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ourselves with being at a distance from Him; and the petitions which we offer at his footstool are cold and lifeless, and soon forgotten. Then difficulties arise, and sorrows gather over us. And a sense of imminent danger and of pressing want makes us thoroughly in earnest. We feel that unless Christ interposes on our behalf, we are lost; and the intense emotion of our hearts breaks forth into strong and unwearied supplications for his merciful and all-powerful aid. The end which He purposed by his mysterious silence being thus accomplished, He hastens to our rescue.

But our ardent appeal to the Saviour for help is too often mingled with unbelief. The terrified disciples, as they listened to the raging wind, and looked at the heaving waters, cried out in their alarm and agitation, “Master, master, we perish!” What! perish with CHRIST on board! “Fear not,” said the great Roman to the shipmaster, who was trembling for the safety of his vessel," thou hast Cæsar for thy passenger.” Bold language, but applicable to none but Jesus Christ. It was impossible that the ship which carried Him should sink. But a few days previously to this they had seen Him restore the dead to life, and could they imagine that He was unable or unwilling to succour them in the storm ? Therefore his welcome interference on their behalf was accompanied by the gentle reproof, “ Where is your faith ? How is it that ye have no faith ? " “ No faith.” Some faith they had hidden in their hearts : Why are ye fearful, 0 ye of little faith ?”—but none ready to their need; not enough to balance their fear.

Ah, dear reader, when Christ arises for our deliverance, has He not often to reproach us for our want of confidence in Him? Too frequently our importunate appeals for his immediate assistance are associated with doubt, and distrust, and despondency! We are ready to give up all hope: we think that we shall be engulfed in the flood which rises around our little

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essel; “as if aught could wreck the soul which is usting in the Saviour, and which calls upon Him in 3 distress!" Will He who has died for us ever ave us to perish? Can the tempest harm us while hrist is at our side ? Oh, let us not thus dishonour im, and harass ourselves, by our want of faith; but t us trust in Him at all times, and pour out our arts before Him, for He is a refuge for us. But although the disciples ought to have felt that ey were safe while in the same ship with their aster, and were justly censurable for their unarrantable apprehensions, their recognition of his ility to help them must not be overlooked. Small their faith was, it was sufficient to teach them that e was their only refuge in this distress. And essed are those, in spite of their timidity and belief, who when trouble comes, turn to Christ for liverance! Blessed are those who cry out from the pths of their hearts, “ Lord, save us!” even if they à the despairing conclusion, “we perish!” For ? who never breaks the bruised reed, nor quenches smoking flax, and who is wont to give more than either desire or deserve, will certainly succour m in the hour of their need. For how boundless is Christ's power and dominion ! ill the sea heed the cry of the drowning mariner ? dit obey the command of the Danish king ? But in the wind and the waves—untractable to all sides-are subject to the Saviour. He who made im can govern them. And He controls not only ► material world, but all spiritual agencies. He shes the stormy waters, and He saves us from the rce assaults of our hidden foes. Whether our als be external or internal, whether they are outrd difficulties or inward conflicts, Christ's potence can remove them. And if He only speaks

word “Peace," immediately there is “a great Im.” Then let us look to Him; let us trust in Him;



and He will either take away the trouble which we deprecate, or, what is perhaps a still greater proof of his power, He will sustain us under it.

Cheered, therefore, by these thoughts, let us join in the animating and vigorous strains of the sailorpreacher-good old John Newton, and sing, as we are sailing to the haven of everlasting rest, “Begone, unbelief! for my Saviour is near,

And for my relief will surely appear ;
By prayer let me wrestle, and He will perform ;
With Christ in the vessel, I smile at the storm !”


This battle was fought on the 16th of November, 1632, between Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland, the Emperor's general

, and Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden, the Lion of the North, and the celebrated champion of Protestantism. According to their usual custom, the Swedes knelt down in their ranks to implore the Divine assistance before the engagement, and immediately afterwards the whole army, led by the king, sang one of Luther's magnificent hymns. A thick fog covered the plain of Lützen in the morning, but cleared off about eleven, when the Swedish cavalry charged the Imperialists. The battle was continued with unexampled fury until the darkness of night separated the combatants. Victory, three times lost and won, at last declared itself in favour of the Swedes. But a dear-bought victory_amournful triumph. It cost them the life of their noble king. He was wounded while bravely fighting at the head of his troops, and having fallen from his horse, expired beneath the base hands of some barbarous Croats, who came to plunder the dead. On being asked by them his name and rank, he nobly replied, “I am the King of Sweden, and I seal with my blood the Protestant religion and the liberties of Germany.' His last words were, “ Alas ! my poor queen.” Maria Eleanora of Brandenburgh, to whom he thus alluded, survived him many years, but they were all spent in deploring his loss. History gives him the character of a just and humane, because a Christian conqueror; and his brief but glorious career forms a striking exemplifica

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tion of the truth of the promise, “ Them that honour me I will honour.”

In curtain clouds of mist array'd,

The moon rose dark and gray,
It promised nought of beauty for

The dim November day.
But the gleam of spears may shine
From many a long and banner'd line ;
And the trumpet wake to arms,
And earth thrill to war’s alarms,
And the battle sign be given,
Ere the sun looks forth from heaven,

To die and conquer, strive and pray,

God gives enough of light;
And thousands, thousands, yet unborn,

Shall bless or wail this fight.
Like thunder clouds that meet in heaven,
By stormy winds together driven,
Two hostile hosts on yonder field,
Must fall or vanquish, win or yield;
For faith and freedom, light and life,
Hang on the issue of this strife.
In grim and mournful silence,

Lies yonder Friedland's camp,
Grim silence only broken by

The sentinel's slow tramp.
A gallant chief-a gallant host,
Their foeman's dread, their country's boast !
But rapine, murder, anguish deep,
The traces of their footsteps keep ;
Against them cries the voice of blood,
Upon them rests the curse of God!
The Swedes are bearing onward,

In long defile and slow,
Duke Friedland, strong thy trenches are,

But thou must face this foe..

They come ! with banner, steed, and plume,
Across the dim horizon's gloom ;
They come ! in fearful silence first,
Then forth the pealing clarions burst,
And forty thousand voices raise
To God their battle hymn of praise.

“Prepare to meet thy God, prepare !”

The solemn words repeat,
And the cadence of their harmony

Is awful, yet how sweet.
For voices mingle in that strain
That ne'er shall sound on earth again ;
A few brief hours, night's sable pall
On yonder scene sublime shall fall;
But on that field shall thousands keep
Their rest, but not the rest of sleep.

But look! the clouds are breaking now,

The mist has cleared away, And the noon-day sun looks brightly down

Upon that dread array. One ever yet unconquer'd leads ;Ye know-ye trust him, gallant Swedes ! Amidst the battle's deepest night, Upon his spirit shines the light; Yet blends he with the laurel crown A wreath of holier renown.

The awful moment comes at last.

Amidst the clang of steel,
The volleying thunders of the gun,

The cannon's deaf' ning peal,
In dread confusion blend and rise
The shock, the shout, the battle cries.
Still hangs o'er all the deep blue sky
Its calm, unclouded vault on high ;
Oh! many a time on such a scene,
Those azure

have smiled serene.

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