's pity for himself, he was never too miserable to believe in David's love for his father. Now men who are called to come to God and to His glorious home in heaven are ofttimes miserable by thinking of their own unworthiness; so God comforts them and cheers 55 |