fury, the disciples were dismayed, the Saviour was asleep, the ship was sinking. “Only a few moments,” doubtless, he exultingly thought, “and there shall be a second destruction of man, the kingdom shall surely become mine, for there will be none to dispute it”—when, lo! the LORD arose, and, with a word, made him undo the work he had done. “Peace be still;” and the wind ceased, and there was a great calm! O signal defeat! O earnest of the promise that the head of the serpent shall be bruised, that Satan himself shall be bound and trodden under foot, and cast into the lake of fire, and shall deceive and vex no more. Surely, this is one of the chief scenes, one of the most mysterious and important events, one of the most glorious manifestations of CHRIST’S life on earth. But this is not all its significance. The miracles of our LORD were acted parables—types of spiritual things—rather outward signs, not themselves to be given up, but thereafter to be accompanied by inward grace. The ship on the sea of Galilee represents the Christian Church, or the individual member of it. The sea is the world; the storm, with its adverse wind and difficult waves, figures the trials, the buffetings, the persecutions, the fears of this mortal life; the disciples are the types of weak yet willing human nature—both our warnings and our examples; and CHRIST is Himself, yet, so to speak, but a figure of the true, dwelling in His Church in each faithful member, often apparently unheeding, unconscious, yet always our sure defence and deliverer, prompt to hear when called upon, able to comfort, mighty to save.