may acquire it, and the thing acquired is always sweeter and stronger than the thing given. That is only half courage which bears up under dangers and hardships. The highest courage lies in cheerful bearing. God loves a cheerful bearer, and comes to him with his great strength and help.

You desire to get out of your sick room, back to your duties in your homes, and in life. Nothing has so much to do with this as cheerfulness. Disease is determined largely by mental conditions. Convalescence is slow and protracted, or pleasant and sure, according as the man keeps himself. Fret beneath the rod, be timid, irresolute, self-seeking, and your burden will be a burden indeed, heavy, galling, dead, but "put a cheerful courage on," and you will find the burden growing easy and light. Even love gets tired of doing, forgets its sympathy, intermits its tenderness, where there is churlish exaction and selfishness.

One word about that highest thing, which indeed embraces all, but which we keep separate, and speak and think of as separate, Faith. The man who has a clear, upright, manly Christian faith,- not a

mere name, but a living thing in him, has patience and cheerfulness as all other Christian virtue and grace. Yet these may exist without this, and so as a last word I would say, add to these, Faith. You cannot have passed through the pains, and apprehensions, the discomforts, and weaknesses of

disease, without feeling all this various experience drawing you more and more into the presence of, into dependence upon, the great Unseen Spirit. If there be no deeper conviction in you, no more earnest purpose of loyal service, no stronger yearning to be sons of God, when you leave the sick room than when you entered it, then indeed are your eyes holden and your hearts hard. By the baptism of blood it was that Jesus became lifted up before all men, became the world's Redeemer; and this stern baptism of yours may work alike mightily in you, perfecting what was unworthy, drawing you toward the All Pure, giving you the coveted spirit of adoption. It is only a living, unwavering Christian faith that sustains any man. Do not let these hours slip, do not pass hence to your home life again, or back to your duties, without possessing that surely which shall be your sufficient help in the time of all trouble. To the God who has been so plenteous in mercy give the remainder of your strength and your days.

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Some of you will go back to the active scenes and duties of life, to temptations and dangers. This sickness is not unto death or disability. Go to these as new men, as men profited, purged by the rich experience of discipline with which it has pleased God to visit you. Go back happier and wiser, leaving the low and the bad behind, and pressing forward, as the Apostle did, toward the mark, for the

prize. Remember how great a loss it is to lose an opportunity. God has called other men suddenly. You he has withdrawn, that you might think, repent, resolve, amend. The opportunity is a privilege. Do not despise it.

Some of you (we speak it gently and reverently) must die, die perhaps in your early prime; die when life has so much for you. There is a seeming darkness about the ways of God, but it is only seeming. "Paternal love o'er all presideth." The form in which the spirit of love chooses to address us we may not understand: we cannot doubt the spirit. Said a young private soldier as he was leaving home, to one who spoke of the dangers before him, "If one can only say, OUR FATHER, there is no fear." That was the perfect love which cast all fear out. In that faith that young man died,—not on the battle-field, as he would have preferred, but on the cot of the hospital, away from all he loved and longed to see, yet yielding up a loyal heart peacefully, because he could say, "OUR FATHER." That is the great all in all; and for such the door of the Father's home stands day and night open. His arms and his welcome await them.

Sick friends, dear friends! whatever betide you, be cheerful, be patient, and trustful. The dark days shall pass. This life has its awards, the glory and honor that perish; but the rewards of eternity are honor and glory immortal.

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Meditations.

COME, let us praise the goodness of God, who orders every thing for the best; our life and our death are equally His care.

The Lord casts us down upon the bed of sickness, and draws the curtain between the world and us, Shutting out all its vain designs; and contracting our business to a little chamber. tude He speaks to our hearts,

life, as in a mirror, before us.

In that quiet soliand sets our whole

There He discovers to us the treachery of the world, and invites us by the exhibition of its vanity, prepare for a better.

to

Thither He sends His messengers of peace, to perfect our reconciliation.

Oh! how different are the thoughts of that hour from those of careless, unreflecting health!

How do we now censure what we once esteemed! How easily are we led to wiser resolutions, When our unruly senses are rebuked with pains, and the fears of death teach the rashness of our minds sobriety;

When the occasions of sin are removed from our way, and every thing about us exhorts to repent

ance.

Adored be Thy name, O Lord! whose mercy sanctifies into a blessing even the chastisement of Thy rod.

Thou bringest us low, to awaken our humility, and prescribest sickness to cure our infirmity.

Thou commandest, and the grave is inexorable; with it is no respect of persons.

Thou tellest us by experience that all must die : but kindly hidest in clouds and darkness the time and place;

That everywhere we may be upon our guard, and, through all our days, may be looking for the sum

mons.

Thou teachest us by the removal of those whom we love, to renew the contemplation of our own grave, and the wholesome thoughts of a future world.

Let not, O Lord! these gracious designs be lost upon us; but let such scenes be attended with the most serious reflections upon our own mortality.

And oh! cause every meditation of this nature to make us the more diligent in preparing for our latter end.

Lift up thyself, oh mourning soul! lift up thyself, raise thine eyes that are wet with tears! Why are thine eyes wet with tears? Why are they bent