subject, even more than in the general interpretation of the Scriptures, we are entitled to answer the question—"What advantage then hath the Jew?" with an unhesitating expression of "much every way"; for unto them pertained the city of God. For example, when we read, in Galatians, the passage in which St. Paul speaks of the old Covenant, under the terms "Agar" and "Mount Sinai in Arabia," who but those who had felt the galling of a foreign yoke, and the insolence and exaction of Roman tyranny, could have realised the pathos of the words "and correspondeth to Jerusalem, which now is, and is in bondage with her children"; and what citizen of the New and Spiritual City, who had not also dwelt within the ancient and outward walls, could have felt the full contrast expressed in the triumphant thanksgiving that "Jerusalem, which is above, is free"? In the same way, if one would understand the magnificent passage in which the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews describes the New Jerusalem, one would need to have worshipped within the courts of the Old. How else can one see the lines traced in the picture, and mark the analogy between the multitude of white-robed priests and the innumerable company of angels; or see the general assembly of folk gathered for festival from all parts of the land? here, too, are the consecrated eldest-born, and here the rolls in which their names are entered; and, passing within the veil, even in ancient days, one might say, in some sense, "We are come to God the Judge of all, and to Jesus the Mediator of the covenant, and to the Blood of sprinkling." So you will understand that the best place to view the New Jerusalem from is the ruins of the Old. It is in this spirit that we want to study the gleaming waters "that make glad the city of God."

Observe, then, that the ancient Jerusalem was not situated, as most cities, on the banks of some river, or the shore of some sea. It stood in a peculiar position, at some distance from either: it was badly watered; we read of a pool or two, of a little brook, of an aqueduct and some other artificial water-structures. Bearing this fact in mind, you will understand how forcible an appeal to the imagination would be contained in the verse of the 46th Psalm, which tells of a river that should "make glad the city of God."

In evidence of the foregoing you may notice the following remark of Philo on the verse quoted (de somniis, ii. 38); "The holy city, which exists at present, in which also the holy temple is established, is at a great distance from any sea or river, so that it is clear that the writer here means figuratively to speak of some other city than the visible city of God." It is evident, therefore, that the mention of a pure, fresh stream flowing through the midst of Jerusalem was a figure of a very striking nature; and we say, that the basis of this magnificent description in the Apocalypse lies in the insufficiency of the water-supply of the ancient city. God takes our outward necessities and uses them as figures by which to make us alive to the facts of our inward neediness, and of the abundant power that there is in Him to satisfy us. The Bible is full of promises as outwardly impossible as that a river should flow through the midst of Jerusalem. The streams of life, the floods of holy influence, the manifestations of Divine grace, shall be for you like that imagined river; and however difficult it may be to believe such a heaven on earth as that indicated to be possible—

Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees,
And looks to that alone;
Laughs at impossibilities,
And cries—"It shall be done."

The life of the future, and by that we mean heaven on earth as well as heaven, shall be as different from that which you are now realising as the water-supply of Jerusalem would be if a river flowed in the midst, from what it is now with merely Kidron and Bethesda and Siloam and Solomon's Pools. So we say (i.) that the Life is not a half-stagnant pool, like Siloam; nor (ii.) an intermittent fountain, like Bethesda; nor (iii.) an artificial construction, like Solomon's aqueducts; nor (iv.) a poor weak puny stream, defiled by the city through which it passes, like the brook Kidron.

(1) It is not a standstill life: no one can stand still who lives with God. If God is the fountain of your life, there will be no green mantle on the surface telling how long you have been in one place. Neither in earth nor in heaven do we stand still or stay where we are. Take up the anchor and the ship follows the tide, and in God the tide always sets one way. You cannot stand still without anchoring to the creature. There must be fresh discoveries of truth and duty every day; and fresh inquisition made into the heights and depths of Redeeming Love. Abandonment to God must mean advancement in God.

They who love God cannot love Him by measure,
For their love is a hunger to love Him still better.

(2) Neither in earth nor in heaven is the Life to be an intermittent one. Some have said that the pool of Bethesda was connected with one of those intermittent springs that one sometimes comes across, and have explained by that means the periodical disturbances in the waters. There is one of these springs pointed out on the road from Buxton to Castleton in Derbyshire, but it showed no signs of anything extraordinary when I was there. However, whether Bethesda is of this nature or not, it is certain that the spiritual life of many believers is too much of the character of an intermittent spring. I want to tell you that there should be no such word as "revival" in the dictionary of the Christian Church: we want "life," not "revival." You hear people saying of certain religious movings—"They are having quite a revival"; alas! and were they dead before? Indeed, I am sure this intermittent fountain expresses only too accurately the lives of many of us. The best that God can do with us is to make us an occasional blessing—a sorrowful thing to confess when there are suffering ones around waiting and watching the surface of our hearts to see whether there is any moving of the water. I think, therefore, to tell you the secret of the intermittent spring. Every such spring is fed from an inner chamber in the rock in which the rains accumulate; but it is only as long as the water is above a certain level that the outward flow is maintained. If the inner chamber be kept full, the outward supply will be constant. And we know, apart from our figure, that when the inner life is renewed day by day, the outward is no longer an intermittent spring, but an overflowing cup.

Neither in earth nor in heaven has a Christian a right to go below "par" in his spiritual life. I have been trying to imagine what it would be in heaven if angels were to neglect the influx of vital force that comes from the throne of God and of the Lamb; if at any time they were to feel not up to singing-mark or service-mark, what a strange heaven it would presently be; and what strange music with notes wanting,—sometimes in the air and sometimes in the bass. We know, however, that the real character of their life and service is not intermittent, but is expressed in the words, "They rest not day nor night, saying, 'Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of Hosts.'"

(3) It is not a life for which the world is too strong, and which cannot therefore be kept pure. It is not figured by a little brook, as Kidron, defiled with all the impurities of a city, and that an oriental city. And yet how many lives there are of which we have to say, "The world is too strong for them"; well-intentioned people, but feeble in grace, and who have received but little of the Life of God. The cup was indeed put into their hands, but they were afraid to drink deeply, though the voice by their side was saying, "Drink abundantly, O beloved."

They drink down to the level of forgiveness, and, perhaps, grace; but not down to glory and the receiving of the Spirit; they do not