sleeps all the time, sleeps to no purpose: his sleep hurts him. He who wakes all the time, wakes to no purpose: he can do nothing well. He who labors for man, with no faith in God, labors to little good. He who worships God, without serving man, worships to little good: his prayers hurt him rather than help him.

Sacred is the day; sacred also the night. Holy is work; holy also is prayer.

Yes, all sleep is sacred. "If a man sleep well, he shall do well." A writer says, "Such is the power of the heart to redeem the animal life, that there is nothing more exquisitely refined and pure and beautiful than the chamber of the house. The couch! from the day that the bride sanctifies it to the day when the aged mother is borne from it, it stands clothed with loveliness and dignity. Cursed be the tongue that dares speak evil of the household bed! By its side oscillates the cradle. Not far from it is the crib. In this sacred precinct, the mother's chamber, is the heart of the family. Here the child learns its prayer. Hither, night by night, angels troop. It is the holy of holies."

The only appropriate words with which to conclude these reflections are those which we know so well,the words of that deep and tender woman, the Christian Muse of the nineteenth century of Christianity, -words which, though we may know them, we do not tire of hearing:

"Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if there any is
For gift or grace surpassing this, -
'He giveth his beloved sleep'?

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delvèd gold, the wailer's heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth his beloved sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill ;
His cloud above it saileth still:

Though on its slope men sow and reap,

More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

He giveth his belovèd sleep."

IX.

STAND STILL.

Job xxxvii. 14: "STAND STILL, AND CONSIDER THE WORks of God."

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Eph. vi. 13: "HAVING DONE ALL, STAND."

HERE is a good deal of merit in being able to stand. It is merit, however, which is very liable to be undervalued. We highly prize the merit of going, and also that of doing; not enough, perhaps, the worth of standing. It is, no doubt, a great merit in a horse to go. A horse is advertised to go. so many miles an hour, so many minutes to a mile; but it is considered an additional praise, even for a horse, that he can stand. He will "stand without tying," it is said. Now, if this is a merit in a horse, still more is it in a man. The man who will "stand without tying" has achieved a great moral accomplishment. I mean a man who will hold his place, and keep it, by an internal force, not an external one. I mean one who will stand to truth and principle, not being held to them by force of outward circumstances, by the expectation of others, by the fear of being called inconsistent, by the bond of a creed or

covenant publicly acknowledged, but by the simple power of inward conviction, of loyalty to conscience and right.

Nature is full of types to show us the beauty of such steadfastness. Far in the depths of the primeval forest, there stands a tree, the monarch of the woods. A casual seed, wafted by the summer breeze, found for itself a favorable spot of soil. Year after year it grew, a little stalk, too small to support a bird; over which the rabbit leaped as he ran;—then larger, a sapling. So, year by year, rooting itself more deeply, spreading its limbs more widely, adding new rings of wood to its trunk, rising higher into the circumambient air, visited by myriad insects, by various birds, it stands and grows. At last, it reaches its maturity, and is a mighty tree, monarch of the woods. Then it stands in the same place for a hundred years, for five hundred years, unchanged. The white clouds drift over its mighty head in the infinite expanse of heaven. The glories of morning, the splendid hues of evening, the deep silence of night, pass over it. It stands, unmoved. Every thing comes and goes around it it remains, contented in its rooted stability. Having done all it was meant to do, it stands. It does not see so much variety as the butterfly that lights on its leaf. The bird, who comes to make his summer nest in its branches, could tell it a thousand stories of the countries he has passed through in his annual migrations. But the patient tree is not sent to hear the news of what is happening in the world,

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but to stand. Yet what majesty in this steadfast repose! And at last the traveller comes to the place, and gazes upward into the infinite multitude of its bowery recesses, its flickering lights and shades, its million leaves waving tremulous in the summer breeze, or roaring in the storm, as it lashes the air with its thousand branches. He thinks of it, standing through so many seasons, meeting the spring warmth with tenderly swelling buds, and stripping itself in the autumn to battle with skeleton arms against winter tempests; and there comes over his mind the sense of a sublime stability, which touches some nobler corresponding element in his own soul.

Man was made, not only to see, to do, to go, to make progress, but also to stand. Until he has learned to stand, he has not learned the whole lesson of life. Amid all change, we desire something permanent; amid all variety, something stable; amid all progress, some central unity of life; something which deepens as we ascend; which roots itself as we advance; which grows more and more tenacious of the old, while becoming more and more open to the

new.

Hence the importance of being able to stand. It is important, first, in order to see the truth; secondly, it is important, in order to retain what we have

seen.

First, Mental stability is good, in order to be able to see the truth. It is good to stand still, and consider.