merciful unto me; for my soul trusteth in Thee; yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I take my refuge, until these calamities be overpast !"'1 And with this sigh, let us also for to-day withdraw ourselves. Above our heads beams the rainbow, and there shines the symbol of the Son of Man. We lay hold of the cross, and sing with cheerful countenance to heaven : "I know Thee! seated on Thy throne There seraph, trembling, veils his face. "I know Thee!-The glorious Head Now, clothed by Him in robes of white, A stranger's deed, of healing might, 1 Psal. lvii. 1. 292 X. THE RESTITUTION. It is a delightful history, rich in consolation, which we find in Genesis xxviii. 11-19. A green tree of life in the desert, not alone for Jacob, but for all of us who walk on the same path with Jacob. How emphatically does it warn us of the darkness of our life on earth; but how brightly does it at the same time illumine the road, which guides us out of this darkness, and with what a divine brilliancy does it invest this world! The scene in which we find ourselves placed, is certainly not one that bears a cheerful character. We enter upon a desolate, uninhabited waste, over whose immeasurable expanse the setting sun is shedding its faint reflection. But the scene accords with our feeling of this day. Cast your eye towards the west. Hitherwards we behold approaching, a solitary wanderer, supporting his weary steps with his pilgrim's staff, toiling on his way through the deep, searching sand, and as it appears, having lost his road in the trackless desert. You are aware, it is Jacob, on his journey to Haran : a man, therefore, to whom are directed great promises, but who little knows what their fulfilment will involve. If we mistake not, he is not exactly in the mood to rejoice, but appears rather oppressed and melancholy, as if with tears he were asking, 66 Alas, Lord! dwellest thou in this waste ?”— -or as if sighing with Moses, "Let me behold thy glory!" But what does he behold around him except the void and lonely world? What does he hear, but the howling of the savage beasts in the distance? And what does he feel, but in his limbs the most extreme weariness-in his heart, the most painful oppression of care, as to where he now is, and whether he will ever be able to find the way out of this desert? and even more painful than all this, perhaps he is putting to himself a question, as the following: "Am I the child of God? Have I in truth his promise? Is He indeed with me on my way ?"-questions, the answer to which he draws not from faith or from God's word, but from the circumstances under which he finds himself placed. And in feeling, we ourselves are not very unlike that wanderer. Our position is similar. For many of us at present come with wounded feet to this boundary of the year. Let us throw aside for a moment our burden, and make a halt. "But surely not in any desert?" Yet neither in a paradise. O, this pitiful life! Here we stand, once again nearer the grave by another year's stretch of ground. How closely does the decline of one year's sun verge upon its rise, and how rapidly do we fly on to the last of our days! And if they were precious, these outlived moons, still they were full of trouble and labour. What do we bring with us as spoil? A handful of withered petals of flowers: these were the glories in which we so long delighted, but oh! how many wounds! O, what abundance of misery in one year! What a full measure of silent tears! How many aches and pains in every quarter! Speak, what troubles have you? "O, all the hopes, the sweet hopes, with which I started!" what of them? "They have deceived me like dead blossoms!" What do you sigh for? "O, my most cherished plans!" They have been attained? "No, no, they have failed!" Why do you look so mournful? "Oh! more blissful ties, than those which bound me, existed not!" Well, and ?— "They are all torn asunder; I shall never be happy again!" Alas, thou poor one! And say, what did you suffer? "Alas, the tree of my domestic happiness-that tree so rich in blossom and fruit!" Does it not continue to blossom? "Alas, no, it was shattered and destroyed by the storm!" "1 Behold, behold, my friends, already a whole chorus in the midst of us, with the song of the preacher in the wilderness upon their lips: "For all flesh is grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. And to what a degree would this chorus increase, if each would freely acknowledge, for what and where he felt oppressed, and how many thousands of smothered sighs should we hear, if all freely gave vent to their complaint! O, with what destruction, with what heaps of burning ruins, is already one single year environed !— Observe only in the little field of this community, the number of withered parterres of flowers, leafless wreaths, expiring lights of feast and festival, and fallen earthly temples of joy. Behold these houses, a short time since the envied abodes of the most splendid wealth, now lamentably sinking down in our streets. And now follow me to our graves. What a row has been dug in that one year! And ah! what sounds of lamentation from their hillocks! Alas, for all those poor widows wringing 1 1 Peter, i. 24. - their hands; and those little orphans, whose all has been laid in here; and those weeping friends and husbands, overflowing with tears, for whom such hearts as have here been buried will no more beat on earth! Of what again have not these graves robbed us? Here, alas! a beloved form has sunk down!-And there, a dear, dear brother! And there,-O how little did we think, but that he must remain with us; but the grave has swallowed him up! And behold this mound of earth. You all know it! The earth is still fresh. The wreaths upon it are not yet faded; the tears with which it was bedewed by affection are not yet dried up. No, he will never be forgotten, he who sleeps here!— But still so young, and already called away!-So worthy of love, and taken away from Our arms!-So warmly beloved: "We cannot do without him!-but no attention from on high, no answer!-We were obliged to bear away our dear friend, and consider how we might best endure the suffering that might come to our own lot! O how terribly does a single year set before our view the gloominess of existence upon earth; and alas! of the darkest shades of the misery of human life, many among you can form no idea! You do feel indeed in every thing, the gnawing of that worm, which we call "perishableness!" If you hear only from a distance, the hollow, warning tolling of the funeral knell and the shuddering sounds of "earth to earth". dropped down upon the lowered coffin, you start, like a frightened deer; but the most dreadful of all reaches not your ears. You hear not yet the knell of the second death; the trumpet blast of the approaching judgment; the cry of your transgressions for curse and vengeance upon you. O, if you but heard that as well, you would say "Here is more than oppressed Jacob!-more here than a |