much better, but rather worse, than we came up. What account can we give of such a waste of time and opportunities, of the best gifts of God, to ourselves and to Him? For God requireth that which is past.'

Therefore, 'Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might'; be earnest in study, be earnest also in your amusements, for something of seriousness may without impropriety mingle also with them. Life is short, and each stage of it is apt to come to an end before the work which belongs to it is finished. I will not add the reason which the Preacher gives, 'For there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave whither thou goest.' But rather, because we believe this life to be the beginning of another, into which we carry with us what we have been and done here; because we are working together with God, and He is upholding us in our work; because, when the hour of death approaches, we should wish to think, like Christ, that we have completed life, that we have finished the work which was given us, that we have not lost one of those who were entrusted to us.

And now, for the words 'Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth,' I will venture to substitute other words, 'Rejoice, whether young or old, in the service of God'; rejoice in the beauty of this world, in its fair scenes, in its great interests, in the hope and promise of knowledge. Rejoice in the thought of

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another life to which as we grow older we are drawing nearer. Rejoice in the companionship and affection of others, in the home to which no place can compare, in the friends whom nothing but death can part. Rejoice in the dead, more happy than the living, not as the Preacher says because they are without sense, but because they are in the hands of God, and there shall no evil touch them.' Rejoice in the work which God has given us to do here, knowing that it is His work, and the preparation for a higher, which we shall carry on far beyond what we are capable of thinking or imagining at present. Rejoice that we have got rid of the burden of selfishness, and egotism, and conceit, and those littlenesses and meannesses, which drag us down to earth, that our consciences are as the noonday clear, that we do not willingly allow ourselves in any sin. Rejoice that we are at peace, and can be resigned to the will of God, whatever it may have in store for us. Rejoice that we can live no longer for ourselves, but for God and our fellow-men. Rejoice, too, in the truth, whatever that may be, which is slowly unveiling itself before our eyes, for God is truth, and every addition to truth is an addition to our knowledge of Him. He will purge away the mists that environ us, and give us clearness, and 'the mind through all her powers irradiate.' Rejoice last of all in the love of Christ, who gave Himself for us, and in the love of all other men who, bearing His image,

have sacrificed themselves for the good of others. And, to sum up all, in the language of the Apostle, 'Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice.'

This is that other voice which we hear in the Gospel inviting us to love and peace and joy in the presence of God, unlike that barren voice with which we communed for awhile in a passing mood. The ecstasy of the Apostle may seem to us a dream only; it may seem also to be the truest of all things. But whether we are able altogether to receive the words of the Gospel, or not, we may find something in them applicable to our own lives which may help to raise us out of the world in which we mostly live into that of which Christ speaks to us.

IX

1 REJOICE WITH THEM THAT REJOICE, AND WEEP WITH THEM THAT WEEP. BE OF ONE MIND ONE TOWARDS ANOTHER. ROMANS xii. 15, 16.

A DISTINGUISHED philosopher of the last century has endeavoured to show that all our moral ideas are ultimately to be referred to the principle of sympathy. He says that most of our actions, if we analyse them, flow from the desire to please others, or to obtain their approval, or agreement, or assent. The light-hearted word expects to meet with a friendly response; the serious remark to be treated with seriousness; the jest falls flatly unless it creates a laugh. At every turn of life and in mere trifles we need the co-operation and conversation of others. And in our greater sorrows and joys we desire that other men should share our feelings with us, and that we should have the benefit of their sympathy and counsel. And men and women, knowing how dependent they are themselves on the kindness of others, are not unwilling to give what they desire to receive, and sometimes they put themselves in the place of a friend and think: That sorrow might have been my sorrow,'

1 Preached at Balliol, January, 1879.

'that wrong may be some day inflicted on me,' 'that illness may set its mark upon me'; so fear for ourselves, and love for ourselves, and resentment about ourselves, is supposed to raise in our hearts a corresponding feeling about the joys, sorrows, and wrongs of some one else.

But then human nature is so constituted that we feel for ourselves much more than for others; for those who are present more than for those who are absent; for the wrong in suffering which is recent, more than for that which is a tale of the olden time. A toothache, an earache, a fit of the gout, causes much more pain and disquietude to those who are afflicted by them, than the destruction by famine of many millions of men in the remote regions of India or China, and this would be more apparent if grown-up men and women, like children, were in the habit of expressing all they feel about their bodily aches and pains. On the other hand, most considerate persons would confess that we say and think too much of ourselves and far too little of those greater and more general calamities, a famine, or an earthquake, or a mining explosion with which a distant country or locality may be visited. What affects us in our own persons creates a deep and lasting impression on our minds, and what affects our families or beloved friends is still near to us, but what affects India or China is soon forgotten and scarcely ruffles the equable current of our lives. Therefore, says our moralist, we must