But were it possible to impart to such minds some taste of the pleasures which are enjoyed in the paths which are peace, it would instantly be seen what injustice their views inflict upon the truth. Its joys are /not/ projected into the distant future; they are nigh to us, they are even in our hearts. It does not give us a stone instead of bread, or a serpent instead of a fish--it is the world which imposes in that manner upon all who trust it. When religion comes to a worldly man to rob him of his gross or material joys, he fears that he is about to lose his all--because he knows no joy but what is earthly; and the very ways of God appear repulsive and irksome; not a few would imitate him who cried, "Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?" or, "hast thou come to torment us before the time?" But what /can/ yield joy, if not the favour of God? What /can/ spread sunshine through the soul, if not the sense of sin forgiven? What /can/ impart true nobility, if not restoration to the image of God? What /can/ give peace, if not the Prince of Peace? What /can/ dry our tears or soothe our sorrows, if not He who came as a Comforter to earth, and who re-erects the kingdom of God in the soul? Amid all that plenitude of mercy, men may still persist in thinking that the truth is a bondage, and that its joys are shadowy or evanescent; but that can only be because their hearts have never bowed to the majesty or rejoiced in the love of their God. THE GAIN OF GODLINESS. And this repugnance to His truth is sometimes augmented, when religion begins to be contemplated with more care than the world commonly bestows on it. When men, for example, read the words --"Godliness is profitable unto all things, having the promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come," their perplexities sometimes increase. That godliness has the promise of the life that is to come, multitudes may passively concede, for they bestow no thought upon the subject. But when their attention is drawn to the fact, that the promise farther embraces the life that now is, men are not prepared to acknowledge the truth. Godliness does not permit a man to ask, What will my fellow-mortals approve? Its all-decisive question is, What has God said? It never pauses to inquire, What will men think? what is current, or what is countenanced among them? It goes at once to the fountain-head, and seeks to ascertain what God has decided; what standard He has set up; what aim or end proposed. That once ascertained, the godly immediately feel bound thereby. They are in a court from which there is no appeal, or a hand from which there is no escape. Now, as they cannot do as others do, as they dare not pursue the world with the intense avidity of multitudes, how can it be true that godliness has the promise of the life that now is?