Although, I might here add, I cannot follow this writer in his view that Ecclesiastes is describing only the old age of the sensualist. Rather is it man as man,--at his highest,--but with only what he can find "under the sun" to enlighten him. [2] The word rendered above "age-long," in our authorized version "long,"--"man goeth to his _long_ home"--is one of those suggestive words with which the Hebrew Scriptures abound, and which are well worth pondering with interest. To transfer and not translate it into English we might call it "olamic," speaking of a cycle: having a limit, and yet a shadowy, undefined limit. The word therefore in itself beautifully and significantly expresses both the confidence, the faith of the speaker as well as his ignorance. Man's existence after death is distinctly predicated. The mere grave is not that olamic home; for the spirit would, in that case, be quite lost sight of; nor, indeed, is the spirit alone there,--the _man_ goes there. It appears to correspond very closely to the Greek word Hades, "the Unseen." Man has gone to that sphere beyond human ken, but when the purposes of God are fulfilled, his abode there shall have an end: it is for an "age," but only an "age." All this seems to be wrapped up, as it were, in that one phrase--_Beth-olam_, the age-long home. How blessed for us the light that has since been shed on all this. In One case (and indeed already more than in that One) that "age" has already come to an end, and the first fruits of that harvest with which our earth is sown has even now been gathered. We await merely the completion of that harvest: "Christ the first fruits: afterwards they that are Christ's, at His coming." THE BIBLE TRUTH PRESS, 63 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. "ABOVE THE SUN." Cease, ye Saints, your occupation with the sorrow-scenes of earth; Let the ear of faith be opened, use the sight of second birth. Long your hearts have been acquainted with the tear-drop and the groan; These are _weeds_ of foreign growing, seek the _flowers_ that are your own. He who in the sandy desert looks for springs to quench his thirst Finds his fountains are but slime-pits such as Siddim's vale accursed; He who hopes to still the longing of the heart within his breast Must not search within a scene where naught is at one moment's rest. Lift your eyes _above_ the heavens to a sphere as pure as fair; There, no spot of earth's defilement, never fleck of sin-stain there. Linger not to gaze on Angels, Principalities, nor Powers; Brighter visions yet shall greet you, higher dignities are ours. All night's golden constellations dimly shine as day draws on, And the moon must veil her beauties at the rising of the sun. Let the grove be wrapt in silence as the nightingale outflings Her unrivaled minstrelsy, th' eclipse of every bird that sings.