Retrospect of Life.

A PRAYER OF MOSES, THE MAN OF GOD.

'Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting. Thou art God. Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men. For a thousand years are in Thy sight but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch by night. Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth. For we are consumed by Thine anger, and by Thy wrath are we troubled. Thou hast set our iniquities before Thee, our secret sins in the light of Thy countenance. For all our days are passed away in Thy wrath; we spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow: for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. Who knoweth the power of Thine anger? even according to Thy fear, so is Thy wrath. So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Return, O Lord, — how long? and let it repent Thee concerning Thy servants. O satisfy us early with Thy mercy; that we may be glad and rejoice all our days. Make us glad according to the days wherein Thou hast afflicted us, and the days wherein we have seen evil. Let Thy work appear unto Thy servants, and Thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish Thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish Thou it.' — Ps. xc.

In the late evening of his life, the highly-privileged Jacob sees a brilliant distinction prepared for him. Leaning upon the arm of Joseph, his beloved son, he is admitted to the court of Egypt, and into Pharaoh's presence. There, face to face, are found the two crowned heads, each venerable in his way, — Jacob, on whose head rests the silver crown of hoary age, while Pharaoh wears the shining crown of royalty. Struck with the whole appearance of the aged patriarch, the king asks, in a kindly way, how many years he has already seen. Who would not think, that if, in answer to the question, Jacob were to state something besides the number asked, he would express his gratitude and his delight? His highest wish, as we all know, has been attained, his deepest sorrow healed: the past, with its disasters, is forgotten now; the present shines more clearly over him; the future throws on him her kindest smile. Cannot the patriarch speak of his six-score years and ten, and yet refrain from adding these sad words, 'Few and evil have been the days of the years of my life, and have not attained unto the days of the years of the life of my fathers, in the days of their pilgrimage'?¹

'Few and evil have been the days of my pilgrimage.' Surely you do not charge the man who spoke thus with exaggeration, or ascribe his gloominess to melancholy? Let it be observed that the confession of Jacob is the oldest of its kind mentioned in Scripture; why must we at once add, on the back of this, that it gives excellent expression to the sum and substance of by far the most, or rather the whole of our experience in life? We need not wonder that, in these sacred pages, there is ever the same view given, and the same estimate made, of human life; and it is precisely on the lips of the most prominent men that all this recurs. Think of Abraham, who, in presence of the children of Heth, calls himself a stranger in Canaan; in what sense he meant this has been explained in the Epistle to the Hebrews.² Think, too, of Job's touching lamentation, so well known, 'Man, that is born of a woman, is of few days, and full of trouble; he Cometh forth as a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not!'³ Think of David also, who, when he was at the full height of his royal splendour, uttered this sorrowful testimony, 'We are strangers before Thee, and sojourners, as were all our fathers; our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.'⁴ But why need we cite any other names? You have, ere this, been sometimes meditating upon Moses' prayer; for what else is that prayer in the wilderness but an audible echo of the striking confession uttered by Jacob in Egypt?

'A prayer of Moses, the man of God,' as the compilers of the sacred collection of Psalms have most appropriately called him, though he would never have assumed the title himself: no one, of course, will be surprised that we stand for a little at this point in the series of contemplations. You must already have observed, that everything which really deserves our notice in the history of this servant of the Lord, is confined to a very few years, — at most, five or six, — and these in different periods of his life. You know what happened in his first year, and his fortieth; what took place in his eightieth year, and that immediately succeeding it; and, lastly, what occurred when he had lived for sixs-core years, and in the last few months preceding that; but all besides is almost quite unknown. There are two gaps, particularly large, found in this history, — the space of nearly forty years in Midian, and the eight and thirty years spent in the wilderness. Regarding both of these two periods, we know next to nothing; but, from the last of them, there is at least one voice that reaches us. We mean, of course, the oldest Psalm, as it is rightly termed. We know, indeed, that not a few expositors feel hesitation in considering this poem as a genuine production of the famous man of God; and we are far from saying their objections are but trivial. Nevertheless, on taking everything into consideration, we believe that the internal proofs of the credibility of the title, which mentions Moses as the author, are stronger and more conclusive than those in favour of any other opinion. It cannot appear strange to any one of us that Moses was a poet: all great minds have passed through their poetic period f and his latest Psalm, Deut. xxxii., tends, we may say, even more than this, to prove how high his poetic faculty could soar, even at the close of life. In this poetic prayer it is as impossible to mistake the earnest spirit of the lawgiver as the faithful spirit of the mediator; and though there are particular expressions here and there which would be quite as suitable for other lips, and equally appropriate to other circumstances, yet the whole poem, which is quite inimitable, and in which there is a touching interchange of complaint and questioning, could, we believe, have arisen only in a heart like that of Moses, and in such a period as has been named. Here, as it were, we breathe the atmosphere of the desert; we feel, with the sinner, the still remaining bitterness found in the deadly fruits of sin; but we feel, too, the foretaste of God's mercy, shown anew to Israel; we feel the proofs in favour of the justice of the view here given, in that countless host of guilty ones, 'whose carcases fell in the wilderness.' But enough; this Psalm, which some one, not improperly, has called 'a Psalm for every age,' and of which another testified that it is 'a wonderful, a striking poem, dating from the oldest part of Israel's history, pervaded by a deep and startling earnestness, stately and slow, but free from everything that savours of despair,'⁵ — this is a Psalm which well might bear the name of Moses, and engage us to a special study of the whole.

Before we enter further into Moses' history during the last year of his life, he offers us an unexpected opportunity of going back a little, and of filling up, as much as possible, the blank already indicated in his history by means of such a retrospect. What lies before us here is nothing less than the expression of a good old man's experience, — one who was raised to an exalted station, and possesses high intelligence; who has both seen and been engaged in much; who has made large observations and thought deeply; who has suffered much, and has, especially, been much engaged in prayer: thus he is one to whom we well may give more heed than to many others, when he once more introduces, in the Psalm, the oft-repeated question. What is life? And though his words may well arouse our interest at any time, they do so more particularly now, when we have once more entered on the last month of the year, and may look on Nature's winter-sleep as emblematical of death.⁶ Our Christmas and old year's festivities will certainly not bring us less of joy, when we allow ourselves to be pervaded by the spirit here expressed in this grand Psalm; and even for this prayer alone, Moses would well deserve to be called the teacher and the guide of even the latest generations. But you may think, perhaps, that such praise is extravagant, and deem — at least upon a first slight look — that this review of life is pretty common-place? If so, then you deceive yourself: the retrospect here taken, on the contrary, is most remarkable. Or, perhaps, you think it very one-sided? Here you are wrong once more, for the description is most true. But still, you urge again, it is disheartening and gloomy in its tone. Once more you are mistaken; for, when rightly viewed, it fully satisfies the cravings of the soul. Or, lastly, do you think it is of small importance, and scarce worth the pains bestowed on the development of thought in it? This fourth mistake is worse by far than all the other three; for it is evident that we have here a school, whose heavenly teachings cannot be neglected with impunity by any one of us. Come, listen to the voice that calls to you out from the rocks of Araby! We have already pointed out to you the course we shall pursue in this address. The retrospect which Moses takes of life we shall successively present to you as one that is remarkable, then faithfully correct, then satisfactory, and, lastly, profitable in the lessons it presents. Shall we accomplish this task also with complete success? Shall it be crowned with blessing? That lies in the power of Him in whose hands is the breath of him that speaks, and who can make a way into the hearers' hearts. Eternal Father, who dost still preserve us by Thy grace, grant that, when Thou dost speak to us in love, our hearts may not be hardened into unbelief! Amen.

1.

Does it not seem, at first, as if we would require to gather everything together if we wished to make the view of life, presented in this Psalm, as remarkable as possible in our esteem? Even the occasion which, most probably, called forth the poem, proves its right to such a designation. Nay; Moses never thought, when he beheld the spies return laden with Eshcol's grapes, that there would still be such a distance between the fruit and the lips. But Israel is pusillanimous enough to credit the report of the weak-hearted ten, than what is told them by the God of truth Himself. They wilfully refuse to have the Promised Land, and now they feel the bitterness of what was threatened them. Through Moses' prayer, indeed, the sudden sentence threatening them all with death is turned aside. But the dread oath, that none above the age of twenty years, who had left Egypt, should enter and enjoy the promised rest, soon shows its fearful influence. Now falls the curtain on the scene of history, for there is a cessation, dissolution, destruction; in short, now comes a rest, but not a Sabbath rest; it is the rest found in the grave. The people scatter here and there through the wide wilderness, ever in search of some convenient place where they may rest and tend their flocks. God's government is not destroyed, but for a time suspended; for, to that generation, God has nothing more to say. The heavens are silent, and the earth is sad; the grave makes wide its mouth at every step: who knows the various forms in which death haunts the living, doomed to be its certain prey ^ But who, again, can fathom what passed through the mind of Moses in those years, so weary and monotonous.^ The sentence has not yet been passed upon himself; neither his name nor Aaron's has been singled out; yet, on whole families, sentence of death is being carried out under his eyes. Of all the elders whom he had convened on his return from Midian, that he might place on them his burden in the government of Israel, — of all the seventy who, with him and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, beheld the glory of the Lord,⁷ — he sees the final traces disappear. The death-knell sounds for one here, and another there, throughout the wilderness; and every of death-gasp, drawn through tears, forms the prediction of another to succeed. How different is desert-life to Moses now from what it was, when, in oblivion, he tended Jethro's flocks! Here is material for quite another song than what he sang at the Red Sea.⁸ Then, the Egyptians were swallowed up, and in a watery grave; now, Israel's sons find their graves in the wilderness: O Thou who art our fathers' God, why so much guilt and misery? But the great mass of Israelites display no such concern, — ask nothing at the Lord; rather, as Amos intimates, they worship idols and the hosts of heaven.⁹ But Moses, God be praised, knows where to find a better refuge than his lonely tent could give. Morning and evening come and go each day for thirty years, and during that long period we scarcely hear his voice. He may not ask that the great sentence be annulled; he cannot hope that the allotted time of punishment may be cut short. But now (see at ver. 15) the years of wrath begin to hasten to a close; and as the borders of the Promised Land appear in view, so do the boundaries of Israel's misery; the pain, indeed, of the inflicted wounds is still felt in full force, but now the prospect of relief is brightening, while even the heart weighed down with years feels young again when it obtains a look of Canaan, now no longer closed. The prayer of Moses issues in poetic form; will ye not listen — nay, will ye not also pray?

But, doubtless, even when you were considering the remarkable occasion that called forth the Psalm, your attention was attracted by the elegance of form in which, as you perceive, Moses has cast the view he takes of human life. It well deserves remark, that what we meet with here is, life viewed by the hoary man of God in prayerful frame; for, if it be correct that we are never nearer to the truth than just when we view earthly in the light of heavenly things, this very fact affords us a presumption favouring the justice of the view he takes. We wish we could convey to you something approaching to an adequate conception of the force and beauty of his Psalm. You will at once perceive, that the spirit of the writer does not merely rise to the Invisible, but turns, as far as possible, back to the past. There comes before his fancy's eye the time — so finely portrayed in his own account of the Creation^-when the mountains rose, and the valleys sank into the places marked for them by the Creator's word. He looks, in thought, on those colossal piles as they first reared their stately forms out from the bed of mist and cloud; he sees the whole earth clothed in bridal dress on the first morning of primeval spring; he looks upon the universe, existing long before, but now brought into full, clear view when there goes forth a single intimation from Omnipotence. But in the long eternity before that moment, when the morning stars sang cheerfully, and all God's children shouted loud for joy, he sees the throne of the Eternal, who had no beginning, and shall live when all that perishes has gone. Him he addresses as a 'refuge' (ver. 1)¹⁰ — properly, a 'place of refuge' — 'from generation to generation,' wherein God's own peculiar people see a sure, safe hiding-place prepared for them. And then, this Being, who knew no beginning, He contrasts with man in all his nothingness; while, with a richness and a power found for the most part but in poets less advanced in years, he piles up a huge mass of striking images. The language he derives now from surrounding nature, now from the history of recent years. We can but give the merest hints; attend, with book in hand, while we present a few of these. Mark what a striking contrast is at once set forth (ver. 3) between the bitter fate imposed by God on men, — to return to the dust, — and the tender but decided words placed on His lips. 'Return, ye children of men!' It is not the return of the spirit to God who gave it, nor yet is it the ceaseless change of human generations, but simply the return of the dust to the earth that is referred to here. He who sends forth the mandate is Himself supremely raised above the influence of time, so that the longest period is, in His eyes, of quite as little moment as the briefest interval. 'A thousand years are in Thy sight' — not 'like to-day,' which sometimes seems as if it would not end — but 'as yesterday when it is past,'— in which case it seems always short and fleeting, — 'and as a watch in the night.' The watch referred to is the night-watch then kept in the desert, and extending over three or four hours. The life of a Methuselah is thus, in God's eyes, of as little moment in its length as that of any insect in our eyes, which enters life at morning-tide to die at even. The poet sees whole generations carried off, sometimes at once, 'as with a flood' (ver. 5): is he not thinking of the Deluge, or perhaps the scene at the Red Sea? And they who are thus carried off will scarcely notice it themselves; for, as he puts it touchingly, 'they are like a sleep.' A state of semi-consciousness, in which one scarcely marks the flight of time, — of which, too, on awakening, one scarcely can remember anything, — such seems their life. The sleeper, just awake, goes forth without his tent at early morn; he sees the grass around unfold its leaves; alas! its flowers, so fragrant and so blooming, but proclaim anew the fleeting character of everything! 'In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth' (ver. 6). It does not need the deadly simoom of the desert to blow over every herb; the sun at noonday scorches what the dew at morn had watered and refreshed; at even, no trace can be discovered of what shone with brilliance in the morning light. And all this is the just reward of stubbornness, — the punishment, not merely of acknowledged sins, but also secret sins, which Moses mentions here with no less emphasis than David in another place.¹¹ The joyless days of the condemned pass on incessantly; God's judgment is unchangeable. 'We spend our years,' sighs Moses (ver. 9), 'as a thought' — a single breath. The breath itself that, sometimes visibly, at other times invisibly, escapes our lips, is not more fleeting than the life to which it is so indispensable. Already, Moses makes considerable shortening in human life. Though he himself and a few others seem to form exceptions to a rule which ever shows itself more general, the strongest see no more than seventy, or at the utmost eighty years; 'but yet the best of those years,' of which they boast and show themselves so vain, 'is trouble and sorrow.' Most people drag along a weary life, as if it were a heavy chain; nevertheless, the chain soon seems as frail and brittle as a thread; 'it is soon cut off, and we fly away 'more swiftly than a bird. Surely a thought like this should influence even the most careless to repentance; and yet, how few there are that ever reach this end God has in view when He chastises us! 'Who knows,' the poet asks in deep complaint, — who has a right and lively apprehension of 'the greatness of Thine anger and Thy wrath when Thou art to be feared.'" Therefore he prays the more earnestly for himself and all those of a better mind, that they may rightly learn at least to 'count the many days 'already past, and the few which yet remain, 'that they may apply their heart to wisdom.' And Moses, in his latest Psalm, tells us himself what was for him true wisdom. After mentioning God's blessings and His judgments, he exclaims, 'Oh that they were wise, then would they understand this, and consider their end!'¹² May not he who has first asked for spiritual gifts have perfect liberty to ask aIso for temporal benefits? 'Return, O Lord, — how long? and let it repent Thee concerning Thy servants.' There is here a reference to the historic statement, 'Then the Lord repented of the evil which He thought to do unto the people; 'and to the prayer of Moses, 'Consider that this nation is Thy people!'¹³ In the utterance of the request (ver. 14) to be 'satisfied 'every morning with the favour of God, the allusion to the daily gift of manna is as unmistakeable as it is beautiful. The wish for further joy (ver. 15) is seen to be especially appropriate, when we remember that the greater part of the appointed years had now gone by; the mention, too, of children (ver. 16) is the more striking, since the younger generation was to see the mighty works of God instead of the older generation, now almost destroyed. We scarcely can refer 'the beauty' or friendliness 'of the Lord our God' (ver. 17) to anything but the renewed experience of His gracious presence; and as to 'the work of our hands,' which the Psalmist desires to be 'established,' what else could have been intended than the conquest of Canaan, which Moses little knew, as yet, was to devolve on other hands than his?

And what, now, do you think, after all this, about the spirit which pervades this view of life, the occasion and the form of which we have been pointing out to you? It is, we repeat, a remarkable Psalm which we have read together. It is, indeed, quite true that, even in heathen poets, you find beautiful reflections made upon the transitory nature and the brevity of life; but where else do you meet with such close blending of complaint and prayer, and what psalm ever formed more really a portion of the poet's inmost life? How much more highly than the hero, who may possibly perform a single grand exploit under what plainly shows itself to be extraordinary effort, must we rank 'the man of God/ who, after passing eight and thirty tedious years of pain and disappointment, can still feel and speak as he does here? But is it not remarkable that you do not perceive a single murmur of complaint regarding the ingratitude of those who, as the younger generation, have by slow degrees grown strange to him, though as a nation they are always dear? Is it not strange, too, that you do not find a single trace of discontent with the divine appointment, which condemned this Moses, in his innocence, to wander through the wilderness with guilty Israel? And are you not astonished, when you see the greatest of the prophets place himself on the same level with the meanest of the Israelites, as a man, as a sinner, as a mortal? Well may that be called a truly humble and yet elevating view of life, in which the eye turns from the finite to the Infinite, and the spirit looks already on Canaan, while the foot must still tread on the desert's sand. O worthy Moses, we can think we see you all alone with God, in the stillness of the night, while Israel sleeps around, and the starry heaven is spread out overhead! The bosom, heavily oppressed, relieves itself with mournful sighs; but sighs change into songs, and these ascend on high, an evening sacrifice presented in the boundless sanctuary of creation overhead. When Moses uttered that first word, 'Jehovah,' did it possibly recall to him God's revelation at the bush, when, for the first time, he could realize the power of that all-glorious Name 1 Truly, not only there, but here also is holy ground. A Psalm like this may well be called a sanctuary of itself; even after such a lapse of ages, it is worthy to be taken up again into the lips of many later generations.

2.

'But,' some one will reply, 'surely you do not mean that such a Psalm as this, composed under extraordinary circumstances, could still serve as a standard for attaining a just estimate of life?' We are, indeed, quite of that mind; and what is more, we think we can establish this position. Nay, further, we are anxious to make our conviction yours. true view of life. Come, and give heed once more, while we enable you to estimate the picture here presented in the text as a . But which of its three leading features could you honestly pronounce one-sided — overdrawn? Is it the first, viz. the duration of life, its brevity and its uncertainty? Or is it the second — the burden of life, as heavy and oppressive 1 Or the third — the lesson of life, how seldom it is understood and learned? Test the truth of Moses' words by the experience of daily life, and judge between us and yourselves.

The duration of life, — how short and uncertain! Yes, it held fully and emphatically true of Israel; but do not we, too, find our picture briefly given in the words, 'They are like a sleep; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up '? There are some of those truths which the preacher is almost afraid of bringing to the pulpit, because he knows that no one disputes them. But when did it become unnecessary to remember the transitory nature of life because the fact is universally acknowledged? That life is truly brief, may possibly be 'recognised by one advanced in years, who sees the sun of life close on the western horizon. But the man, who, still in the full bloom of health and strength, perceives his earthly future constantly expand; the youth, who looks on months as an eternity, when these months intervene between his wishes and the object he desires; the child, who looks in envy upon one who may be called full-grown: — do they quite understand the force of words like these, — a 'watch in the night,' 'a flower of the field,' 'a vapour'? How good is it that God Himself comes in between, and, by the plainest facts, proclaims in most emphatic terms what we may understand in words, but scarcely seem inclined to comprehend! Then comes His angel, who invades a family, and carries off an aged one; or possibly he spares a feeble one, but seizes on a blooming youth, a strong man in the prime of life, and cuts him off within a few brief hours, while those who hear of it exclaim, 'O God, how frail is man! Who would have thought this possible? 'But is this really what you did not expect? So much the worse for your own selves! Surely, if individual instances, which show how frail the life of others is, so much astonish you, it may be doubted whether you have yet thought earnestly upon the frailty of your own! For, if you see what he was who has been cut off so suddenly, you never would be anything but 'vanity,' though you were stronger than all else; and as regards the question we so often ask about our absent friends, 'if he is still alive,' as Joseph asked regarding Jacob, what else is it than the expression of our inmost consciousness that death is far more certain than even life itself? Such is the real state of matters; and I hardly know what point in Moses' song should first be taken up, in order deeply to impress upon your minds the truth, that we on earth can properly count upon nothing than that we shall surely die. Shall I, with Moses, liken death to a destroying flood? It is immediately to add, that this stream carries off with it, not merely brittle reeds, but also deeply-rooted trunks of trees, in its destructive course. Or shall I liken life itself unto a sleep? It is in order to predict that, after a brief period, you will be able to exclaim, referring to your deepest sorrow or your highest joy, no more than this, Why did I give myself so much annoyance? or, why did I think myself so happy as I did? Or shall I compare your days to grass, which flourishes, but withers speedily? It is that I may speak about the sentence passed on you, ye youthful flowers, perhaps still covered with the bloom of spring, but soon attacked by poison-worms, which prey on your best strength. Or shall we compare our years on earth to passing thoughts? It is but with the view of adding that our life not only is as fleeting, but as changeable, and speedily will disappear, becoming presently as imperceptible as any series of images that ever crowd upon our brain. Yea, as it is with every individual, so is it always with whole generations of mankind. They are as waves that break upon a vast sea-coast; but only to be driven back by other waves, which, in their turn, are no less destined to rise up in foam, and break. What does this grand prophetic Psalm proclaim, if not just this, — that all things change, and pass away? Yesterday, it was they; to-day, it may be we; to-morrow, — if we live till then, — sooner or later, you!

And now, would that this short, uncertain life were only one of unmixed joy! But I should be astonished at the boldness of the man who for an instant dared to doubt if Moses had good ground for his lament: life's burden, — how oppressive and severe it is! 'Labour and sorrow,' the abundant harvest of a seventieth or an eightieth year; — nay, we must not calumniate Thy love, Father of Lights, who in this wilderness dost give us more than manna for our food; nor must we say again, complainingly, 'Our days are passed away in Thy wrath,' till we have stammered out, 'Praise Him, who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender mercies! 'But must we only in the deserts of Arabia seek for the shoulders that are bent, not to say broken, under the intolerable weight of life's great burden? and must we not rather call the world deceitful, when it promises to give us roses without thorns, or thorns that do not wound? I know, indeed, that there are careless hearts and tearless eyes, that, in their inmost soul, call Moses, and all those of kindred mind, gloomy, austere. But surely, hearts that know not care, and eyes that shed no tears, are far from competent to give right explanation of the problems of this life? Ye who are inexperienced, come not to speak with us of life, until your head, anointed with the oil of joy, shall have received its baptism of suffering, and your stout heart, now strongly harnessed, shall have felt the sword-thrust made in it. And meanwhile, ye — I shall not say, unfortunates, but — ye among us who are fortune's greatest favourites, when ye regard life earnestly, but only in the light of right experience, say whether your account, when it is closed, shall show more profit than appeared when Moses' reckoning was closed. But do not, in your folly, think of urging, as a counter-argument with him, the pleasure of your youthful days, which you now look at through a magnifying glass, but then shall have enjoyed only in the desires which you have secretly been cherishing. Rather review the past, and think, with strict impartiality, of all you hoped for, and — what you have really experienced; think, too, of what you have attempted, and — with what a small result; consider, too, what you have sowed, and honestly confess how little you have reaped. What an amount of trouble spent on nothing but in bringing grief upon ourselves; how much of grief have we experienced through trouble caused by others! What a multitude of opportunities have been presented us! But as regards the future, grief may possibly await us where we hoped to find our highest joy; and with the suffering, well known to all, regarding which our friends express their sympathy, there may come presently a deeper, keener, secret sorrow, torturing the soul. How many lives, like those of Israel in the wilderness, are poisoned by the curse of sins confessed or unconfessed! Here, one in his maturity limps on through life, maimed through the secret sins of younger days; there, one has lost, through injured pride, the peace he felt before; yonder, another feels a deep, sharp sting within his soul, when conscience whispers in his ear, 'You are yourself to blame, and it is now too late; 'and there, again, another waits in fear and trembling for the great decisive hour, when God shall openly reveal our secret sins, and judge, and recompense. Thus conscience adds a new and crushing burden to the mighty load already on our heart; and when we have deducted from the seventy or eighty years, — first, those in which we knew not what was joy and happiness; then, those years when we hoped for and pursued a something yet to come; and, finally, those years, in which we wept and sorrowed for departed joys, what then remains with which to challenge Moses' words? At last there comes, perhaps, a time when we imagine that no trouble shall attend us any more, and sorrows shall depart. Then welcome, sunny days! Blest be ye, plenteous years! — But what is this that comes? Death knocks at the rich fool's door the very night when his last barn is filled. The life departs from that with which it seemed eternally combined; and the disappointed heart receives a shock, from which it never will recover while it does not cease to beat. Enough! But is it then so difficult to tell why a late poet¹⁴ has declared, that, of all things in this world, 'life is itself the hardest? 'and that one of the greatest men belonging to last century¹⁵ could never think upon the frailty and the vanity of life without finding his eyes suffused with bitter tears?

This disposition, I am well aware, is far from being that of the majority; and I will add at once, neither is it by any means the most exalted frame in which our minds can be. But now consider, on the other side, the darkest feature in the picture here presented us by Moses: the lesson of life, — how seldom it is understood and learned. When man is all uncertain whether he shall live to see another moment; when the sinner, laden with such heavy burdens, finds himself upon his way to stand before the Judge, into whose hands it shall indeed be a most fearful thing to fall, — would you not at least expect that such an one would give God and himself no rest, even for a moment, till he had attained the object of this life, and were assured of hope hereafter too? 'Surely I see one, threatened by the all-destroying flood, betake himself to the strong rock; I see another, bowed beneath the dreadful load, embrace the feet of his great Judge: '— vain dream of multitudes, vain as the dream of life itself! 'Who knoweth the power of Thine anger? Even according to Thy fear, so is Thy wrath.' Nay, venerable Moses, truly thou wouldest have no reason to retract these words didst thou appear among us now. 'God's wrath,' — but surely the very word sounds unmelodious and harsh; 'God's anger,' — but does not the thought belong exclusively to the Old Testament? Indeed, if, after all that has been said, there still was something that could bring us to a sadder frame of mind, would it not be a glance at the excessive readiness with which this brief, uncertain life, so full of toil, is dreamed away and wantonly misspent by turns.'' Must not even such an one as Moses still seek to be circumspect, that he may wisely count his days and hours, and find he is not even a single second short? And where are they among you, wise hearts, that are also truly praying hearts? How many pupils are there in the school of life that leave it without learning the most necessary of the lessons taught us here, — to die? Yes, when the Great Pursuer, Death, that never rests, and never lags more than a single step behind us men, has made a precious life near us his prey, we shudder when we hear his steps. But scarcely have his footprints disappeared, ere terror for his arrows vanishes, though we are still within an easy reach, and the necessity for some relief from terror that has come on us induces xis to seek new sleeping-draughts through which we may dispel anxiety. 'It was an accident, — quite unforeseen; a most peculiar accident; a fatal omission; an unexpected circumstance;' — always something that we should have taken care in time to guard against. The ranks of those still living open up but for an instant, that the dead, whose end roused consternation for the time, may be removed; but presently the ranks close up again, as if no change had ever been; the morrow finds his place filled up, and next day sees remembrance of the man effaced; insensibility soon sports upon the lonely grave, but lately hollowed by the hand of love. Is there anything of which we have more positive assurance, and of which, nevertheless, we are less mindful, than these soul-disturbing words: — 'To die, to die once, to be condemned '? Does not experience continually show, that those who are most accustomed to see others die frequently think least about the dreadful certainty and meaning of their own mortality?' Yea, we ourselves, who speak of your death-sentence and our own, are we sufficiently imbued with this dread thought, — that, in this very hour, we may be summoned hence? Alas, the youngest of us here has had more than sufficient time to learn true wisdom; and the oldest is, perhaps, upon this very point, as hard of hearing and as foolish as the rest! At every turn called lustily to break our slumbers, most of us are like the sleepers who, half-dozing, say, 'I did not know it was so late/ and then turn round to sleep once more. Bowed down sometimes beneath the load of our old sins, sometimes beneath the weight of our old cares, we often miss, for years on end, the highest object of our life; and ere we are aware of it, the boundary is reached before we take the great, decisive step. 'They are as a sleep: 'unto how many, even of us, may these words be most suitably applied in quite another sense! The vapour passes by, and men scarce heed it as it goes; the stream speeds on, and we regard it dreamily; school-time draws to a close, yet the dull pupil still remains the same. The flower of the grass holds up its fragile head, as free from care as if it wished to say, 'See, I am far too beautiful to break; 'and the night-watch is spent as if it would endure eternally. Oh, Life, Life! — is there anything more fleeting, dismal, restless, and monotonous, or of less intrinsic worth than thou?

3.

'Anything of less intrinsic worth than life? Thanks be to God, we have something to bring forward as a counterpoise to this; for, observe, we have been hitherto regarding life almost solely in the light of experience; but now we turn the other side, and view it in the light of faith. May we not, think you, venture to affirm that it is a satisfactory view of life which this writer has already taken before us? Only look once more at his words, his example, and especially at the gospel of grace. In view of and in contrast with what we have mentioned, let us consider faith as an eternal source of life, a joy of life, a hope of life.

It was, indeed, a gloomy picture on which we have been looking to-day. But why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted in me? Knowest thou not the everlasting fountain of life, to which Moses points us, even at the very commencement of his prayer? 'Lord, Thou hast been our refuge, from generation to generation! 'Truly, it would require Moses himself to tell what he felt in his heart when uttering these words; but it requires a Christian to understand why we also address the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ with this honourable name. It is a touching thought, that, reckoning three generations to each century, a hundred generations now have gone down to the grave since the servant of the Lord sang these words; but, whatever else has changed upon this changing world, the refuge has been standing open, from generation to generation, for all living and dying ones. Nay, child of Adam, do not say that everything which you behold within and round you is but transient! High over all the clouds of heaven, there stands the royal throne of Him who is from everlasting to everlasting God. When the last sepulchral mound shall have received the last of its own dust from man, He shall not be a single night-watch older than He was when the first mountain was brought forth; and He, the Everlasting One, is, and remains for all His own, a God of perfect blessedness. Nay, it is not through any accident that He has marked so many trees, so fair and promising, to be cut down throughout the forest of our race, while the unfruitful knotted trunk but laughs at winter's storms; it is His voice that speaks, 'Return unto the dust; 'and though that voice is quite supreme in its commands, wisdom and love at all times guide its exercise. Nay, it is not mere 'Nature 'that requires man's latest breath; it is the living God, who carries in His hand the worlds, yes, and the breath of lives. Nay, it is not the mower of our race, who comes in arbitrary mood, and cuts the fairest flowers; it is the heavenly Husbandman, who now removes a beauteous plant from earthly soil to heaven's garden of delight, and roots out what have proved abortions, or still lets them grow for some wise end as yet known only to Himself We pass away, but He remains; we are but clouds on heaven's expanse, reflecting sunlight thrown on us, — He is the everlasting Sun, that may hide sometimes, but can never set; beneath, the grave awaits our feet, — above, God is our Refuge high! Does not that ray of light from heaven already make death's shadows flee; and does not the stream of death awake less fear within your soul as it foams towards you, when you behold the Infinite enthroned as King, above the flood? If He but lives, and I may live in Him, then, even although what is most dear to me should be removed, I may lose much, but cannot be deprived of everything. If life be but a vapour, then what matters it, provided that life-vapour rises, as an incense-offering, to heaven? and if we soon fly hence, beyond the reach of human eye, — again we ask, what matters that, provided His eye reaches us, and we soon find a resting-place for ever in His heart? If there has once been formed, by faith, a personal connection between Him and us, it will not, cannot perish, like the grass that withereth. And if the hour of life is soon to pass away, as if it were a single thought, the closing thought will be, 'This God is our God; He will be our guide even unto death.'¹⁶

But is the praise of faith too loudly trumpeted.-'and would there rather be far greater reason for prolonged complaint, if we were but to look once more upon the heavy burden of this life? Not one iota we retract of all that has been said as to the griefs and sorrows of this life; but now, we may present to you the other side of the matter, — the obverse of the coin. In midst of all life's burdens, true faith knows a life of joy. Surely you do not ask me, what is that? You have already been regarding Moses, who, all through that series of years, so burdensome and sad, might well be called the most severely tried of men, and yet he was the happiest. Yea, verily, the happiest; for know you not in whom he placed his faith, — from whom that trouble and that sorrow came, — and to whom these could not but lead him? And is there not at least one pleasure, of which all the wickedness of men cannot deprive him, and which becomes more dear to him the more life's struggle deepens, — namely, the enjoyment of secret intercourse with God? Ah, child of this world! if you do not yet know that joy, I understand how you feel sometimes that the world is too confined; and how you would seek to escape from life, as an accursed thing, if there were no eternity! It is hard to bear a heavy burden on the back, and have no hand on which you may with safety lean! And it is hard to look around in vain for light, and find besides that there is only darkness overhead! But if the God of Moses be your God, then you, too, drink of a spiritual rock that ever follows you through life; and when the world inquires how you can eat the bread of tears so cheerfully, you can give answer in your Saviour's words, 'I have meat to eat that ye know not of'¹⁷ You look no longer merely to the trouble you endure, but above all to the hand that laid it on; no longer do you specially regard the weight of sorrow, but rather the object of the chastisement. Like Moses in the wilderness, you bear submissively what is imposed on you because of sin; because you see, more clearly than he saw, that it is no longer an avenger who repays you for your sin, but a Father who chastises you in love. And it is well for you, when you depart, to see that refuge open wide for you; a blessed thing it is, besides, to know that you have nothing more to fear, when you, too, hear the great command addressed to you, 'Return to dust! 'But — as we well may modify the question asked by Moses — who fully knows the power of God's grace, and His love to sinful men in Christ? Behold, what Moses' law concealed, the gospel now proclaims. He, who could easily destroy us in His wrath, finds not His pleasure in the sinner's death; and our unrighteousnesses, which He could place in the light of His countenance, He casts behind Him into the depths of the sea. In Christ, He takes from off our shoulders what is far the greatest burden that we bear, — the load of guilt; and every other ill He sends on us, while we traverse this vale of tears. He makes work for our good. Nay, now we are no longer troubled by His wrath, but we rejoice in His great love; we bless Him for the troubles and the sorrows under which so many others groan; for the cords of love, by which God draws us to Himself, are closely twined around His chastening rod. Ye followers of Christ who feel God's chastening hand, may you not well discard Moses' complaint for Paul's triumphal tones, 'In all these things, we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us'?¹⁸⁾

But, once more, does your heart fail when you see the vanity of life, — that lesson which so few have learned? Again, rejoice in the Lord, ye who have learned at first to view life in the light of faith; for you, like Moses, — yea, even more than he, — may speak of a grand hope of life. But do you think it difficult to find out, in this prayer of his, traces that he expected more than what this present life affords.'' Surely, it scarce would be worth while engaging in such earnest prayer for wisdom, had the poet known no higher destiny than death, and after that the grave. No; he who knows such fellowship with the Eternal as is here desired and felt, must carry, deep within his heart, a strong presentiment of the eternal life. When such an one as Moses seeks to count the days that swiftly pass, it is because he knows that time stands in direct connection with eternity; and when he prays that he may find satisfaction in the mercy of God, it is impossible that he can rest content with this mean earth. But, God be thanked, what was quite sure to Moses we can now see far more clearly than even he; the eye of faith, besides, descries a better country than the promised land of earth, looming beyond that Jordan we must cross at death. Apart from a direct connection with that life, we grant that there is nothing less important than existence here; but, viewed in the light of things to come, can you point out what is of more importance, or what more demands the wise employment of our time? Eternities depend upon the hours we often waste so thoughtlessly; and earnest effort, which we now expend to learn life's lesson, will then be repaid with interest. Nay, Adam's children return again unto the dust of earth, not to experience annihilation, but to continue elsewhere what was here begun. Life seemed a sleep, but the morning of awaking dawns; with rapid flight we hasten hence, but, just like birds of passage, to a milder clime! What are the seventy or eighty fleeting years (and few reach even that boundary, — years spent on earth in toil and trouble, too) when we compare them with the glory of the sons of God, which then shall be revealed? Then, in the morning of eternity, He satisfies His people with the full enjoyment of His goodness; He makes them glad according to the days of evil they have seen on earth. Then all His work appears unto His servants' eyes; and it is shown to heaven and earth that there was absolute necessity for even that weary warfare in this life, to fit them for the wearing of the everlasting crown. Then conies — what higher blessedness can faith conceive? — then comes the beauty of the Lord our God, in its entirety, on all who loved Him in sincerity; and the work of their hands, begun in weakness to His praise, is perfected in power. Once more He overwhelms them, but with streams of everlasting bliss; the brief — yea, and the longest — life of pain has now passed by, as if it were a watch by night; and God's eternity, God's blessedness, God's glory now are theirs, as far as creatures can receive. They mount up hence, — always, like eagles, straight towards the sun. . . . Christians! do you still look upon this vain and fleeting life from such a lofty eminence.'' Nay, for it now lies far beneath your feet, and quite behind your back, like a grey cloud which has disappeared from sight: now is it nothing, and yet, in this nothing lay the germ and essence of that everything. The burden borne on earth is now laid down, but the wisdom learned on earth remains; and the struggle to attain that wisdom has been followed by enjoyment that shall know no end. Christians! if the psalm of life, even here, gives such encouragement to faith, what shall it be when, up in heaven, the song of all eternity ascends?

4.

But who will be so bold as raise his voice to join the angels in their heavenly song? Here you will see that our discourse bears more directly on your heart and conscience than your understanding, your feelings, and your faith. Only when it is not merely understood and assented to as true, but earnestly laid to heart, does Moses' view of life become for you and me a truly profitable view of life.

To what does it more urgently arouse us than to ask this practical question, — Have I, too, learned as yet to view things with the eye of Moses; and have I yet obtained the wise and understanding heart for which, as we have seen, he prayed so earnestly? Nay, do not be too ready to solace yourselves with the consideration that you quite assent to all that has been said, and even at the present moment feel, to some extent, its force. It is not so difficult a matter to feel saddened when a mournful song is sung, — to speak with visible emotion on the frailty of our life, — or even to affirm, with some degree of unction, that death is always near. But when we look for the right kind of fruit from this lightly-won conviction, and when we attentively regard the lives of many who declare that death is ever near, once more we ask, where shall we find a heart in which true wisdom dwells? Surely not in you, O thoughtless youth, who walk according to your own desires, forgetting that the slightest sign which God may give can stop the joyous course of your life's blood, now bounding through your veins? Nor yet in you, O man of business, skilful in your reckoning of every chance, excepting this, which you least reckon on, — that the King of Terrors may wipe out one cipher of the well-made reckoning? Nor yet, again, in you, old man of earthly mind, who always say, in comfort to yourself, that others have lived longer still than you; or who may certainly complain like Moses, but yet never pray like him? Nor yet in you, O worldly-minded woman, who turn pale with terror when you only hear the name of an infectious disease, and yet at once plunge deep into the whirlpool of all kinds of dissipation, just as if you could not there drink of the stream of death? Oh, what sad folly, and what blindness, too! Ye dream of years, yet cannot count upon a day; ye reckon up your treasures, while your hours, which gold can't buy, are let slip through your fingers like the sand! And we, who must condemn, detest, oppose all this, are we indeed far better than our fellows? and have we already profited by Moses' view of life? What is our leading principle of action, our highest aim, and our most sacred joy? And if, this night, our life, and everything the world sees to admire and to desire in us, were wholly lost, what would remain in us ripe for eternity? Oh that this question, put to you as in the invisible presence of the angel of death, might sink deep into your soul, and lead you to a proper frame of mind! It is indeed no trifling matter to be liable, at any moment, to be called before a heavenly Judge, who — mark those words — 'sets our secret sins in the light of His countenance,' and then to 'fly hence' into everlasting destruction. And that everlasting destruction — we say it with the fear of death in our own heart — is, as truly as God lives, and as you may die this day, your portion, if you have been seeking your highest good in this present life; and it shall be more tolerable for Israel, that suffered in the wilderness the punishment of their unrighteousness, than for you, who will not hear the loudest calls, but kick against the pricks! If God be faithful, then He also will make good His threatenings; if God be infinite. His wrath against men's sin will never end; and if God's holiness be feared, even by a Moses, then what mountain, or what hill, would shield the unrepenting sinner from the fierce fire of His wrath? Oh, fellow sinner, would that such a voice as this might rise within your heart ere death shall break it, — 'What shall I do that I may inherit eternal life? '

If this be what you ask, then Moses earnestly directs you to the first great want of life. And what else could this be, than that the Lord should be as really your God as He was his; and that you should soon learn to seek true life, which only can be found in fellowship with God? Here is the reason why Moses could speak so earnestly, and yet so calmly, too, about that death which made the most courageous in Israel quake. To look with calmness on the King of Terrors, we must first, in faith, have looked upon the God of life; the grave affords no peace to us, if Moses' heavenly refuge be not first sought and attained. It cannot be too frequently repeated, that this does not mean the philosophic faith in a Supreme Being, without whose will not a sparrow falls to the ground; but that childlike, personal faith in a Father, who, in Christ, has also made an everlasting covenant of grace with us, which gives us strength in presence of life's troubles, and sustains our courage in the hour of death. If God does not become our God on earth, then neither shall His heaven be ours. How shall we worthily give thanks to Him, who still, in kindness, says to us this day, 'Return, backsliding ones,' before the last 'Return 'arrests us suddenly, and brings us to the dust? For what shall we more earnestly make our request on your behalf, than that the love of God, more than the terrors of eternity, may lead you to repent; and that your stubborn heart may here be broken, so that you may no more tremble for the breaking down of this your earthly house ^ A thousand years are, in God's sight, as yesterday when it is past; but though you had a thousand years to live, one hour of the repentance which is not to be repented of would be to you the most decisive, the most blessed in your life! And wherefore should you say, 'To-morrow,' when death constantly may say, 'To-day'? Nay, come without delay to Christ, through whom alone the Father will receive lost sinners, and let Him preserve you from the wrath to come! Depending on the power given by the Holy Ghost, break loose from all connection with a world that gives so little and so quickly vanishes; and when you estimate the things of time, employ no other standard than the one which, in 370ur dying hour, you will desire to have employed. Still is it day, but even now the days are few; see that you carefully improve the hours, and let not even the minutes be misspent or lost.

Of all that we have heard to-day, this is the sum: each one of us is urged to lay to heart the great, important task of life. By this we mean the careful counting of our days, — a task which is, for us, more difficult, but of as much importance as for Israel, who could, in some degree, while they were in the desert, reckon up the probable duration of their lives. It is quite natural that there should be a reckoning, in which regard is had not only to mere number, but intrinsic worth, — not only the amount of principal, but specially the interest drawn from the treasure of this life. Oh, how much farther we might have advanced in the art of making this brief life — I do not say longer — but really more profitable, both for ourselves and others, if we did not remain so backward in the practice of this heavenly arithmetic! But, alas! 'time is money: 'such is the motto of your daily life; but why not also of your higher, never-ending life? Your gold you keep behind strong bolts and bars, but you give up your time quite willingly to any robber that may come: do you put pence to usury, and let hours lie without return? Oh that I could inscribe upon your souls the legend round the clock, through which a famous preacher rose to eminence: 'They pass away, but they are laid to our account!'¹⁹ Count up the many days already gone, the few that still remain. Count up your opportunities already lost through sheer neglect, and learn to live in such a way that, when you come to die, you may obtain eternal life. Make up your reckoning before it can be said of you, 'Counted and weighed, but found too light! 'From Moses, learn, in all humility, not to be hasty in imagining that you are perfect in this art; and be not slower, but more faithful in your work, according as the night draws on. And further, if, like him, you are but sure you have the grace of God, you may, with him, look calmly on when now and then there falls away what never was intended to remain; and you may quietly advance to meet the evil day, as one who knows that his best days of life lie not behind, but all before, and there in infinite variety. Thank God that you have found the only true reply to the great question, 'What is life? 'and urge this, in your turn, on other men. 'Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation;' but, above all, like Moses, 'continue instant in prayer.' A short time longer, and then your death, too, shall confirm the truth of Moses' view of life; and one who has but known you in your conflicts and your strife may sigh, as he takes your cold hand in his, 'What, then, is life? what has even this life been? 'But he who has observed your faith, and your departure from this world, will point the sighing one aloft as he replies, 'His true life has begun!'

Amen.

1) Gen. xlvii. 9.

2) Gen. xxiii. 4; cf. Heb. xi. 13-16.

3) Job xiv. 1, 2.

4) 1 Chron. xxix. 15.

5) Herder.

6) This sermon was delivered Dec. 5, 1858.

7) Ex. iv. 29, xxiv. 9, 10.

8) Ex. xv.

9) Amos v. 25, 26.

10) Such is the rendering of the Dutch version. — Tr.

11) Ver. 8; cf. Ps. xix. 13.

12) Deut. xxxii. 29, Dutch translation. — Tr.

13) Ex. xxxii. 14, xxxiii. 13.

14) Bilderdijk.

15) Herder.

16) Ps. xlviii. 14.

17) John iv. 32.

18) Rom. viii. 37.

19) Transeunt et impidantur were the words inscribed around the clock placed in the school in which Bossuet was taught.