"CHRISTIANITY is so great and surprising in its nature that, in preaching it to others, I have no encouragement but in the belief of a continued divine operation. It is no difficult thing to change a man's opinions. It is no difficult thing to attach a man to my person and notions. It is no difficult thing to convert a proud man to spiritual pride, or a passionate man to passionate zeal for some religious party. But to bring a man to love God, to love the law of God while it condemns him, to loathe himself before God, to tread the earth under his feet, to hunger and thirst after God in Christ, and after the mind that was in Christ, this is impossible. But God has said it shall be done; and bids me go forth and preach, that by me, as His instrument, He may effect these great ends; and therefore I go." CECIL. FORDINGTON PULPIT: A PREACHER'S WEEKDAY THOUGHTS, _Written, in 1878, in the Church of the Author's Baptism, and where he first Ministered as his Father's Curate._ Many voices yester-even Made these walls and arches ring With their high-sung hopes of Heaven, And the glories of its King; Now my footfall sounds alone On the aisle's long path of stone, Save that yonder from the loft, With a solemn tone and soft, Beating on with muffled shock, Conscience-waking, speaks the clock. Holy scene, and dear as holy, Let me ponder thee this hour, Not in aimless melancholy, But in quest of Heaven-given power; Seeking here to win anew Contrite love and purpose true; Near the Font whose dew-drops cold Fell upon my brow of old, Near the well-remember'd seat Set beside my Mother's feet; Near the Table where I bent At that earliest Sacrament. Let me, through this narrow door, Climb the Pulpit's steps once more. Blessed place! the Master's Word, Child and man, I hence have heard; Awful place! for hence, in turn, I have taught, so slow to learn. To the silence now to hearken Here I mount and stand alone, While the spaces round me darken And the Church is all my own; While the sun's last glories fall From the window of the tower, Tracing slow their parting hour On the stones of floor and wall. Seems a secret Voice to thrill All the dusky air so still; Turns a soul-compelling gaze On me from the sunset haze: Sure the eternal Shepherd's hand Beckons me awhile apart, Bids me in His presence stand While He looks me through the heart. Sinful preacher, ask again In this nearness of thy Lord, How to HIM has rung thy strain, When it seem'd to speak His Word. 'Midst thy brethren's listening numbers Hast thou felt, with heart sincere, How, in thought that never slumbers, This great Listener stood more near?-- Listening to His own high Name Spoken by His creature's breath; How from out the Heavens He came, How He pour'd His soul in death,