"THE POWER OF HIS RESURRECTION"

Had it not been for the Resurrection, no defeat of all that is divine in the life of man could have been more complete than was involved in the Crucifixion; and therefore the evidences of the Resurrection were, by God's mercy, made overwhelming. There was not in all the world's history-there was not even in the age-long history of the Jewish people-the slightest anticipation of such a possibility as that One who had died could win the complete victory over death, and say to the world, "I am He that liveth, and was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore." Jesus had foretold to his disciples that he would thus rise; but they did not receive or understand his prophecy. It did not touch their "unbelief and hardness of heart." In spite of such prophecies they had not the faintest expectation that any such thing would take place. Nay, when the women and Mary Magdalene reported that they had seen him, they regarded such statements as mere women's talk. Not till they had gone into the empty sepulchre did any gleam of hope enter into the hearts of their leaders, Peter and John. When he had appeared to all the Apostles except Thomas, Thomas still refused to believe. Not till he had opened their eyes-not till they had again seen, and heard, and their hands had handled the Word of Life-not till "he showed himself alive to them by many infallible proofs, being seen of them and speaking of the things pertaining to the kingdom of God" did they begin to apprehend that their Lord had broken the bonds of death, "because he could not be holden of it." Then, indeed, they were taught to see that the Resurrection, so far from standing alone, was the crowning event of the history of all the past; the opening of the history of all the future even to the consummation of the ages; the sole hope of the life of all the world; and the sole explanation of all its mysteries. Absolutely and finally convinced, they became the irresistible heralds. of the last Dispensation, and before thirty years had elapsed they had everywhere proclaimed Jesus, and the mystery of his death, and the power of his resurrection as the power of an endless life.-Dean Farrar.

FIT FOR HEAVEN

When I think of that place, and think of my entering it, I feel awkward; I feel as sometimes when I have been exposed to the weather, and my shoes have been bemired, and my coat is soiled and my hair is disheveled, and I stop in front of some fine residence where I have an errand. I feel not fit to go in as I am, and sit among the guests. So some of us feel about heaven. We need to be washed, we need to be rehabilitated before we go into the ivory palaces. Eternal God, let the surges of thy pardoning mercy roll over us! O Jesus, wash me in the waves of thy salvation!-Rev. T. De Witt Talmage, D.D.

If the way to Heaven be narrow it is not long; and if the gate be straight, it opens into endless life.-W. Beveridge.

BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US

The time for toil has passed, and night has come,-
The last and saddest of the harvest eves;

Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.

Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,

Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves
That I am burdened, not so much with grain,
As with a heaviness of heart and brain;-

Master, behold my sheaves!

Few, light, and worthless,-yet their trifling weight
Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hopeless fate,
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late,-
Yet these are all my sheaves.

Full well I know I have more tares than wheat,
Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;
Wherefore I blush and weep, as at Thy feet
I kneel down reverently and repeat,
"Master, behold my sheaves!"

I know these blossoms, clustering heavily,
With evening dew upon their folded leaves,
Can claim no value or utility,-
Therefore shall fragrancy and beauty be
The glory of my sheaves.

So do I gather strength and hope anew;
For well I know Thy patient love perceives
Not what I did, but what I strove to do:
And though the full ripe ears be sadly few,
Thou wilt accept my sheaves.-Elizabeth Akers.

"THE SUN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS"

Godly joy is like the light of the sun, which, though it may for a time be overcast with clouds of temptation, mists of troubles, persecutions, and darkness of melancholy, yet it ordinarily breaks out again with more sweetness and splendor when the storm is over; but, howsoever, it hath ever the Sun of Righteousness and fountain of all comfort so resident and rooted in the heart, that not all the darkness and gates of hell shall ever be able to displant or distain it; no more than a mortal man can pull the sun out of his sphere, or put out his glorious eye.-Bolton

SORROW FOR THE DEAD

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal, every other affliction to forget; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open; this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly forget the infant that perished like a blossom from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where is the child that would willingly forget the most tender of parents, though to remember be but to lament?

Who, even in the hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of her he most loved-when he feels his heart, as it were, crushed in the closing of its portalswould accept of consolation that must be bought by forgetfulness?

No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection, when the sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all that we most loved is softened away into pensive meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure, or the burst of revelry?

No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave! the grave! It buries every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down, even upon the grave of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him!

COMMUNICATION WITH HEAVEN

Prayer is one of the divinely appointed means of communicating with heaven. It is not, as we have seen, confined to times and places and words. The truly Christian spirit renders prayer indispensable to the soul. It is one of the ways in which the soul spontaneously expresses its love to God, and the neighbor. It is one of the forms in which that divine principle within determines itself to action. It cannot enter into us from without by instruction, but must arise from the divine instinct of holy love.