which is given to them? Should they open it, their eye may fall perchance upon some paradoxical and obscure passage, over which for ages theologians have wrangled; and after looking till their eyes grow dim, perhaps they feel uncomforted and unimproved, and they lay it away as something which does not meet their wants. Then as to heaven, even that is a mysterious thing; for they can see no heaven which they are to enjoy which will not be equally enjoyed by the good, but fortunate, prosperous ones, who have never in this life experienced their sufferings. No, if possible they must be made to feel a divine element within them now, a will not to be crushed and degraded utterly, and a power to execute that will;-a trust in goodness and in God now, - not that some time God will be, but that God is now, and that every human spirit is a reflection of God, and not a mere motive-power to flesh and blood and bones. - This is what we all require. Sorrow we must have, for we are social, sympathetic beings, and cannot, if we would, be indifferent to the griefs and pains, the disappointments or the joys, of others. Yet we may always have a background of rejoicing, an abiding, inward sense of spiritual dignity, a firm trust that what is seen, what is visible, is not all of us; that there is a power, a will, which raises us above common depressions, a power which cannot be destroyed. Be the legal proprietor or possessor of what we may, there are times when sickness, suffering, or some great bereavement comes, and the knowledge of any possession extrinsic to the mind, the soul, the inner man itself, is valueless. We want then the might of a great purpose, a high resolve not to be borne down, not to sink and despond, and shut our eyes and see no light. We want a strong will then, to look up and say, "The heavens are mine"; to look abroad and say, "The earth is mine"; to feel that, while having nothing, we are possessing all things; that all things are ours, and yet we are above, superior to all things. We want a great thought, which lifts up and enlarges the soul, as if bringing it closer to its fountain, to God, that we may adopt and appreciate that other saying of St. Paul to the early Christians: "Let no man glory in men, for all things are yours; whether the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come, all are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's." None of us are without some sense of this majesty of mind. We have all felt that ""T is the mind which makes the body rich." In times when we have yielded to temptation, or sunk under affliction, even at the very moment of our weakness, have we not felt an inborn dignity of soul reproaching us, and telling of a latent power and purpose by which we might throw off the burden, and rise up in majesty? Let us indulge no vague dreams of reaching every soul, even of our age, and kindling up the divine consciousness within it, but resolve to draw out more of the soul's power, and live in a higher realm ourselves, raising the light of our example to shine down upon the way of others. Living in tranquil self-command, "neither raptured nor alarmed," yet active, energetic, subduing selfish passions by a lofty purpose, a pure, powerful will, to others let us be as "A beacon, shining o'er a stormy sea, A sunbeam smiling o'er the cold, dark tomb." DISCOURSE XVII. CONFLICTS OF FAITH, IN THE SOUL AND IN THE CHURCH. I HAVE FOUGHT A GOOD FIGHT. 2 Tim. iv. 7. In this one, no doubt among the last, of his letters, Paul's peculiar style and illustrations are apparent. He is accustomed to represent the Christian life the true life of the man as a race, a battle, in some sense a contest; and now, near the close of his own career of singular vicissitude, he declares, not perhaps in a spirit of exultation, but in a spirit of satisfaction, of contentment,-"I have fought a good fight." As he now stood near the summit of life's mountain, and reviewed the devious and rugged path by which he had ascended, he enjoyed the tranquil satisfaction of feeling, that, taking his life as a whole, he had, as he elsewhere expresses the same idea, come off conqueror. One of the best descriptions of human life is that in which he presents it as a conflict. It matters little what names some may like or dislike: facts are not altered by the names which men choose to give or to withhold. You may call it accident or design, chance or law, you may call it nature, or you may call it the appointment of God, it is none the less fact, confirmed by all human history, that improvement is the result of effort; that most of what man calls good in life is the attendant of exertion; that success is to follow toil. And not only so, but improvement, success, good, even when achieved, are only preserved by continued exertion and unwearied vigilance. Thus, in an important sense, life, every life, is a fight; and in every case it is, or it is not, a good fight. There is, in many, a propensity to indolence, which shrinks from effort, because it finds nothing worth contending for. Possessing an inheritance, or through the abundance and liberality of friends, or by some concurrence of happy accidents, they contrive to live, they live on, making no sign, and, dying, leave, for good, no mark behind them. But it is not only a constitutional or acquired propensity to indolence, it is sometimes a theory of life deliberately adopted, which deems nothing worth contending for; and so some, adhering to a theory, pass through the whole period of existence, doing nothing positively, but leaving the effects of a sad example. First religious views frequently give a gloomy coloring to the whole world. Human history then appears but a tale of sorrow or of crime. Human destiny appears before their minds in no other light than that of a terrific tragedy, and they feel themselves to be the sport of a resistless fate. They do nothing, or little, but obey the impulses of nature, which force them to some activity; and they float along like drift on the fluctuating current of |