Reader, let me ask, How stands it with you? Are you conscious of a reverential regard and attachment to God's holy place? Does the return of the Sabbath awake in your heart the old melody of this sweet singer of Israel,--"_This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it_?"[23] Do you go to the solemn assembly, not to hear the _messenger_ but the _message_;--not to pay homage to a piece of dust, (the vilest and most degraded form of idolatry,) but feeling yourself a beggar in the sight of God, with a soul to save, and an eternity to provide for? Do you approach it as the _place of prayer_, over which the cloud hovers laden with spiritual blessings? Do you go to it as "_the house of God_," seeking fellowship and communion with the Father of spirits; desiring that all its services--its devotions, and praises, and exhortations--may become hallowed magnets, drawing you nearer and binding you closer to the mercy-seat? Oh, let not the boon of Sabbath privileges degenerate into an empty form, the mere pageant of custom. Let the Sabbath hours be sacredly kept. Let their lessons be sacredly treasured. Let their close find you a Sabbath-day's journey nearer heaven. Let their hallowed fragrance follow you through the week. Let them be landmarks in the pilgrimage; towering behind you the further you go--like Alp piled on Alp, flushed with roseate light, guiding and cheering you when low down in the valleys of trial and sorrow, and when called to descend the last and gloomiest Valley of all. [23] Psalm cxviii. 24. David is mourning, in the words which have given rise to these thoughts, over his altered Sabbath joys. It may be there are some reading these pages, who, though they know nothing like him of literal exile and banishment from the sanctuary, may yet be able painfully to participate in his feelings! They are seated, Sabbath after Sabbath, in their pews; their Bibles are in their hands--the living words of the preacher are sounding in their ears; but their experience may be best interpreted by the language of the Christian poet:-- "Where is the blessedness I knew When first I saw the Lord? Where is the soul-refreshing view Of Jesus and His Word? "How blest the hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill."