Here, is encouragement to give of our substance as God hath prospered us. There is no investment that we can make with our goods that pays so well as to give to him that needeth; and especially, to the house-hold of faith. And to those that have but a mite to give, it shall receive its reward; if it be to the extent of our ability, if it be done cheerfully; and if in faith, because we love God, and the souls and bodies of perishing men. XXIII. ARE WE DRIFTING? Yes I hope so--out into the ocean of infinite love; away from the dangerous reefs of formalism; away from the universal spread of pride and vanity; away from the devil’s most successful snare, _secretism_; away from the abominable, filthy habit of whiskey-drinking and tobacco using, and all its slimy associations; away from the cramping, belittling, soul-destroying, man-debasing element--_covetousness_; far away from all longings after the world, its pleasures, its allurements, its honors, its riches, and plunging into all the fulness of God. It’s glorious thus to drift; to have a consciousness that you abide in Christ; that you are growing in grace; that you are gaining on your enemies; that your faith overcomes the world; that you are taking greater delight, day by day, in the things of life and immortality. O, glory to God for the assurance that the saints have that they are getting nearer and nearer to God every day, drifting out into the great abyss of God’s eternal love. To the question so often propounded--“Are We Drifting?”--I can answer for myself, _I am_, according to the above. Glory to the Lamb forever! Although I am drifting, moving along with giant strides by the mighty waves of free grace, yet I never felt so completely anchored to Christ as now. I have a hope that is an anchor to my soul. It’s cast to that within the veil, and it’s both sure and steadfast. It holds my vessel steadily on her course, ’midst all storms of life. It matters not how high the billows may roll, how fierce the storms may beat against my frail bark, I am safe. I ride proudly above the waves, because I am anchored to the eternal Rock of Ages. Vessels often break loose from their moorings, because their anchorage is poor. It may be their anchor is dropped in the sand or mud. In either case, they will drift until their anchor takes hold on rock, or she drifts ashore and is wrecked. It is so with us. If our anchor is cast into any of the elements of this world, we shall drift, not into Christ, but away from him, and become _wrecks_. How sad it is to find wrecks all along life’s way! to see those that were once saved of God, moving on to Mount Zion with songs, and everlasting joy upon their heads; they did obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing did flee away; but now, alas! How is the fine gold become dim.