When a soul is turned to God, every day is a Sabbath, every meal is a spiritual refreshment, and every sentence he speaks should be a sermon. Whether he stays abroad or at home, whether he is on the Exchange or locked up in a closet, he can say, "O God, thou art my God!" Some more coronets are likely to be laid at the Redeemer's feet. They glitter gloriously when set in, and surrounded with a crown of thorns. CHAPTER VII THE VOICE OF A PROPHET AN unfailing feature of religious crises is the appearance of prophets. This has been true from early Hebrew times down through all the centuries. Two hundred years ago England was well supplied with preachers, but among them there was no outstanding prophet; for while prophets are preachers, preachers are not always prophets. If ever the prophetic spirit was needed, it was in the gloom preceding the great Evangelical Revival. Reference has been made to the spiritual apathy of the age. To be sure, many of the clergy and of the laity led lives that were morally correct, and were everywhere regarded as exemplary Christians, but they were held in the grip of the chill formalism which was abroad in the land. No word in the current vocabulary struck deeper dismay to men's hearts than “enthusiasm." From pulpit and press, church leaders were constantly inveighing against it. To betray such a spirit in religious work, or to permit one's own experience to become tainted with it, was a most serious offense. Heresy, deadness, enthusiasm-all might be bad, but the worst of these was enthusiasm. Calm self restraint, stiff compliance with conventional ways, alone could be tolerated. Some of the commonest truths of Christianity had been well-nigh forgotten. Even distinguished prelates had no conception of the meaning of the New Birth or justification by faith. So eminent a leader as Bishop Butler failed to understand how a human soul could enjoy the immediate personal guidance of the Divine Spirit. One day he hotly exclaimed, "Sir, the pretending to extraordinary revelations and gifts of the Holy Spirit is a horrid thing, a very horrid thing!" And he would not tolerate it among his clergy. For the most part, the pulpits of the land were occupied by men with little or no religious experience, men whose principal identification was their clerical garb. There was no moral tonic in the preaching. The pulpit was cowardly. On the great sins of the times, such as dueling, drink, gambling and slavery, the voice of the clergy was practically silent. The typical sermon of the day was a cold, unfeeling essay, with perhaps a religious squint, perhaps not. Even so worthy a man as the Reverend Samuel Wesley, father of John, tolerated a curate at the Epworth Church whose favorite topic in the pulpit was the duty of making one's will. In most churches a burning, soul-gripping message on some great spiritual theme would not only have startled the hearers, it would have scandalized the more sober-minded. There was but |