Be

sanctuary. "What wilt thou have me to do?" patient; rest in the Lord, and he will bring it to pass. Be still, trust in the Lord, and he will give thee thy heart's desire. That solitary sufferer upon that poor hidden sick bed, may be an unconscious ambassador from God, a silent benefactor to his neighbour. We know not what lessons he is laid there to teach; but some lessons God means him to teach, or he never would have placed him there; and if you cannot teach audibly as an instructor, do not infer that you are influencing no good for good. Remember the beautiful words of Milton in that memorable sonnet:

"God doth not need

Either man's works or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

The sick room has often proved a sanctuary of spiritual power, and words from the lips of the dying man have struck with an emphasis altogether strange to eloquent and public sermons.

"Is any one afflicted, let him pray." Or are you in great trouble, tribulation and distress of any kind? Then "Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light?" A very desperate state, as can possibly be depicted. Well, what is such a one to do? "Let him trust in the Lord, and stay himself upon his God."

Do the young ask "What wilt thou have us to do?"

"Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come." Dedicate the flower of life to God. Consecrate your heart to Him. Religion that begins in youth grows with your growth; becomes vigorous with your years; till it occurs that Christians, who become so in their earliest years, are the means of spreading farthest around them the greatest good, and of adorning with the greatest glory the cause and kingdom of their Lord. I do not say that if the season of youth be neglected, no other season susceptible of good will arise; but I do say, that if it pass unimproved, the season is gone for ever when truth strikes most rapidly, sinks most deeply, and leaves behind it the most permanent impressions.

Youth receives the tone that outlives the years, and in endless instances old age is the reproduction of youth.

Do the aged ask me "What wilt thou have us to do?" As Christians-and I assume that you are so your course is very plain. The past is gone; it cannot be recalled; the future is before you-it may, through grace, be made sweet, and beautiful, and full of hope. An old man without religion is undergoing a most awful bereavement. He loses two worlds; he loses the present, for it is going away from beneath his feet; and he loses the future, for he has never discovered or trodden the way to it. But a true Christian, grey with years, and venerable as a servant in the cause and kingdom of his blessed Master, has only to wait for his dismission and take his departure. The years of Christian old age are like stalls in the great cathedral of life, in which the aged men sit, and praise, and

pray, and worship; waiting till God gives them their Nunc Dimittis; when they can each say, as they retire with joyous hearts, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."

He who first asked this urgent question remains a striking proof of the Divine original of Christianity. First of all, in the case of Paul we see change of creed. The Pharisee becomes suddenly a Christian; the bigoted Jew a meek disciple. Secondly, we discover a change of practice. He was once a persecutor; he now preaches. He was once a Pharisee, in practice and in principle; he is now a holy and consistent Christian. Was Paul deceived? If he was, I know not how to reconcile it with the subsequent character he develops; so quick, so clear, so penetrating, so little likely to be deceived or precipitated into fanaticism. In the next place, if he was deceived on this occasion; if the whole of this vision was a trick, and if Paul was cheated, there must have been a deceiver. Then the question remains, who was that deceiver? Not God that is absurd; not certainly good angels or good men—they would not be guilty of imposture. Not certainly bad angels or bad men; for they would never by an imposture persuade a man to teach men to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God, and to spread true religion over all the world. And, therefore, we must conclude that the Apostle was not deceived, that all he saw was real; and there is no explanation of the phenomenon of his conversion, except the explanation of inspiration, that it was the appearance of the Lord of glory without, and the

influence within of His Holy Spirit upon the heart of the apostle. But the German rationalists say it was a thunder storm that overtook him; it was the lightning that blinded Paul. Was it so? Let us see if it be possible. Did you ever hear of lightning changing a man's creed? Did you ever hear of a Mahometan struck down by lightning, and becoming a Protestant simply through the influence of the electric fluid? Did you ever hear of a man having his character transformed, his convictions altered, his whole practice revolutionized, simply by being enveloped in a blaze of lightning? If that be the effect of lightning, we can only pray that it may lighten every day and every where all the year long. But no such effect, as far as we know, has ever thus followed, and therefore we conclude that the mighty power that altered the man's convictions, reversed the whole current of his thoughts, transformed his whole character, made him love Him he hated, and obey Him he thought an impostor; and ask urgently and earnestly of Him whose followers he sought to destroy, "What wilt thou have me to do?" was the finger of God.

Nor was the impression produced on the heart of St. Paul a superficial or transient sentiment. It was a life, a power, a continuous victory. It withstood the strongest opposition. It endured the severest ordeals. It triumphed to the end, inspiring others with its fervour, and leaving to after ages the noblest and most precious evidences that the grace of God in a Christian's heart is the inexhaustible spring of great deeds, of untiring beneficence, of sacrifice and service for man, and of glory to God.

I Do not here endeavour to explain the miracle recorded in this chapter-the cure of the paralytic, who lay waiting for the stirring of the pool in order to be made whole. I address you, dear reader, upon these few words as suggestive of the universal desire of suffering humanity, whatever be the nature or extent of its sufferings, to be made well, and suggested, in some degree, by the epidemic of 1854, which has so severely scourged various sections of our country, now passing, or, rather, passed away. That visitation leaves behind it, and brings into prominence, questions most momentous; one physical, that will need to be met, and another purely spiritual, that ought to be answered, "Wilt thou be made whole?"—in a higher sense than physician, and prescription, and man, and medicine, can achieve. Disease, considered as a physical affliction, is more or less the condition of all humanity. There is no such thing as a perfectly healthy man. The instant we are born we begin gradually to wither, to fade, to die. It is true, this does not appear in a healthy person, but the germs and