We should not have been surprised if Solomon had been led away by youthful passion or indiscretion, but we are shocked to find that it was when he ought to have been venerable that he became vicious--"When Solomon was old." We should have expected history would have told us of the power he exerted over the people; how the nation saw in his silver locks the crown of glory he had spoken of in his book. It would have seemed natural to have read of great gatherings of the people of different nations, listening to his wondrously wise words. Instead of this, the news spread far and wide that the wise king had stooped to folly of the worst degree. My brothers! what sort of old men shall we make? If we are allowed to remain among our fellows, shall we live the life that shall make men thank God for our length of days, or will they wish we had died in our youthful prime? There are men whose youth was like the mountain stream, which cheered everything it touched. Born among the mountains, and wedding other brooks and streamlets, uniting them in a river, clear and lovely, along whose banks children loved to play. But later on, as it became broad and deep, taking in pollution and garbage, until the clear and joyous river is changed into a great sewer, filling the air with noxious smells, and defiling the face of nature with its liquid blackness. Such is life to some men--Solomon was one, perhaps the worst. One is ready to ask--Can this be the man to whom God spake in large promise? Is this he whose prayer brought into the temple the manifested presence of the Almighty? Can it be possible that this hoary idolater had been the favourite of Jehovah? Alas! it is only too true. More than once we have known men whose prayers could bring heaven to earth, and lift earth to heaven, but who have lived too long, and ere they fell into a dishonoured grave, brought shame to the cross of Jesus, and gave the enemies of God food for laughter. Let those among us who are no longer young, see to it that we are not among those who fall more deeply into sin than it is possible for young disciples to do. What should we think if Westminster Abbey became a gin-palace? If all around its gates lewd men and dishonoured women stood and cracked their filthy jokes; if from its lovely choir the drunkard's song was heard? Verily, you say, "It is nigh to blasphemy to imagine such a thing. We had rather that it had been burned to ashes when the fire of London destroyed St. Paul's. Would that it had reached far enough West to destroy the ancient pile rather than it should be so polluted!" Aye, aye, you are right, and yet to see a man who, in his youth was a Christian, but in his old age has become an apostate, is a more sorrowful sight still. Alas! that it should be so common.