Thank God, he got to himself. “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” It was very short. He had got his eye upon himself; he saw that his heart was vile; he could not lift his eyes to Heaven. But, thank God, he could lift his heart to Heaven. There is not a poor publican in the audience tonight but can send up this prayer. No matter what your past life has been--no matter if it has been as black as hell--if you but send up the prayer it will be heard. He did not buy his own righteousness; and God heard his appeal. Spurgeon, speaking of that publican, said he had the soundest theology of any man in England. He came before God, struck his hand on his heart, and cried: “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” THE WIDOW’S SON. Think of that poor widow at Nain. She is an old woman now; and her only son, who is the staff of her life, is sick. How she watches him; sits up all night to see that he has his medicine at the right time; sits by his bedside all day, fanning him, keeping away the flies, moistening his parched lips with water! Every thing he asks for she brings. The very best doctor in Nain is sent for; and when he comes and feels the pulse of the young man and looks at his tongue, he shakes his head; and then the poor woman knows there is no hope for her boy. What an awful thought! “My son--my only son--must die! What will become of me then?” Sure enough, the doctor is right; and in a little while the fever comes to its crisis, and the poor boy dies, with his head upon his mother’s bosom. The people come in and try to comfort the bereaved mother; but it is of no use. Her heart is broken; and she wishes she were dead, too. Some of you know what it is to look your last upon the faces of those you love. Some of you mothers have wept hot tears upon the cold faces of your sons. Well, they make him ready for burial; and when the time comes, they celebrate the funeral service, and place him on a bier to carry him away to the grave. What a sad procession! Just as they come out of the city gates, they see a little company of thirteen dusty-looking travelers, coming up the road. There is One among them who is tall and far fairer than the sons of men. Who can He be? He is moved with compassion when He sees this little funeral procession; and it does not take Him long to find out that this woman who walks next the bier is a poor widow, whose only son she is following in sadness to the grave. He tells the bearers to put down the bier; and while the mother wonders what is to be done, He bends tenderly over the dead man, and speaks to him in a low and sweet voice: “Arise!” And the dead man hears Him. His body begins to move; the man that was dead is struggling with his grave clothes; they unbind them, and now he sits up.