Chapter II: Part 2

The speed of the royal chariot would appear too slow for the impatience of the monarch within it. And yet to what goal was Pharaoh so eagerly rushing, to what was he pressing on with such fiery haste? Death and a watery grave! In a few hours he was to be a gasping, struggling, dying man in that chariot, or to be swept out of it like a whirling straw on a cataract by the power of the mighty waves!

As was his chariot to Pharaoh, so is ambition to those whose all-absorbing object is to advance in the course of worldly distinction. There are many, not only in the higher but in the lower ranks of life, whose one great wish and aim might be expressed in the words "to get on in the world." Rapid advancement is their grand object; and they are not careful as to what they crush under their chariot wheels. If conscientious scruples come in their way, they pass over them; regard for the interests of others cannot stay them in their career; success is the goal towards which they eagerly drive, though that success with each individual may take a different shape. With one it may be an empire, with another a thriving business; the soldier's highest mark may be a marshal's baton, while the village girl's dream of distinction is to become one day a lady. With one the chariot of ambition is more richly gilded, more gorgeously emblazoned, than with another, but in some form it is mounted by all who seek worldly advancement in this life as their chief end and goal.

Doubtless there is something exhilarating in the rapid motion; the feeling that every turn of the wheel brings the eager aspirant to rank, or power, or wealth, or fame, nearer to what he desires. This feeling is not confined to hardened sinners like Pharaoh. The world does not judge ambition severely, it rather admires the gilded chariot if it bear a man onward to success. But if any one of my readers should be tempted to mount it, let him first look forward calmly and thoughtfully to that point where, to all earthly ambition, it will be said, "hitherto shalt thou come, but no further."

The waters of death lie before us, high and low; monarch and slave alike are swallowed up there, as the waves of the Red Sea made no distinction between mighty Pharaoh and the meanest of his host. What will the proudest earthly success matter to us when once those waters close over us?

"Can storied urn, or monumental bust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice awake the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?"

There is another chariot mentioned in Scripture, which affords the most striking contrast to that of Pharaoh. Its circling wheels woke no echoes amongst the rocks, left no impression upon the sands. It was prepared for a poor and weary man, whose feet had long trodden a thorny path of trial. I allude to Elijah's chariot of fire—the noblest car into which a son of Adam was ever permitted to mount. It came from Heaven, and Heaven was its bourne. In that chariot, borne above the waters of death, which might not so much as wet the sole of his foot, in Elijah the corruptible assumed incorruption, and the mortal put on immortality!

The subject is a very sublime one, but the lesson which we may draw from it is practical. If Pharaoh's chariot be an emblem of ambition, we may regard Elijah's as the emblem of a spirit of devotion. It descends from Heaven; it is sent by our God to bear His servants upwards towards Him. Not all the waters of death shall quench or dim its glory, for it is immortal like Him who bestowed it.

Reader, a choice is before us: one of these chariots may receive us, but into whichever we enter, it must be by turning away from the other. The man whose first aim and desire is to push himself forward in the world, to press over whatever impediments conscience may place in his way, though he may possess shining qualities, cannot be a true disciple of the meek and lowly Redeemer. While he who has given himself heartily unto Christ, in a spirit of earnest devotion, cannot rest his chief hopes upon any object, however grand, of mere earthly ambition. "The pride of life" is not of the Father, but of the world. "If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him."

What, then, is the direction of our most earnest desires? Is it onwards or upwards? Is the goal towards which we are pressing below the skies or above them? If the career before a man be but that of self-seeking pride, however rapid may be his promotion, however swiftly he may sweep on in the path of distinction, with the gaze of an admiring or an envying crowd fixed upon him, every turn of the wheel but brings him nearer to the dark goal of destruction, where his vain ambition, like the chariot of Pharaoh, must perish with the life of its possessor!

X.

The Tables of Stone.

BROKEN; alas! Shivered and broken! The gift of the Most High—the tables inscribed with the Law which was uttered in the thunders of Sinai, with the commandments which Israel had thrice vowed to keep—all broken through the baseness of man!

But man is not willing to own this. He has gathered the broken fragments together, as the shivered pieces of a precious ancient vase were once gathered, and has placed them together, fitting bit to bit, and has fastened them firmly, as he deems, with the cement of his own self-righteousness. He believes that there are few particles missing. Perhaps, indeed, he has not kept the Fourth Commandment in all its integrity; perhaps some fragments are wanting in the Tenth; but still, on the whole, he believes that he can present fair, almost faultless, tables, on which God will look with approval, and fellow-creatures with applause. When the Pharisee's eye rested on the tables of the Commandments—that proud eye detected no flaw—he cried, "God, I thank Thee that I am not as other men!" When the young ruler was questioned by the Lord, he, too, marked no breach in the heaven-given Law: "all these things have I kept from my youth up," was the complacent answer of a conscience at rest.

The Lord Jesus, the Source and Fountain of Light, threw such radiance on the Law of God, which man had broken, that the flaws and fractures in it became terribly manifest to every unblinded eye. Christ showed that the Commandment extends to the words of the lip and the thoughts of the heart. How self-righteousness melts under the burning power of that declaration from the Saviour, which sums up all the Commandments in two! "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the First Commandment. And the Second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." No one, but Him who gave the Law, could keep that Law unbroken!

Yet still, even to the present day, man takes self-righteousness to cement the fragments, and in his secret soul believes his work to be successful. He regards the Tables of Stone as holy; he knows that they were given by God; and his object, sometimes secret, but sometimes even avowed, is to make of them stepping-stones in the way to Heaven, so that he may pass the river of death without fear. He says, in his heart, that he has so carefully kept the Commandments, that he may safely rest upon them, and so receive the reward of obedience.

But woe to man, guilty man, if he trust his safety to that which has been broken again and again, and which never can be effectually joined together again by human effort. Not to his faithfulness in keeping God's Commandments, can the highest saint look for salvation. He knows that he might as well place his foot on a foam bubble floating on a torrent, and trust to that bubble to keep him from sinking, as rest on the broken Law to save him from being swept away to everlasting destruction.

They who have tried most carefully to keep the Law, are most ready to own this truth. Well does the Church of England make her children's response to each Commandment a petition for "mercy." Then at the close of all comes a prayer that God would write His Laws in our hearts, in allusion to His own gracious promise: "I will put My laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts; and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to Me a people."

When our Lord sojourned upon earth, a sinner was brought before Him who had notoriously broken the Law. Christ appealed to the consciences of her accusers, and conscience convicted them all of having, likewise transgressed God's Commandment. Twice on that memorable occasion, "Jesus stooped down, and with His finger wrote upon the ground." No action of the Lord recorded in Scripture can be without significance. If we humbly try to penetrate the meaning of this one, may we not find that the Lord would remind man, that though scribe, Pharisee, and those whom they condemned, had all broken the Law contained in the Tables given through Moses, yet that Christ could write that Law so indelibly in dust and ashes, "with the Spirit of the living God, not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart," that it should ever remain there? Thus every true believer becomes, in the forcible language of St. Paul, the epistle of Christ; the Law being inscribed therein by "the finger of God," not as a ground of acceptance, but as a token of adoption.

And let us never forget that what is written in the heart will assuredly be read in the life; none will so earnestly endeavour to keep the Commandments in thought, and word, and deed, as he who has received them in the spirit as well as the letter, "whose obedience is the cheerful heart-service of the man whose transgression is pardoned, whose sin is covered."

XI.

The High Priest's Mitre.

A VERY remarkable scene is brought before us in the history of Alexander the Great. During his career of conquest, he had been offended by the Jews, then subject to his enemies the Persians. Unlike the Samaritans, who had sent troops to the aid of Macedon's mighty king, the Jews remained faithful to their allegiance to Darius. Alexander, little accustomed to have his imperious will opposed, resolved that as soon as he should have conquered Tyre, to which he was then laying siege, he would march against the Jews, and let them also feel the weight of his wrath.

Tyre fell, merciless slaughter ensued, the city was given to the flames, and many of its inhabitants to the sword; while, with yet more horrible cruelty, Alexander caused two thousand of the miserable Tyrians to be crucified along the sea-shore! Such was the conqueror who was now to march against defenceless Jerusalem!

Let me give the account of what followed in the words of Rollin, the historian: "In this imminent danger, Jaddus, the high priest, who governed under the Persians, seeing himself exposed, with all the inhabitants, to the wrath of the conqueror, had recourse to the protection of the Almighty, gave orders for the offering up of public prayers to implore His assistance, and made sacrifices. The night after, God appeared to him in a dream, and bid him to cause flowers to be scattered up and down the city; to set open all the gates; and go, clothed in his pontifical robes, and all the priests dressed also in their vestments, and all the rest clothed in white, to meet Alexander, and not to fear any evil from that king, inasmuch as He would protect them. This command was punctually obeyed; and, accordingly, this grand procession, the very day after, marched out of the city to an eminence, where there was a view of all the plain, as well as of the temple and city of Jerusalem."

Here the high priest and his company awaited the approach of the terrible conqueror surrounded by his victorious bands. The boldest amongst the Jews might well tremble before the destroyer of Tyre. But great was the astonishment, both of the Macedonians and the Jews, at the scene which ensued, when the victorious monarch met the unarmed and defenceless Jaddus.

"Alexander was struck by the sight of the high priest, on whose mitre and forehead a gold plate was fixed, on which the name of God was written. The moment the king perceived the high priest, he advanced towards him with an air of the most profound respect, bowed his body, adored the august Name upon his front, and saluted him who wore it with a religious veneration . . . All the spectators were seized with inexpressible surprise; they could scarcely believe their eyes. . . Parmenio, who could not yet recover from his astonishment, asked the king how it came to pass that he, who was adored by every one, adored the high priest of the Jews.

"'I do not,' replied Alexander, 'but the God whose minister he is; for whilst I was at Dia in Macedonia, my mind wholly fixed on the great design of the Persian war, as I was revolving the methods how to conquer Asia, this very man, dressed in the same robes, appeared to me in a dream, exhorted me to dismiss every fear, bid me cross the Hellespont boldly, and assured me that God would march at the head of my army, and give me the victory over that of the Persians.' Alexander having thus answered Parmenio, embraced the high priest and all his brethren; then, walking in the midst of them, he arrived at Jerusalem, where he offered sacrifices to God in the temple, after the manner prescribed to him by the high priest."

Let us now see placed before us in the Scriptures the mitre, as appointed by God Himself to be worn by the high priest of Israel: "Thou shalt make a plate of pure gold, and grave upon it, like the engravings of a signet, HOLINESS TO THE LORD. And thou shalt put it on a blue lace, that it may be upon the mitre; upon the forefront of the mitre it shall be. And it shall be upon Aaron's forehead . . . And they made the plate of the holy crown of pure gold, and wrote upon it a writing, like to the engravings of a signet, HOLINESS TO THE LORD." It was before such a mitre as this, or rather before Him whose Name appeared on the mitre, that the proud head of earth's mightiest conqueror was bowed low in adoration.

We know that there was a solemn meaning in the various portions of the high priest's garments, and the words inscribed on his "holy crown" leave us in no doubt as to what it symbolized. He who appeared before the Majesty of Heaven to plead for Israel, and to offer the appointed sacrifices, must be holy unto the Lord. Yet how often must the weak, fallible high priest, have been humbled by the very dignity of his office, when he contrasted his own infirmity and sin with the spotless purity symbolized by his mitre!

With heavy heart must an Aaron or an Eli have bound that holy crown on their brows, when conscious of having fallen under the displeasure of the Most High! When we think of the sacred emblem being proudly worn by a Caiaphas, its being polluted by contact with that man of blood, our Lord's image of the "whited sepulchre" rises vividly before us; how fair, pure, holy, that which was without, while the dark mind within was festering corruption!

There was but one High priest who could appear before God in innate purity, "holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners." It was He who wore on His bleeding temples the crown of thorns instead of the mitre; He who had HOLINESS TO THE LORD not borne aloft on His brow, but woven into every action of His life. What Aaron symbolized, that was the Lord Jesus Christ.

Before Him, arrayed in the majesty of His spotless purity, every knee shall bow, earth's proudest kings shall fall down and adore Him. "Wherefore He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them."

XII.

The High Priest's Mitre—_Continued._

THE high priest's mitre affords to us another, and a very wide field for meditation.

Under the Jewish dispensation, the priesthood was confined to one tribe, and the sacred crown was worn by one man; but since the rending of the veil that shrouded the Holy of Holies, all Christ's servants, even the lowly woman, even the feeble child, become "a royal priesthood," as well as "a peculiar people." The "crown of life" is for those—for all those who love the Lord Jesus supremely. The song of the redeemed is a chorus of thanksgiving unto Him who "hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Father." Surely it is in allusion to the inscription upon Aaron's mitre that it is written of the blessed in the kingdom of Christ, "His name shall be in their foreheads," according to His own gracious promise, "I will write upon him the name of My God."

There is, even in this world, a sealing, a marking of the servants of Christ, which conveys an idea both of dignity and of consecration. Very remarkable is that passage in Ezekiel which records the vision granted to the seer of the mysterious One whose "likeness was as the appearance of fire;" and the six, each with a slaughter-weapon in his hand, who signify the ministers of God's vengeance: "The glory of the God of Israel was gone up from the cherub, whereupon He was, to the threshold of the house. And He called to the man clothed with linen . . . And the Lord said unto him, Go through the midst of the city, through the midst of Jerusalem, and set a mark upon the foreheads of the men that sigh and that cry for all the abominations that be done in the midst thereof. And to the others He said . . . Go ye after him through the city, and smite . . . but come not near any man upon whom is the mark." The ministers of wrath were to spare God's people, marked as those who in the midst of a sinful generation mourned for the general corruption, and by doing so, showed that they at least valued and desired "holiness unto the Lord."

This inscription, the sentence graven upon Aaron's mitre, is, then, what all God's servants should wear—it is for them a distinguishing mark. But does this appear to be the case; is "holiness unto the Lord" the visible sign and seal of the Christian's high calling? There are many who are recognized as active, honourable, useful, zealous servants of God, but how few could we single out as being eminent for holiness!

And how, it may be asked, can holiness be defined? As that purity of thought and heart which the Spirit alone can bestow; that abhorrence of sin which is something far higher than mere abstinence from sin. The man who bears the stamp of holiness, will detect and grieve over the lightest stain upon conscience; the coarse allusion, however witty, the drunkard's song, or the scoffer's jest, will never raise a smile on his lips: nor are they so likely to be heard in his presence; for the world, like Alexander, is often constrained to pay homage where holiness is legibly inscribed, and the silence of one whose habitual walk is with God, impresses more than the open rebuke of a more inconsistent believer. Deep reverence for God and God's Word is an accompaniment of "holiness unto the Lord;" the heavenly-minded Christian will not jest with sacred things, nor lightly use quotations from Scripture.

It is the holy Christian, or to use the much abused, yet most expressive Scripture term, the "saint," who earnestly endeavours to "bring into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ." How marvellous is that constant current of thought flowing through every mind, silently, secretly, like a narrow stream between banks so steep that we cannot catch a glimpse of its course, and can but trace it by the vegetation on either side, as our usual current of thought is judged of by our words and our actions! How often, when seated amongst silent companions—as, for instance, when travelling with strangers—have we reflected how interesting it would be, could we gain a glimpse of that stream of thought passing unceasingly through each brain; could we know whether it sparkles with hope, or "flows deeply and darkly" in shadow; whether it bears along golden grains of holy meditation, or mere bubbles of folly to break at a touch, or if the current be fetid and polluted with ideas that the lips would not dare for shame to form into words! Could the thoughts of the travellers in one railway-carriage, during a single hour of silence, be so photographed as to become visible to all, how marvellous would appear the difference between those of the worldling and those of the saint; though, alas! the musings of the holiest child of Adam would be found no pure and untainted stream, reflecting Heaven perfectly within its crystal depths.

The contrast would be yet more striking were the thoughts thus laid open to view those which had flowed during an hour of public worship. The posture of the body, the words of the mouth, might be the same, but the current of thought would appear as different in individuals, as the pestilential drainage from a marsh from the clear brooklet bearing health and fertility wherever it flows. It is impossible for us to obtain this glimpse of the stream, this knowledge of the thoughts in the minds of others, but have we ever endeavoured to gain it as regards our own? Have we tried to retrace the windings of the current for one single hour, and so enabled ourselves to estimate more correctly whether God's grace has in any degree purified "the issues of life," and imparted to our souls some measure of "holiness unto the Lord"?

Is such purity of thought actually requisite for—actually indispensable to a true Christian? To judge by the standard of the world, even that which is called the religious world, we should at once conclude that it is not. The pre-eminently spiritual Christian stands almost as singular amongst his brethren as did the high priest of Israel amongst the sons of Levi. But is not this because Christians live below their privileges, so that comparatively few let their light so shine before men that God is glorified in His saints? Let us, ere we close our meditations on Aaron's mitre and its inscription, earnestly, prayerfully, revolve the solemn exhortation addressed to the servants of Christ: "Follow peace with all men, and HOLINESS, without which no man shall see the Lord."

XIII.

Balaam's Staff.

IT is with a sigh that we look on aught that reminds us of Balaam, the highly honoured, the highly gifted—he "which heard the words of God, and knew the knowledge of the Most High, which saw the vision of the Almighty, falling into a trance, but having his eyes open." In Balaam we behold a mournful example of light without heat, knowledge without practical wisdom, the gift of prophecy without that more excellent gift of charity.

Here is the staff which Balaam grasped when eagerly setting forth upon his unholy errand, desiring to curse those whom he knew that his God had blessed. What was in the heart of the seer, when, with repeated blows from that staff, he strove to urge forward the reluctant, frightened ass which he rode? Not jealousy for the honour of God—not impatience to carry the blessing of religious knowledge to Moab; but one absorbing desire for his own advancement—his own profit, though at the cost of the misery and the ruin of God's chosen people! Most forcible is the expression used by one of our most talented writers to describe a character utterly selfish, such as that of Balaam appears to have been: "A selfish man's heart is 'just the size of his coffin;' it has room to contain but himself." A description which presents to us an image not only of narrowness, but of death.

Balaam was one whose conduct belied his words. He was as a branch drawn back by main strength, but as soon as the outward pressure is removed, returning—springing back into its natural position. Fear was to him as a strong force drawing him back from sin, but only as long as the pressure remained. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!" Such was the aspiration on the lips of the prophet; but thoughts of covetousness, followed by an act of sin and the shameful death to which it led, make the history of Balaam a terrible warning to inconsistent professors of religion throughout all ages.

It is, then, possible that a man may preach to others, and yet be himself a cast away; that he may be admired, followed, looked up to as a leader in religion, and yet have no real life in his faith. He may guide others to wealth, yet be himself miserably poor! There is an analogy between the fate of such a man and that of Rose and Dietz, two explorers in North America, who discovered a creek so rich in gold, that its treasures have, for four years in succession, maintained more than sixteen thousand people, some of whom have left the country with large fortunes. *

* "The North-West Passage by Land," by Milton and Cheadle.

Surely those whose feet first trod this land of gold—those who led the way where thousands have triumphantly followed, must have turned their knowledge into boundless wealth, and have been amongst the richest of mankind! So we might well conjecture, till we read the record of their fate. Dietz returned unsuccessful to Victoria, where he was struck down by fever, and obliged to receive help from charity. The fate of Rose was sadder still. He "disappeared for months; and his body was found at length by a party of miners in a journey of discovery, far out on the wilds. On the branch of a tree hard by hung his tin cup, and scratched upon it with the point of a knife, was his name and the words, 'Dying of starvation!'" Did visions flit before the eyes of the famishing man of the vast wealth which he had discovered, but never enjoyed—of thousands feasting on the golden harvest to which he had guided them, while not a single crumb was his portion to save him from a terrible death!

Darker must have been the thoughts of Balaam, if time for thought was left, as his life-blood ebbed away where he lay involved in the fate—as he had been in the guilt—of the enemies of the Lord! To him had been revealed mysterious treasures of knowledge—his eyes had been opened, his mind enlightened. To him the Almighty had spoken—to him an angel had appeared—to him had been vouchsafed a prophetic glimpse of the Star that should come out of Jacob, the Sceptre that should rise out Of Israel. If knowledge had power to secure, or spiritual privileges to save, Balaam surely would never have perished.

"Take heed and beware of covetousness." The warning is addressed to all, but it should come with peculiar force to those who are called on—in however narrow a sphere—to deliver the message of God. Their lips must not teach one thing, and their lives another; they must not guide others to the glorious land, and themselves wander away to perish. If they stand in a clearer light than most men, greater is their guilt and their condemnation if they sin against that light.

Covetousness is a snare into which the enlightened, the honoured, the privileged have fallen; it has ruined a Balaam amongst the prophets, a Judas amongst the apostles. And yet how few dread its power over themselves! To be in haste to grow rich, is perhaps the leading characteristic of men in this age: they are impatient of obstacles in their way, as Balaam at the stumbling of the beast that he rode; they see not the opposing angel that stands before them with the warning: "They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil."

XIV.

Rahab's Scarlet Cord.

NO fragile cord this, the "scarlet thread" which Rahab fastened in her window. Its firm twist has borne the weight of the two Israelite spies whom this woman of a doomed race, strong in faith, saved from the pursuit of their enemies. It was a moment of deep anxiety when Rahab led the spies to the casement in the darkness of night, and ere they descended by that scarlet cord, earnestly pleaded with them for the family whom she loved.

"Now therefore, I pray you, swear unto me by the Lord, since I have shewed you kindness, that ye will also show kindness unto my father's house, and give me a true token: and that ye will save alive my father, and my mother, and my brethren, and my sisters, and all that they have, and deliver our lives from death!"

"Our life for yours," answered the men to their brave and generous preserver. "Behold," they afterwards said, "when we come into the land, thou shalt bind this line of scarlet thread in the window which thou didst let us down by: and thou shalt bring thy father, and thy mother, and thy brethren, and all thy father's household, home unto thee. And it shall be, that whosoever shall go out of the doors of thy house into the street, his blood shall be upon his head, and we will be guiltless; and whosoever shall be with thee in the house, his blood shall be on our head, if any hand be upon him."

They were gone, those men of Israel; Rahab had faithfully performed the duties of hospitality, of mercy, and now she remained awaiting in trembling hope, the fulfilment of the promise which they had made. There hung the scarlet line from her window over the wall of the doomed city: on it was now suspended the safety of herself and her household. We picture to ourselves Rahab watching from that window the miraculous passage of the Jordan by Israel's hosts under Joshua; the priests descending into the bed of the river, bearing with them the Ark of the Covenant; and the waters standing on a heap to let the Lord's people go over dry-shod. She beholds the multitudes of Israel,—warriors and women, flocks and herds—streaming across the dry channel of the once rapid river, a countless, an irresistible force, because under the immediate guidance of Him who is omnipotent. We know what was the effect of the marvellous passage on the minds of the people of Canaan: "their heart melted, neither was there spirit in them any more." Rahab might tremble like the rest; but when she looked on that scarlet cord she would yet thank God and take courage. Those terrible hosts of Israel came not as enemies to her.

Then followed the siege of Jericho, the city on whose wall stood the dwelling of Rahab. Day after day the woman of Canaan beheld that mysterious march of the Israelites round the city. Strange and terrible must have appeared the solemn procession which for seven days moved round its walls. First came the seven priests with their trumpets, preceding the Ark of God. The warriors of Israel followed in stern silence; there was no sound of voice from the hosts whose glittering arms were consecrated to the terrible work of executing the sentence passed by a righteous God upon His guilty creatures. Despair would have oppressed the soul of Rahab, who knew but too well that Jericho was given into the hands of its foes, but for that scarlet line, the pledge and token of mercy to her and all in her house.

The seventh day dawned, the last that the city of Jericho—as it then stood—ever should see. Seven times the march of the Israelites encircled the walls. Then with what terror must the household, gathered together in the dwelling on the wall, have heard the blast of the trumpet, followed by that thundering shout before which crashing fell bulwark and battlement—all Jericho's pride and strength! Fearful sounds succeeded; slaughter was raging in the streets; the swords of Israel were bathed in blood! Rahab and her family could not but have experienced emotions of pity and horror, as shuddering they listened to those sounds; but they needed to have no feelings of personal fear: that scarlet cord was to them a surer defence than strongest bulwark or loftiest tower; a surer defence than a phalanx of spears bristling around them. There was no danger to Rahab from falling wall or from enemy's sword; there was no stain on her threshold, no dying cry in her home. By faith, she perished not with them that believed not. She lived to be a mother in Israel, by adoption one of the people of God, if, as is supposed, it was this Rahab who became the wife of Salmon, and the mother of Boaz of Bethlehem, and thus an ancestress of the blessed Saviour Himself.

We naturally suppose that the scarlet cord would be preserved as an heirloom in the family at Bethlehem; that the gentle Ruth, herself a daughter of Abraham by adoption, looked with peculiar interest upon this relic of her husband's Gentile mother; and that young David often gazed with reverential awe on this memorial kept in his father's home of her who, in faith, preserved the Israelitish spies. We can scarcely conceive that such a family relic as this would lightly be cast away.

There is much that reminds us of Christ's Church, in the position of the pale, anxious woman of Jericho, watching from her casement the Israelites encircling the city doomed to destruction, she herself secure in a promise, saved by faith, reserved for blessedness and honour. A thousand years with the Lord is but as a day, and for nearly six such periods has the silent, solemn march of events, brought nearer the grand consummation before us. The Church knows that "the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up." She is listening with trembling expectation for the sound of the "shout, and the voice of the archangel," and "the trump of God," when the earth shall reel to and fro, and the mountains shall shake, and the mighty cities shall fall! She has nothing to fear in that day: the blood of Christ is her salvation—the angel of destruction will see the token of living faith, and touch not the redeemed of the Lord.

Yes, faith in Christ is our scarlet cord, and there are two lessons which we may learn from the type. Rahab's cord was not left in her dwelling a useless coil; it was employed in God's service, and it was shown forth in sight of the world. What would the mere possession of a scarlet line have availed to Rahab, if she had not used it in doing God's work? Was not Rahab "justified by works, when she had received the messengers, and had sent them out another way"? Nor was her scarlet cord hidden from men; it hung from her window over the wall. So should the Christian's profession of faith be open: he should not only believe in Christ, but serve Him—not only serve Him, but confess Him.

XV.

Gideon's Ephod.

WE doubt whether the high priest of Israel, in all the glory of his festival robes, wore so costly an ephod as this. His was, indeed, to be of gold and blue and scarlet and fine twisted linen; gold beaten into plates and cut into wires, with engraved jewels in ouches of gold to rest on the shoulder-pieces, very fair to the eye. But a heavier mass of magnificence is before us than even the consecrated garment of Aaron appears to have been; a marvellous weight of gold, such as a Crœsus or a Darius might have worn to dazzle the eyes of their subjects.

Had we asked one of the men of Ophrah in the days of Gideon concerning this gorgeous ephod, his answer might have been something like this: "Behold a nation's offering of gratitude to the hero who burst the bonds of Midian, and made Israel to triumph over their oppressors! Gideon, the favoured of Heaven, the honoured of men! He to whom signs and miracles have been vouchsafed; he whose faith hath made him the deliverer of a nation, yet who hath refused to become its king;—Gideon formed this ephod. 'I would desire a request of you,' said our hero to his warriors: 'That ye would give me every man the ear-rings of his prey.'

"And the warriors made reply: 'We will willingly give them.'

"A garment was spread to receive this tribute of gratitude to our chief, and thereon was cast mighty store of jewels and gold, and the purple raiment that had been upon the necks of the kings of Midian. Then made Gideon this ephod from the spoils of the conquered foe. Those who look upon it shall hold his triumph in remembrance; it shall be as a monument to his honour, worthy of him whose valour hath won it."

Such might have been the reply of one of the followers of Gideon, dazzled with the glory of his leader. Very different appears the ephod of gold in the light thrown on it by this brief sentence from Scripture: "Which thing became a snare unto Gideon, and to his house."

It is difficult, at this distance of time, to know exactly the motive of Gideon in making the ephod, or in what way it became a cause of sin. It has been suggested that it was a symbol of Levitical worship set up by Gideon at Ophrah, which drew away the people from Shiloh, the appointed holy place, where the high priest abode in charge of the ark of God. Whether it were this irregularity, or whether a race prone to idolatry actually worshipped the ephod, has not been clearly made known. We are simply told that the ephod was "a snare." The hundreds of shekels of gold, the purple raiment and jewels, were no real blessing to Gideon; he was less safe when he had become the idol of a nation, than when employed in threshing corn beside the wine-press to hide it from Midianite oppressors.

Popularity, however honourably won, is too apt to become, to fallen man, like the ephod of Gideon; the garment of glory is often "a snare." If it led astray a man of character so pious, so noble, so disinterested as Gideon, how much need have all God's servants, when placed in a position of distinction, to take to themselves the warning, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."

Those who have earned for themselves an honoured name in what is called "the religious world," are in a situation of peculiar danger. The popular preacher, the eloquent author, the active philanthropist, may, like Gideon, find a snare even in their nobly won honours. Howard shrank from the idea of a statue being raised to him; he was not a man to form jewels into an ephod, he would pour them all into the treasury of the Lord; but in most cases celebrity and distinction are very intoxicating to human nature, even when that nature has been renewed by grace. To be listened to as an oracle, and appealed to as a judge; to be welcomed in high circles, flattered by the gifted and followed by the good, is fraught with peril; all the more real because it is not of a nature to startle conscience, but rather to soothe it to sleep. Those of whom all pious men think well, are naturally tempted also to think well of themselves. It is desirable for such to keep before their eyes the golden ephod; "which thing became a snare unto Gideon."

Even in the comparatively narrow sphere of home there is some danger to him who is the idol of the family, the pope in the dwelling, to him whose will is law to those who love him, and in whose conduct partial eyes can see nothing that is wrong. Love has its own sweet flattery, and he who is constantly exposed to its influence, without the wholesome antidote of the contradiction and opposition to be met with in the world, may seriously suffer from its effects. In the peaceful seclusion of private life, in a pious home from which temptation might appear to be almost shut out, there may be need to remember the golden ephod; "which thing became a snare unto Gideon."

And in the inmost recesses of the heart lurks peril. When a Christian has long maintained, through God's grace, a successful struggle against the world, the flesh, and the devil; when the spiritual hero has resisted outward temptations and overcome inward corruptions, and is conscious that, like Gideon, he has triumphed nobly through faith,—then let him stand on his guard. How strong must be the temptation to form the ephod out of spiritual trophies, when even St. Paul needed a thorn in the flesh to preserve him from being exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations vouchsafed him! Christian, in Bunyan's allegory, fought bravely in the valley, but slept in the arbour on the hill. Gideon gloriously triumphed in time of war, but in time of peace made the ephod, which became unto him a snare.

The Christian's motto, in the days of spiritual prosperity as well as the dark days of trouble, should be: "God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ."

XVI.

The Jawbone of an Ass.

A GREATER contrast could scarcely be found than that presented to view between the last object of our contemplation and this. The golden ephod is gorgeous and fair; here we look on an unsightly bone, a relic of the despised animal that crops the thistle, bears the burden and the blow. The jackals might reject it, the passenger's foot kick it aside. It has in itself no beauty, no dignity, no value; and but for finding it carefully preserved in Scripture, we would not pause to give it a thought.

The practical lesson suggested by this bone contrasts well with that drawn from the ephod: if the latter showed us the weakness of human nature even in the noblest of men, the former teaches us what God can make of the most common—most humble instrument. Through Him, the jawbone of an ass became a more terrible weapon than the keenest steel had ever been in the hand of the strongest man. Samson, after the victory which he had won single-handed, exclaimed: "With the jawbone of an ass, heaps upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass have I slain a thousand men!" And then, as if even he despised the instrument which he had used, when he had made an end of speaking, he cast the jawbone away.

But that which man threw aside, God had chosen for peculiar honour. Samson was to feel his own weakness in the midst of his strength. He who had slain a thousand found himself ready to perish for lack of a draught of water. The proud boast of Samson was soon followed by humble prayer:

"Thou hast given this great deliverance into the hand of Thy servant: and now shall I die for thirst, and fall into the hand of the uncircumcised?"

God heard the cry, and answered it by a miracle. The dead bone became a spring of living refreshment: "God clave an hollow place that was in the jaw, and there came water thereout."

Once more the despised thing was eagerly raised by the hand of the mighty Samson. "When he had drunk, his spirit came again, and he revived: wherefore he called the name thereof Enhakkore," which is, "The well of him that cried."

The wonders accomplished by means of this jawbone illustrate the declaration of St. Paul, which proud man is so slow to receive: "God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen." There is encouragement to the lowliest in these words, and they may also serve as a rebuke to those who act in the spirit of the man in the parable, who, possessing but one talent, hid it; that hopeless, apathetic, listless spirit, which those who foster it are too apt to mistake for humility of soul.

We have seen the danger of self-exaltation, but there is a danger on the opposite side; there is a cowardly shrinking from performance of duty from a sense of our own deficiencies. Even Moses fell into this error: "I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue," cried he, seeking an excuse for not undertaking the mission on which God would send him.

And the Lord said unto him, "Who hath made man's mouth? or who maketh
the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the Lord?"

And when Moses persisted in declining the office of which he felt himself to be unworthy, "the anger of the Lord was kindled." For whatever work God gives His people to do, He will provide them with an instrument. There are those who say in their hearts, "Had I but wealth, how largely would I give! How much good would I do!" or, "Had I but strength, how actively would I engage in the work of the Lord!" Had Samson been like these, he might have exclaimed, "Oh, had I but a sword in my hand, I would put these Philistines to flight!" But Samson uttered no such idle exclamation; he caught up the nearest weapon at hand; he used what he found, though it was but an ass's jawbone, and God made it effectual to put to flight the army of the aliens.

So the imprisoned Bunyan did not sit down in his prison despairing, murmuring forth, "Had I but 'liberty,' I would declare God's truth;" nor, in our own times, Moon * exclaim, "Had I but 'sight,' I would be useful in my generation." No, the imprisoned and the blind both worked with brave, hopeful resolution; and both have been enabled to do more for God's glory and the welfare of mankind than have tens of thousands of Christians possessing the advantages lacked by these servants of God.

* This blind man has given portions of the Scriptures in embossed
letters to those afflicted like himself in "fifty-six languages!"

Hope is classed by St. Paul with faith and charity: it is closely connected with both. Christian Hope, born of Faith in the truth, the power, and the mercy of God, gives energy to Charity in all her active labours of love. "Our Lord can make a weak instrument strong, a worthless instrument effectual; He could bless even 'that'!" whispers Hope, as she points to the jawbone so mighty in the hand of Faith.

And thus still may the weary worker, disheartened by difficulties, "faint, yet pursuing," drink in refreshment, and gain vigour for new efforts, like Samson, from the bone of an ass.

XVII.

Ruth's Barley-ears.

MEEKLY stooped Ruth to gather up these scattered grains of the golden harvest which the servants of Boaz, the "mighty man of wealth," were bearing home to his garners. But not the gleanings alone, but the fulness of the harvest also was to be Ruth's, by her union with the lord of the land; the fields in which the young widow in loneliness toiled, were to become the possession of the bride.

"Blessed are the neck, for they shall inherit the earth." This is a peculiar promise, made to the lowly, of whom Ruth, bending down to glean in the barley-field, may be regarded as a type. In what especial manner that promise is to be fulfilled in a future state we know not, but it is an interesting subject for our musings to consider how the meek are now "gleaning," as it were, some ears of the rich harvest of which the full enjoyment will one day be their own.

It is the more needful for us to turn our thoughts to this subject, from meekness being little valued on Earth, though highly esteemed in Heaven. Men are apt to class it with a cringing, cowardly spirit; forgetting that Moses, who faced boldly both the wrath of the tyrant and the fury of the people, firm and lofty in soul as he was, is yet called the meekest of men.

But in what way do the meek, like Ruth, now glean the first ears of a plenteous harvest reserved for their possession hereafter?

In the first place, by that "contentment" which is proverbially better than riches, the tranquil enjoyment of what God has bestowed instead of the misery caused by cankering envy and restless ambition. While the covetous man cannot be said to enjoy anything which he does not himself actually possess, and looks with pain rather than pleasure on the rich beauties of property not his own, the meek already "inherit the earth" by "the right of the eye." The delight afforded to the Christian by the fair landscape spreading before him, has been well described by Cowper:—

"He looks abroad into the varied field
Of Nature, and though poor, perhaps, compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers; his to enjoy
With a propriety which none can feel
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say, 'My Father made them all.'"

Secondly, there is a special promise of the gift of "wisdom" to the humble: "The meek will He guide in judgment: and the meek will He teach His way." This wisdom, "which is from above," is shown in various ways, by those whose powers of mind are otherwise very limited, as well as by the highly intellectual Christian. Those taught of God's Spirit have the wisdom to set a right value on the things of eternity as compared with the things of time; to choose the good and refuse the evil, to prefer what is perfect and imperishable to the glittering baubles of earth. This is higher, more sublime, wisdom than any mere intellectual training can bestow.

And the wisdom of the meek is constantly shown in their way of receiving rebuke from a fellow-creature, or chastening from the Most High. The word of counsel or of reproof which only stirs up anger in the breast of the proud, is often of the utmost service to the meek: "He that heareth reproof getteth understanding. A reproof entereth more into a wise man than an hundred stripes into a fool."

The chastenings of God likewise, under which the proud spirit rebels, become blessings indeed when received with that meekness of wisdom which can say, "It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good; His will, not my will, be done." Surely such a spirit of true wisdom is a most precious earnest of that spirit of perfect wisdom which will be the portion of the blessed!

Thirdly, the meek have "peace;" not perfect, indeed, but as it were gleanings, of the heavenly harvest: "The meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace." Theirs is the soft answer which turneth away wrath; "only by pride cometh contention." The meek "overcome evil with good," and so show themselves followers of Him whose title is PRINCE OF PEACE.

And lastly, it is in the hearts of the lowly that the Lord deigns to make His abode: "For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones."