Such lives, believe me, are eminently happy. They have their full measure of sensibility, and therefore their full share of trouble too. What sorrows come to all, do not spare them; and it is the quickly throbbing heart that is the tenderest. They cannot take life with dull acquiescence, being neither keenly glad nor greatly sorry: to them, its brightness is like opening Paradise; its gloom, a very valley of the Shadow of Death. And as they emerge out of the narrowness of their personal lot, to go down into the ringing battle of the world, they encounter blows and bruises which more selfish lives are able to avoid; they lay bare their hearts to sorrows not their own, and are stricken with the disappointments of mankind. Was it not a part of the secret of Christ that his affections were so wide, his sympathies so keen, his identification with humanity so complete, that sin not his own cast a shadow upon him almost like remorse, and all his tears were for others' sorrows? So is it with his strong and eager disciples: they lay their breast against the thorn, and would not have it otherwise. And yet they are happy. If it be happiness to have life filled to the brim with occupation that never tires and always brings with it its own reward: to be conscious of the easy movement of power, the strong putting forth of faculty: to be secure against disappointment in reliance upon the righteous purposes of God, which must prevail at last: to have a sure escape from personal grief in the largeness of human sympathy and the vista of universal hope: to feel, as life wears away, no disenchantment of purpose, no stealing languor upon the will, no freezing chill upon the heart, but only a passionate desire to live to the last in the full glow of service, and an absolute completeness of self-renunciation—then are these strong souls happy. They cannot but find life good, because everywhere in it they feel the touch of God's hand; they see the skirt of Christ's garment as he goes before them in the way.
"He that believeth on me, out of him shall flow rivers of living water." The privilege of giving life is not Christ's alone, though still his in the first instance and the greatest degree: it is shared by all who are truly one with him in spirit and in work. And I am not sure that a large part of the value to humanity of these bright and strong souls does not lie in the inspiration which goes out of them. The weaker ones are always apt to take life in too low a key. They are easily daunted: they resign themselves, as they say, to the inevitable: they have too keen a sense of evils to be overborne and difficulties to be confronted: they learn to distrust, if not to smile at, the ideal, to call acquiescence common sense, and cowardice prudence. And upon them the presence of a strong soul, with its carelessness of toil, its contempt of danger, its faith in the better things that shall be, its trust in God, its generous self-abandonment to men, passes like a breath of inspiration, bringing shame at once and strength with it. Before such an one, not only does selfishness hold its peace, and cynicism forget to be sarcastic, but a new vigour steals into the irresolute will, a fresh power of self-sacrifice takes possession of the heart. The kingdom of God no longer seems a dimly glorious dream, far off in a new strange world, but an ideal that may be realized, here, upon the ruins of innumerable failures, now, in the depths of living human hearts. It is as if God himself were somewhat nearer to us: a strong faith seems to draw Him down from heaven, to build His tabernacle among men: or if this cannot be, and we know that He is always round about us, at least the mists scatter, the clouds clear away, and we catch a glimpse of His unceasing activity, of His eternal rest. I cling to the thought that at some time or other the soul of every one of His children is in direct communication with Him; but for the most part He speaks to us by other human lips, and strong, clear, white lives are the ladder by which we climb to Him. So down the ages we trace the golden thread of the succession of Saints, Christ the first, afterwards they that are his, in turn receiving, in turn giving life, blessed and blessing—till at last the kingdom comes.
You know of whom I have been speaking, friends and fellow-worshippers: though I have named no name, you have interpreted my meaning, you have read between my lines. And now that we are about to part, with regretful love and honour freely paid, with the oldest of those who have loved this place,—and, in parting with her, to bid good-bye for ever to a generation of pious men and women who in their day served God and wrought righteousness,—I have one last appeal to make. And I make it far less to the middle-aged, whose habits are fixed, whose principles chosen, and who have taken a course in life which they will not lightly abandon, than to the young, whose nature is yet plastic, and who may make of their existence what they will. I ask them, Is the life which I have tried to describe worth living? or is there any other method by which they think the highest objects of existence can be more completely attained? Is there any finer discipline for their powers than the service of God, any nobler education than the fellowship of Christ? I do not plead with them for allegiance to any particular form of Christianity, though we have a right to rejoice in the strength and sweetness of our own Saints, and I might argue that the faith which issues in such fruit of holy living cannot be without its just claim to respect. But my interest is at once deeper and wider than this: I plead for Christianity, I plead for Religion; for the awe of God, for the love of Christ, for the service of man. We are falling upon careless times, when the world is too much with us, and the love of ease seduces us, and we flit—thinking, God help us! that it is pleasure—from one facile excitement, from one selfish gratification, to another. We live in a sceptical age, when knowledge and faith find it hard to come to terms, and there is always an excuse for disbelieving truths which startle the soul into seriousness and make a painful demand upon the will. But whatever else is false, one thing remains true—that the service of God is strength and peace and freedom. Christ still holds the secret of life: "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whosoever will save his life shall lose it, and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it." Amen.
