You remember how beautifully this is illustrated in Æsop's Fables. A lion asleep in the wood one day was awakened by a little field-mouse, and quick as lightning he laid his terrible paw on the tiny intruder, and forthwith would have sentenced it to death. But the trembling captive implored him to show mercy, and the great beast was softened, and allowed it to escape. And that gentleness was twice blessed—it blessed him that received and him that gave. A few days after this the same lion was caught in a strong net which the hunters had set for him, and struggle as he might, he could not set himself free. But the little field-mouse heard his terrible voice, and came to the rescue. Patiently, thread by thread, it gnawed through the stout rope, and the monarch of the forest was free. And no doubt, as he stood and shook his bushy mane before plunging into the depths of the forest, he thought within himself, saying, "My former gentleness hath made me great."
Yes, "he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city." Even a lion may be tamed. Even a lion may become a lamb; and it is glorious to have a lion's strength when it is tempered and tamed into gentleness.
The Cock-crowing.
"And one shall rise up at the voice of the bird."—Eccles. xii. 4.
Youth and age are strangely blended in this chapter. With a pathetic reference to old age, the young heart is called upon to remember its Creator in the days of its youth. The days of youth are the choice—the choosing days. They are full of temptation, but they are also blessed with many great advantages; and no better season could be mentioned for resisting the one and improving the other than the moulding season of what the paraphrase calls "life's gay morn." Old age, like a sick-bed, has enough to do with itself. There are many discomforts that beset the path of the aged. For one thing, they cannot sleep so soundly as young people do. "They rise up at the voice of the bird." The first twitter of the swallow under the eaves, or the first crowing of the cock, is quite sufficient to break their night's repose, for their light and fitful slumbers are very easily disturbed. And old age is soon followed by death. The silver cord is loosed, and the golden bowl is broken; the pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern. And the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns unto God who gave it. How foolish then to neglect religion until a time of decay like that! It is worse than foolish: it is suicidal. The whole life ought to be given to God, and not the mere dregs of the cup. "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them."
"Deep on thy soul, before its powers
Are yet by vice enslaved,
Be thy Creator's glorious name
And character engraved."
I.—THE COCK-CROWING AS A DIVISION OF THE NIGHT.
We are so accustomed nowadays to clocks and watches, that the ancient difficulty of marking the time may never have occurred to us. We listen to our time-pieces striking the hours and think no more about it. But the Jew had no such time-piece. He had no other way of knowing the hour than by listening to the voices of nature. The starry heavens stretched above him like a great clock, and he could read its face every night. The clear ringing voice of chanticleer was also heard, reminding him of the advent of the dawn. And listening to these and such like voices, and dividing the night by means of them, he was able in a rough and general way to tell the advance of the hours. He made the night to consist of four watches—"the even" from sunset to about nine o'clock, "midnight" from nine to twelve, "cock-crowing" from twelve to three, and "morning" from three to sunrise (see Mark xiii. 35).
The Rabbis used to say that David, the sweet singer of Israel, had a harp hung over his bed, which sounded at midnight of its own accord, and woke the king to prayer. And the children may remember that our own King Alfred is reported to have used graduated candles to measure the hours of the night. But until the advent of the pendulum, the accurate measurement of time was impossible. The face of the sky or the crowing of the cock could not give an exact chronometry.
Nevertheless it had one clear advantage. It kept man in touch with nature. It made him listen reverently to the voices of the night. And that was an education which we can ill afford to disregard. We are not made richer by its loss. We may only have lost our reverence for the sake of our mathematics. Influenced by it, the pious Jew responded to every voice of nature by uttering a blessing on the divine name. Even when the crow of the cock fell on his ear he was instructed to say, "Blessed is He who hath given wisdom to the bird." If our modern chronometry has abolished that, perhaps we have paid too dear for our clocks and watches. To have time-pieces that go to the minute is a great deal; but to hear voices that keep us in touch with God is a great deal more. "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." Rise up and pray at "the voice of the bird." We are even told that God giveth songs in the night (Job xxxv. 10).