I have the liveliest foretaste of heaven upon earth, and could almost wish that our voices were loud enough to reach through all the world, and to heaven itself. Nothing comforts me more in my greatest sufferings, nor seems more fit for me while I wait for death, than singing psalms of praise to God; nor is there any exercise in which I had rather end my life. Lord, tune my soul to thy praises now, that sweet experience may make me long to be where I shall do it better! Wherever there is any excellent music, I see men naturally flock to it, and hear it with delight. Surely had I once heard the heavenly choir, I should echo to their holy songs, and think it the truest blessedness to bear my part. My God! it is the inward melody of thy Spirit, and my own conscience, that must tune me for the heavenly melody.-Baxter.

THE LOST SON.

THE following incident may serve to impress on the minds of parents, especially of mothers, the deep and solemn responsibility which God has laid upon them,

to be faithful to the souls of their children. It is not long that sons and daughters are certain to remain under the parental roof, or within the influences and teachings of a praying mother. The silver cord may be loosened in a moment:

"Some time since," says a well-known pastor, "I knew a youth of about sixteen years of age, who was of generous but froward temper, and he resolved to go to sea. His friends were therefore constrained to make an arrangement to suit his wishes. He was tenderly beloved by his mother; and she had educated him with as much religious care as most parents bestow on a child so young. No sooner, however, was he placed beyond her reach, than memory and conscience were busy with her, and she thought bitterly of the many things she might have said, and had not-of the many occasions which might have been improved for his spiritual welfare, and were not. She reproached herself, but found present relief in the sincere resolution, that on his return she would surely, and without delay, be more in earnest for his full conversion to God. Alas for her!-he never returned! he was lost at sea. The shock laid her prostrate, and left her distracted. It was not merely that her son was lost to her, but that he was lost to God, and that she had been a guilty party to his ruin. What she regarded as her negligence rose on her mind like the great waters, and threatened to overwhelm her. And still that tender and gracious spirit is battling, in doubtful conflict, with unavailing regrets, and bitter accusations, which no earthly hand can subdue. Ah! pray to be spared the agony of losing a beloved relative without hope in his deathpray to be spared the greater agony of feeling that, if lost, you have not done what you might and ought for his salvation.

Death removes us from time into eternity. All our relationships have a bearing on that eternity. We are all immortal, and must dwell for ever in a state the most wretched or blissful. Do we entirely believe this great truth? Can anything equal its solemnity? Should it not be your chief, your uttermost desire through life, that all your beloved connexions should awake to a glorious and blessed immortality? Can anything equal the honour, the bliss, the joy of the appearing as a redeemed family-a holy family-a united family--a family in heaven? Would you not willingly encounter all toils, any sufferings, any death to realize it?

SECRET SINS.

"WHO can understand his errors?" that is, those sins which he commits out of ignorance and inadvertency. Hence the Psalmist concludes, "Cleanse thou me from secret faults." He doth not mean faults which he committed privately, and so were secrets to others, but faults which he had committed ignorantly, and so were secrets to himself: that is, they were sins of ignorance. And I conceive he means not only such sins as he had committed ignorantly, but then knew that they were sins, but even such sins as he was ignorant whether ever he had committed them or no; that is, he prays for the pardon of all those sins which possibly he might have committed, though to him, as yet, altogether unknown and undiscovered. -Caryl.

TRUST IN DARKNESS.

WE must learn to depend upon the bare word of God from us-to trust him upon his bare promise, withwhen all other props and stays shall be pulled away out pledge or pawn; else we deal with him no otherwise than any usurer will with the veriest beggar or bankrupt that is, when he cometh to borrow money of him.-Gataker.

"NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP." THERE are, probably, no four lines in the English language that are repeated so many times daily as the following:

"Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep: If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." And it is not only children and youth that repeat them. Many whose heads are "silvered over with age" have been accustomed to repeat them as their last prayer before closing their eyes in sleep, every night since they were taught them in infancy. The late ex-president of the United States, John Quincy Adams, was among that number. An eminent pastor of the Methodist Church, in addressing a Sabbathschool, told the children that he had been accustomed to repeat that little prayer every night since his mother taught it to him, when he was a little boy. seventy years of age, and who has been for many In conversing recently with a ship-master, over years a deacon in the Church, he said that when he followed the seas, and even before he indulged a hope that he was a Christian, he never lay down in his berth at night without saying, with great seriousness, and he thought sincerity,

"Now I lay me down to sleep" &c.

MEN THE HAND OF GOD.
Ps. xxvii. 14.

THINK not the government is out of Christ's hand, when men are doing many sad things, and_giving| many heavy blows to the work of God. No, no; men are but his hand; and it is the hand of God that justly and righteously is lying heavy upon his people. Look above men, then; you have not to do with them: there is a turn of matters, just as he is pleased to turn his hand.- Ralph Erskine.

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It is worth while noticing the word which is used in the two well-known passages which speak of chastisement: "Neither faint when thou art rebuked of him;" "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten." A little inquiry into its meaning, and a little comparing of texts, will help to set it in its true light.

It is the same word used in Matt. xviii. 15: "If thy brother trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault." It is the same word used in Luke iii. 19, when John is said to have reprored Herod. It is the same word used in John xvi. 8, "When He cometh, He will reproce the world of sin." We learn, then, from these expressions, that rebuke is not simply some stern word or frown implying displeasure on the part of God, but such a frown as "tells us our faults"—such a frown as reproves or convinces us of sin. It is God's way of pointing out what he sees to be amiss in us, of calling our attention to it as a thing which displeases him, and on account of which, if not put away, he must certainly deal with us in chastisement. The word rebuke seems to imply something more gentle than chastisement. And it is of some importance to consider it in this light. I know not a better illustration of it than Christ's address to the churches of Asia. The especial preciousness of these lies in this, that they show us what the heart of Christ is when reproving. What a discovery do they give us of this! Let us hear him addressing them. Thus he rebukes the angel of the church of Ephesus: "Nevertheless, I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love; remember, therefore, from whence thou art fallen, and repent." Thus he rebukes the church of Pergamos: "I have a few things against thee, because thou hast there them that hold the doctrine of Balaam; repent, or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against thee with the sword of my mouth." In like manner we might quote his other rebukes to the other churches as illustrations of our meaning. But these are enough. They show the gentleness of the reprover both in the manner and the language. They are faithful, indeed; but how delicate, how tender, how

From the author's precious work entitled, "The Night of Weeping."

mild! They point out what is amiss with all distinctness and directness, yet in a manner the most fitted to win, and in language the least likely to offend. He begins each of them by making most gracious mention of the past services and excellent deeds of the angel of the church, as if desirous to show how willing he was to praise in so far as he could, and how unwilling to blame save when it could not be avoided. In listening to this voice speaking from heaven, we seem to hear the same meek and lowly one that once spake on earth in the house of Simon the Pharisee. Wishing to reprove him for his evil thoughts of the woman who stood behind the Lord, and washed his feet with her tears, he began thus mildly his rebuke, "Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee."

Yet while the rebuke of God is thus mild and loving, it is both faithful and solemn. It is faithful, for it hides nothing from us. Its tone is soft, yet the words are full of meaning. They are quite explicit in their condemnation of the sin perceived in us. And the rebuke of Jehovah is a solemn thing. It is not the rebuke of wrath, for that has passed away; yet it makes us stand in awe. The rebuke of love is as solemn a thing as the rebuke of wrath. A parent's rebuke is much to a loving child; how much more is the rebuke of our God-the God who made heaven and earth!

Many are the rebukes which he administers. Some of them are lighter, and others heavier; yet in both he is laying his finger upon sin, and intimating distinctly his desire that we should turn from it. To the former kind, I fear, we oftentimes give but little heed. The touch of transient pain, a brief illness, a slight indisposition, a passing weakness, some common domnestic vexation, some trivial casualty, some few days' parting from one we love, some unkind word where least we looked for it, some disappointment or annoyance,-these are all fatherly rebukes of the lighter and more gentle kind. They are not so sharp as many others; yet they are not the less on that account the indications of a Father's will. They are apt to be overlooked, for they are slighter and commoner than many, and do not force themselves upon our notice; yet surely it is worth our

while to point them out, and to make them the subject of special and prolonged consideration. It is difficult to understand why we should so much undervalue them. To one who weighs them aright, they cannot but seem peculiarly precious and affecting. Their frequency makes us familiar with them, and on this account we slight them. Sad and strange! Does not their frequency show the unwearied pains that God is taking with us, giving us precept upon precept, line upon line? Should that very thing in them which displays God's untiring earnestness, his assiduous vigilance, and intense anxiety for our welfare, tempt us to disregard such dealings? Their mildness, also, as well as their frequency, tends to make us undervalue them. Unaccountable perversity! They are so slight and so gentle; therefore they are not to be owned as the laying on of a Father's hand! Had they been sharper and heavier, they would have been recognised as such; but being so tender, they are hardly worthy of our serious notice!

On this point, I am persuaded, an admonition is much needed, not merely by a heedless world, but even by the saints of God. The point adverted to is a much-neglected one, and yet it is one which every day's events press upon our notice. A raging fever prostrates us. Our strength gives way. Our life is despaired of. Then we say, This is the finger of God, this is his rebuke. But we take a slight cold, or sustain some slight injury, there is no danger, and perhaps no piercing pain; then, alas ! we do not own the doing of God, or, at the most, we own it vaguely and carelessly. The gentleness of the infliction makes us feel at liberty to undervalue it, and to forget it as coming from God. Ah! it is thus that we "despise his chastenings."

And what is the consequence? We draw upon ourselves severer chastisement. We provoke God to visit us with heavier blows. We compel him to chastise by our heedlessness of his rebuke. We make bitter trial absolutely

necessary.

Let us never forget this: It is our own fro wardness and negligence that impose a necessity for the infliction of suffering. Affliction is not a desirable thing in itself. It would be better could it be avoided. God afflicts not willingly; but we constrain him. Many a sorrow we might escape, were we not so heedless and unbelieving.

Most slowly and reluctantly does God stretch out his hand to chasten. For awhile he wounds

most slightly and mildly. If we may speak after the manner of men, he just hints or whispers his reproof. He is most unwilling to employ sharpness. He tarries long. He lingers on his way to smite. He tries other means. He sends milder trials at first, that we may be led to self-searching and repentance, and that he may be spared the necessity of inflicting a heavier blow. But we trifle with these; and then, at last, he lifts up his voice and speaks in a way which can neither be overlooked nor mistaken. How sad that we should thus so stubbornly persist in filling the cup of sorrow, which God would fain have spared us!

Let us open our ears to the rebuke of God. His "still small voice" should be as effectual as the lightning or the earthquake. Let us learn the meaning and use of slighter trials. Let us count no touch of pain or grief, however mild or transient, too insignificant for our most serious thought. This would save us much. It would teach us many a blessed lesson in an easy, pleasant way. Every trouble, however light, comes fragrant with blessing. Shall we, then, overlook it or thrust it away? It is a new opportunity of getting nearer God, and learning more of his love. How foolish, how sinful, to disregard it! God is saying to us. Improve this light cross, and you will not need a heavier. But we are deaf. And oh, how much this deafness costs us!

It is not, however, our deafness under lighte: troubles only that draws on us the heavier. We are too heedless even of these heavier ones, and this prepares for us heavier still. The easy way in which some get over trials is very sad. There is a vehement outburst of feeling at the moment; and occasionally there may be a recurrence of this for some time after the calamity has spent itself; but, with the exception of such fits of grief, there is nothing like laying the trial to heart. To lay a visitation solemnly to heart is something very different from indulging in wild bursts of grief. Hence it will generally be found that those who give way to these are often, during the intervals between them, very easy and mirthful. This unequal pressure of trial is not only in itself injurious to the soul, but it neutralizes the right influence of trial, and thus renders necessary another and more stunning blow.

Hence it is that we so often observe, that when God takes up a case in earnest, if one may so speak, it is either by a succession of strokes, following each other closely, or else by a long-protracted sorrow. And it is we who