the Lord is with them that fear him," saith the Psalmist, "and he will show them his covenant." "Henceforth I call you not servants," said Jesus to the twelve, "but I have called you friends, for whatsoever I have received of my Father I have made known unto you." "Eye hath not seen," writes St. Paul, "nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him; but God hath revealed them to us by his Spirit; for the Spirit searcheth all things, yea the deep things of God." Every true disciple, like Ignatius, carries the Crucified in his heart, and knows and comprehends with all saints, the lengths and breadths and depths and heights of the love that passeth knowledge, being filled with the fulness of God.

And all this is unfailing and everlasting. Having loved his own who were in the world, Christ loved them unto the end, loved them still upon his cross, and ceased not to love them when he left them and returned to the Father, but remembered his promise to pray for them, and to send them another Comforter who should abide with them forever, and finally to come again and receive them unto himself, that where he is they might be also. Nearly nineteen centuries are past since he ascended whence he came, and still the promise holds good, and the lapse of ages has not diminished his affection, and to-day he loves his friends as tenderly as when he talked so sweetly with the little flock at the Last Supper and along the path to Olivet. Death, which dissolves all other friendships, confirms this forever. "I have a desire to depart," wrote the heroic Christian prisoner from Rome—"I have a desire to depart, and to be with Christ, which is far better." Not long had the dear old man to wait. One morning—the 29th of June, A.D. 68—the door of his dungeon opened, St. Paul went forth, walked a mile along the way to Ostia, with his hands bound behind him knelt down, the sweep of a sword gleamed over him like the flash of an angel's wing, and the servant was with his Lord!

Thus, dear brethren, we see the incomparable qualities of our Beloved, the divine excellences of our Friend. Perfect wisdom is here, perfect knowledge, perfect prudence, perfect justice, perfect purity, perfect benevolence, perfect magnanimity, with immutability and immortality—whatever is necessary to win and hold the heart—all blending in the character of Christ. Is he not the very friend we need? How, without him, can we bear to live or dare to die? What are riches, culture, power, splendor, without his love? What can our poor human friends do for us in the hour of death? What could worlds of such friends do for us in the day of judgment? "In the name of the Lord is strong confidence, and his children shall have a place of refuge." Flee away, ye heavens! Dissolve, thou earth! and vanish! It is my Beloved that cometh with his chariots! It is my Friend that sitteth upon the throne!

Oh! my brethren! Christ Jesus loves to make new friends, though he never abandons the old. Let us accept his gracious overtures, and join ourselves unto the Lord in an everlasting covenant. The poorest and vilest of us all would he take home to his heart, and love him freely and forever. The most unworthy of all the human race would he gladly introduce to the fellowship of saints and the innumerable company of angels, and seat the pardoned sinner at his side upon the throne. Oh! when I enter the metropolis, and hail the immortal millions of the blood-washed, and kneel to kiss the nail-pierced feet of the King, while all the harps and voices that have welcomed me go silent for his gracious salutation, with what rapture, as I rise, shall I look round upon the happy multitude and say—"This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem!"

[1] Preached at a wedding festival, 1833.

[2] Gal. iii. 27.

IV.

REFUGE IN GOD.[1]

Be thou my strong rock, for a house of defence to save me.—Ps. xxxi. 2.

On a superb arch in one of the halls of the Alhambra, the traveller reads as he enters: "I seek my refuge in the Lord of the morning." The sentiment is worthy of Holy Scripture, whence doubtless it was taken by the writer of the Koran. More than two thousand years earlier than Mohammed, Moses had said to the beloved tribes, just before he ascended to his mountain death-bed: "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath thee are the everlasting arms." And how often does King David, environed with dangers and oppressed with sorrows, comfort himself with the assurance of an almighty protection and support! "Thou art my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower." "In the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion; in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock; and now shall my head be lifted up above mine enemies that are round about me." "Thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy; I will abide in thy tabernacle forever, I will trust in the covert of thy wings." "Thou art my hiding-place: thou wilt preserve me from trouble; thou wilt compass me about with songs of deliverance." And so in a hundred other passages of his psalms, and notably in the words we have chosen as the basis of this discourse: "Be thou my strong rock, for a house of defence to save me." In all such utterances, there seems to be some reference to the Hebrew cities of refuge, whither the manslayer fled from the avenger of blood, where he remained unmolested till he could have an impartial hearing, and whence, if found innocent of premeditated murder, he finally came forth acquitted amidst the congratulations of his family and friends. Here is the double idea of escape from persecution and security from punishment; and with reference to both these, the psalmist seeks his refuge in the Lord of the morning.

The first idea is refuge from persecution. David's persecutions were varied, and violent, and long continued. How sadly he tells the story, and pours out his melting soul in song! Deceitful and bloody men, full of all subtlety and malignity, compassed him about like bees, like strong bulls of Bashan, like a troop of lions from the desert. Daily they imagined mischief against him, and consulted together to cast him down from his excellency. They laid to his charge things which he knew not. To the spoiling of his soul, they rewarded him evil for good. With hypocritical mockers in feasts, they gnashed upon him with their teeth. As with a sword in his bones, they reproached him; saying continually, "Where is now thy God?" In his adversity they openly rejoiced, and with his misfortunes made themselves merry. They persecuted him whom God had smitten, and talked to the grief of him whom the Most High had wounded. With cruel hatred they hated him; yea, they tore him in pieces, and ceased not.

With these woful complaints agree the recorded facts of his life. One while we see him pursued like a partridge upon the mountains by the royal army, with his royal father-in-law at its head; from whom he escapes only by frequent flight, concealment in caverns, and weary sojourn at the court of a pagan king. And later in life we behold him driven from his throne, and chased from house and hold, by his own insurgent son; while Shimmei comes forth to curse