“Neither death,” with all its terrors; “nor life,” with all its allurements; “nor things present,” with all their pleasure; “nor things to come,” with all their promise; “nor height” of prosperity; “nor depth” of adversity; “nor angels” of evil; “nor principalities” of darkness; “shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus.” “God is our refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea—though the waters thereof roar and be troubled—though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof.” This is the language of strong faith in the peace of Christ. How is it with you amid such turmoil and commotion? Is all peaceful within? Do you feel secure in the name of the Lord, as in a strong fortress—as in a city well supplied and defended? “There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most high. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved. God shall help her, and that right early.” “Unto the upright, there ariseth light in the darkness.” The bright and morning star, shining upon their pathway, cheers them in their journey home to their Father’s house. And when they come to pass over Jordan, the Sun of Righteousness shall have risen upon them, with healing in his wings. Already they see the tops of the mountains of immortality, gilded with his beams, beyond the valley of the shadow of death. Behold, yonder, old Simeon hoisting his sails, and saying—“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.” Such is the peace of Jesus, sealed to all them that believe, by the blood of his cross. When we walk through the field of battle, slippery with blood, and strewn with the bodies of the slain—when we hear the shrieks and the groans of the wounded and the dying—when we see the country wasted, cities burned, houses pillaged, widows and orphans wailing in the track of the victorious army, we cannot help exclaiming—O, what a blessing is peace! When we are obliged to witness family turmoils and strifes—when we see parents and children, brothers and sisters, masters and servants, husbands and wives, contending with each other like tigers—we retire as from a smoky house, and exclaim as we go—O, what a blessing is peace! When duty calls us into that church, where envy and malice prevail, and the spirit of harmony is supplanted by discord and contention—when we see brethren, who ought to be bound together in love, full of pride, hatred, confusion, and every evil work—we quit the unhallowed scene with painful feelings of repulsion, repeating the exclamation—O, what a blessing is peace!