lay hold of the promises of God's Word. Hope was a lantern whose light could pierce the clouds of darkness, and discover to his gaze the gates of heaven, and at its portals the Shepherd waiting to receive His sheep. A speedy entrance therein was the wish, the longing of his heart.

There was another man whose life had been in many respects a very checkered one. He had married quite early in life, and had chosen as his partner one who was quite unsuited to him both in tastes and disposition; and so it was, that as they grew older they did not live comfortably together, although there was no open rupture. He was of a buoyant disposition, and growth in years was not attended by growth in wisdom and staidness; yet to his honour it must be admitted that he was always the kindest and most forbearing of fathers. Still all seemed to go wrong with him he looked upon all men as selfish, and hardly ever made a friend; all good motives were suspected, all honest intentions were mistrusted by him; life was looked on as a succession of failures, and the Giver of life as a hard taskmaster. Not that this man was an atheist, nor was he really sceptically inclined, although strangers might have judged him thus as they listened to his conversation; it was rather an intense feeling of disappointment, which chafed his spirit and led him to utter doubts and complaints. He would, for instance, attend God's house regularly, admire a faithful sermon, and respect the opinions of good men, yet was he a disappointed man, and showed it by his conduct. One day, as they were reviewing the course of their lives, he said to a friend, "I'll tell you what I think: life is all a deception; how can the Almighty suffer such miseries to prevail in this beautiful world? Youth is all very well, but when a man gets old there is nothing but sorrow and disappointment; the senses all grow dead, activity takes its departure, and there is no enjoyment left. What would I not give to become a little child again, and to enjoy once more all the pleasures of youth!"

Such was the wish of this disappointed man.

What a

contrast we have here! One man is looking forward with hope, the other is looking back with disappointment. Both of them agree as to the experience of troubles, but not as to their use and influence; both want to find rest; but the one is looking for it in heaven, the other is mourning that he could not find it here.

Both started with equal advantages to climb the hill of difficulty, for such is the pathway to heaven. The one sought strength and stamina for the task; he sought the grace of God, and that grace endued him with faith. Faith enabled him to see Christ; nay, it even empowered him to touch his Saviour; and hope gave him a joyful countenance ; it never "made him ashamed," but, with its help, he patiently climbed the hill. And as, from day to day, he reached still higher ground, so much more beautiful and enticing was the view which met his gaze; and as he looked back on the perils and dangers through which he had safely passed-the pains and sufferings and privations of his journey—the toils and trials and anxieties of his life—he thought them not too numerous, but gave thanks to God for the discipline, and rendered Him praises for His safe conduct by the way.

Not so was it with the disappointed man. He made one or two attempts to climb the hill, but he found it so rugged, so narrow, and so steep, that, feeling wearied and disappointed, he gave it up altogether; he lacked courage and ardour from the want of a proper stimulus, for faith was a stranger to him, and his thoughts were centred below. Besides, as this, the valley where now he was spending his days, was pleasing to the eye, and it still offered some pleasures, why should he be so anxious to leave it?

While youth was his it was very enjoyable, for everything 1 seemed to go happily with him; but as manhood waxed older, he began to realise the truth that in the cup of vanity there is much that is far from sweet. He now decides to make another attempt to climb the hill. Poor man, he had he tried to use his

stayed in the valley so long, that when

limbs he found they had grown quite stiff, and the work was

harder than ever. He is quite cast down, and upbraids his God for His severity; and in the bitterness of his disappointment he wishes for the return of youthful activity, not to enable him to climb the hill, but to give him the opportunity of shirking the ascent altogether by adopting a roundabout yet pleasing route. He would try "a royal road," if only he had the chance, one which would conduct him through all earthly meads of pleasure, and yet take him safely to rest at last.

Thank God, there is yet time for him to reach the top of the hill if only he will seek guidance and strength from Him who is all strong and mighty, who is gracious with His offers of help, and stretches out His arms to support the weak and weary.

Reader, how is it with you? Are you looking forward? Are you going forward? Are you seeking rest? There is no real rest save in the presence of God. But what is rest? It is not inactivity, it is not indolence, but the portion of a soul reposing on its God, and ever delighting in His service. And, oh! the quality of heavenly rest! The anxious troubles and the bitter cares of life are never felt in the realms of glory, for there no seductive pleasure allures and misleads, no vain ambition excites and disappoints, no evil thoughts blot and soil the better aspirations of the soul. This is heavenly rest.

And who is it that gives this rest? The same that spake these words: "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." It is Jesus, the loving Saviour, who, when on earth, felt the want of rest Himself, who is able to give us the rest of heaven. He bids us "come" to Him, and He signifies His willingness to confer the boon. “I will give you rest.”

Pin not your hopes to earth; be not content with its offers of pleasure, nor yet be cast down if it treats you badly, but fix your hopes on heaven, and seek its peaceful, perfect rest.

Α'

What I do thou knowest not now;
but thou shalt know hereafter."

JOHN XIII. 7.

LONG a strange and rocky way often our Saviour leads,

And through a thorny thickset way, which every step impedes; Another path, both bright and smooth, appeared to human view, But He who seeth to the end chose not that one for you. You cannot always understand His guidance here below,

But ever trust a Saviour's hand: "Hereafter thou shalt know."

Into a furnace fierce you're thrown, where all your strength seem;

lost;

Where skill and pilotage are vain, on wintry waves you're tossed;
Your jewel-soul is sorely marred; you think it ne'er can shine,
The dark mysterious griefs He sent can surely ne'er refine.
You cannot clearly comprehend His working here below,
But you may trust a nail-pierced hand : Hereafter thou shalt know."

""

When work for Christ seemed prospering most, then came a check and chill;

When health was needed most at home, then fell the father ill; When earthly kindnesses and friends would most have cherished

been,

Then through your poverty there blew the wintry wind so keen.
You cannot always understand His ruling here below,

But ever trust amidst the night, at morning "thou shalt know."

When men of Christian chivalry appeared on earth most needed,
Or, noble hero 'gainst the wrong, almost to have succeeded;
When but a few more onward steps the crown would have been won-
Christ interposed. To human eye the work was left undone.
You cannot clearly understand His sovereignty below;

But you can trust your Saviour's love: “Hereafter thou shalt know.”
And not alone in Providence, but also in His grace,

God's footsteps oft are secret-His hand you cannot trace;
And, like the wind, mysterious is the working of His will.
Oh! may these foolish hearts of ours but listen and be still!
Thou walk'st by faith and not by sight, while travelling here below,
But sure as thou art known by Him, " hereafter thou shalt know."

'We shall See
See Him as He is."