singing the songs of Moses and the Lamb. But you may say this is all true, but what I want is a present gladness of heart-a present song of joy-amidst the daily cares, trials, perplexities, and bereavements of this mortal life; and where can I find such? My answer still is, in the gospel of the Son of God, and there alone! The time when these songs are mostly needed and desired is in the night season; not the period of physical darkness, but the moral night season-the night season of humiliation—the night season of adversity-the night season of sorrow-the night season of sickness-the night season of death; and it is just in these times that the true Christian rejoices in God his Maker, who giveth him songs in the night.

In the life of every individual there are periods of humiliation which take down his pride and bend his spirit to the dust. It may be that the person has occupied some post of honour or profit from which he has been removed-it may be that some unexpected blot has marred and stained his family name-it may be that failure in business has injuriously affected his character, and required him to take a lowly social position, and that in consequence, the gay and the fashionable, who flutter only around the candle of the prosperous, turn their heads at his approach, renounce his society, and cast themselves loose from his family circle-it may be that he is visited by some sore and noisome disease, or by some unexpected deformity that clings to him like a thorn in the flesh, and ever humbles him by a conscious

ness of its presence-it may be that false reports have tarnished his fair name, and caused him to be marked and avoided, indeed, there are so many causes of humility actively at work, that it would be in vain to attempt to enumerate them. Some one of these, however, occasionally affects each person, and makes him bow his head in humiliation. Does the Bible furnish us any songs for such a night season, when the darkness of adversity, of desertion, of reproach, and of deep self-loathing, stretches over us a black and starless firmament? Yes, it does. It is furnished in the beautiful words of the prophet Habakkuk, who, as if himself suffering under just such trials, dictates to the chief singer upon his stringed instrument the following exquisite ode: "Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat: the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation." What a precious song is this for the night season of humiliation and adversity! It teaches. that no earthly changes should ever shake our confidence in God; that His favour is not dispensed to us according to our worldly advantages and position; that His ways of dealing are disciplinary, and will, if rightly improved, work out for us an exceeding weight of glory. What though the honours you once wore are taken from you? if you are Christ's, there is reserved for you "a crown of life." What though your earthly reputation

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is unjustly stained! there is laid up for you in heaven a robe of spotless white, with which to array your ransomed spirit. What though you have, through circumstances beyond your control, failed in your business and shattered your fortune? You have in store for you above, treasures that never fail-the treasures of Divine redeeming grace. What though you know not whence shall come the next supply of daily bread, or where at night you shall find a place of rest; or how, when one change of raiment is worn, you shall obtain another? Your Saviour passed through just such trials. He was often an hungered; he had not what the foxes and the birds had a place where to lay his head-and his raiment was the gift of poor but loving friends. You cannot in any condition of adversity go into lower depths than Jesus went; and no Christian should be unwilling to follow his steps, though they pass through the lowly and rugged places of life. Only take his hand in the strong clasp of faith, and never relax your hold, and Jesus will make the vale of humiliation radiant with the light of his own countenance-will put into your mouth songs of praise, and guide you into final and unending joy. Most forcibly was this illustrated in the case of Paul and Silas. They had been arrested in Philippi, a Roman colony, for boldly preaching in the name of the Lord Jesus; and having by the orders of the magistrates been severely scourged, were thrust into the inner cells of the prison, and, lest they should by any means escape, their feet were made fast in the stocks.

This was to them a deep humiliation. Paul was a Roman citizen, and so was Silas; and yet, though the Porcian law, in the language of Cicero, "had removed the rod from the body of every Roman citizen," so that none claiming such citizenship could be beaten, yet they had had "many stripes laid upon them;" they had been hooted and reviled by the rabble of the town-they had been traduced and vilified by lying and malicious tongues-they had been imprisoned in the lowest, darkest, filthiest cell of the Philippi jail, and they had received the still further indignity of having their feet cruelly fastened in the stocks. What deep affliction! you say; what barbarous treatment!-how it must have chafed and humbled their spirits!-how it must have suggested in them plans of deep and far-reaching revenge! Could there be joy for them? Behold them; their clothes have been so torn by the multitude that they hang in tatters about them. Their backs have been cruelly torn to the quick by the lictor's thongs, and the open unwashed wounds still smart with pain. Their feet are confined in such a manner as to give them no possibility of rest; and the cold, damp, inner dungeon wraps around their half naked, bleeding, exhausted bodies its chilling and unhealthy air. Can there be joy for them? The city of Philippi is asleep-the excited populace are at rest-the thronged streets are empty, and the two strangers who had so engrossed the public mind are now forgotten in the deep slumbers of darkBut Paul and Silas sleep not. Their pains and

ness.

their constrained position will not suffer them to close their eyes. And how are they employed in these wakeful hours? Hark! It is midnight! but its stillness is broken by the voice of singing. Listen! It is no Orphic song to Bacchus-no Salian hymn to Dianano Sapphic ode to Venus-nor yet do these sounds proceed from the halls of revelry or the abodes of wealth: they issue from the prison walls; it is the voice of strange melody struggling upwards from the inner cell -it is Paul and Silas, the beaten, imprisoned, bleeding servants of God, praying and singing praises unto God. They had found and were then rejoicing in "God their Maker," who had given them "songs in the night."

The season of bereavement is emphatically a night season to the human heart. The joys that once gave it delight are withdrawn; the scenes in which it once revelled with pleasure are vanished; a beloved one has been removed from the chambers of life to the chambers of death; and the eye, the voice, the hand, the form that ministered so much to its joy and comfort, is closed and hushed, and palsied, and cold, in the silent grave. You sit in darkness in your darkened dwellings —you feel that one of the great lights that ruled the day of your life has been put out, and there are deep shadows resting upon your spirit, which time and grace can alone remove. To some these night seasons recur with distressing frequency. The bright days of prosperity are short, and the dark hours of sorrow are as long and dreary as the nights of an Arctic winter. Tc