servant of all; it has given him a joy that no wave of trouble can quench, a song that dungeons cannot silence, a transparent truthfulness which permits a lie nowhere; and all this results from that which is in itself a delusion,--a lie! Oh, holy "delusion"! Oh, wondrous, truth-loving, wonder-working "lie"! Was ever such a miracle, that a falsehood works truth?--that a delusion, instead of leading into marsh, or bog, or quicksand, as other will-o'-the-wisps ever and always have, leads along a morally elevated path where every footstep rings with the music of divine certainty, as though it trod upon a rock! Such a miracle, contrary to all reason, is worthy of acceptance only by the blind, childish, credulity of infidelity. Whatever the object before him, then, it is _real_; his convictions are soberly and well founded; he runs his race to no visionary, misty goal; but some actual reality is the lode-star of his life. Let us listen to his own explanation: "forgetting those things that are being, reaching forth unto those that are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus." But Solomon, the wisest of the wise, groans no man can find out "that which shall come after him"; or, in other words, that future of which Paul sings: I have heard a voice that has called from heaven, and looking up I have seen a Light that has darkened every other. One in beauty and attraction infinite,--to Him I press. _He is before me_, and not till Him I reach will I rest. Blessed contrast! Now, my dear reader, let us also seek to keep our eye on that same Object, for the man at whom we have been looking is one just like ourselves, with every passion that we have, and the One who drew him can draw you and me,--Who satisfied him can satisfy us, for He who loved and died for him has loved and died for us. And since we are not now contemplating the wondrous cross, but His glory, let us sing together:-- Oh, my Saviour glorified! Now the heavens opened wide Show to Faith's exultant eye One in beauteous majesty. Worthy of the sweetest praise That my ransomed heart can raise, Is that Man in whom alone God Himself is fully known. For those clust'ring glories prove That glad gospel "God is Love," Whilst those wounds, in glory bright, Voice the solemn "God is Light." Holy Light, whose searching ray Brings but into perfect day Beauties that my heart _must_ win To the Sinless once made Sin. Hark, my soul! Thy Saviour sings; Catch the joy that music brings; And, with that sweet flood of song, Pour thy whisp'ring praise along. For no film of shade above Hides me now from perfect Love. Deep assurance all is right Gives me peace in perfect Light. Find I then on God's own breast Holy, happy, perfect rest, In the person of my Lord,-- "Ever be His name adored!"