LIFE.
"He liveth long who liveth well!
All other life is short and vain;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of living most for heavenly gain."
Bonar.
There are two distinct classes of people who enjoy God's gift of life, and who look upon that gift from two utterly different points of view. The worldly man looks upon life as a time in which to gratify his desire for pleasure, or in which to pursue his business schemes. The Christian looks upon life as a preparation for death, which shall lead him, as it were, through a gateway to the life to come. Nay, more than this, so nearly are these two connected, life and death, that the way in which men spend the former, mainly depends on the view they take of the latter. To the man who believes only in the things of time and sense, there practically appears no life to come. Death is the end of all things; he neither sees, nor cares to see anything beyond it. But how different is it with the Christian man! To him life is a growing-time--a time for growing in grace. What the spring-time and early days of summer are to the corn, what the April showers are to the tender shoots, so is life to him! He lives with a consciousness that death is hovering near, and often nearer perhaps than even he may think; but so far from making him wretched, or discontented, the thought of his departure rather causes him joy. To him life is but a shadow, a vapour, a short, passing, wintry day; death is but the dark valley--necessarily dark, for he too is but mortal--but beyond this darkness there is light, light unearthly, light glorious, which will lighten his eyes in death.
Life has often been compared to a ship, sailing over stormy seas, but always pointed towards the haven of rest, which is on the heavenly shore; meeting with many disasters, suffering many losses, till at length, "with rent cordage and shattered deck," she reaches the port of Heaven.
There is a story told of an ancient Greek teacher, who was asked what kind of ship he considered the safest to weather a storm--if he thought one with a pointed keel, or a flat-bottomed boat the best for resisting the violence of the waves? The old man answered, "The only really safe ship I know of is the one which is drawn up upon the shore." And oh! reader, is not this true of life? Have you never felt as you sailed across life's troubled sea, and met with ships of all kinds crossing towards the same harbour, have you never felt that none could really be called safe--safe amid the changes and chances of life--none safe until they were drawn up high and dry upon the heavenly shore? The best ship ever built may be wrecked in a storm, the most experienced pilot ever known may miss his way in a fog; and the most God-fearing, upright, honest Christian may be, nay certainly is, liable to faults, mistakes, and failings. "The only safe ship I know of is the one which is drawn up upon the shore!" There, out of reach of the violence of the waves, far from their stormy tides, the ship rests safely. It makes but little difference whether the ship be flat-bottomed or pointed as to its keel; it makes no difference at all whether the man be rich or poor, whether he be bond or free. It is to the same harbour both are bound, it is to the same Master each will be accountable for deeds done in the body. Only be sure that you are living now the life that Christ would have you live, and that you can say with S. Paul, "the life that I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, Who loved me, and gave Himself for me.[#]"
[#] Gal. ii. 20.
MY BIRTHDAY.
"My birthday! ev'ry minute tells
Me time is passing by,
And bids me look to One Who dwells
Beyond the starry sky;
A frowning past would seem to say:
'What moments have been thrown away.'
Great God! as birthdays come and go,
And mark each fleeting stage below,
Be Thou my hope, be Thou my aid--
The only strength which cannot fade--
And when the throbs of life have passed,
O take me to Thyself at last."
John Burbidge.
Reader, just think what a birthday is. Your birthday is the day on which you were born. The day on which God sent you into this world, giving you a free will to fight for Him or against Him. And every year regularly since that day you have had a birthday. You have been getting every year nearer and nearer to the grave, nearer and nearer home. And what is the home to which you have been drawing nearer, God's or Satan's? Has every fresh birthday found you growing in grace as well as in age? Can it be said of you, as it was of our blessed Lord, He "increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man?" Remember that such wisdom as that mentioned there is not to be got out of learned books. It is the same kind of wisdom that Solomon had, the gift of Almighty God. Learned men write learned books, and we read their writings with delight. But a queen even took a long, a toilsome journey in person to hear the wisdom of Solomon, for he was the wisest man on earth.
Just think for a moment how old you were last birthday. How many of those years can you truthfully say have been spent in the service of Christ? Jesus Christ passed thirty years here on our earth, thirty weary, sorrowful years, and He can truthfully say that every day of those thirty years was passed for you and for me! Yes, reader, every day and every hour! He bore the mocking laughter of the Jew, and the idle scoffing of the Gentile, that He might know what ridicule meant, and might help you to bear it too. He worked in the carpenter's shop that He might know what labour was, and understand what weariness means. He saw that foxes had holes, and the birds had their nests, while He had no place in which to lay His head; and all this He suffered, that He might know the full bitterness of the cup of misery drunk by the houseless, homeless poor. And He knew too that each year, each birthday, brought Him nearer to death, and what a death it was! Oh! have you ever thought of the pain of knowing all this beforehand? Perhaps now and then, (but very rarely,) you sit down on your birthday to think of your death-day. But God has mercifully hidden from your eyes the manner and circumstances of your death. It wasn't so with Christ. Whenever the thought of death came into His mind, there would rise up before Him a vision of three crosses of wood on a hill outside a city. Crowds of people would be standing round, and Roman soldiers keeping guard. On two of the crosses would be nailed thieves; on the centre one Himself, the Lord of life and glory. I remember seeing a picture a few years ago in London by a well-known artist. He had painted a boy standing near a carpenter's bench in a village workshop. He had been working hard, and was now resting, and in the act of stretching Himself. Both arms were extended at full length, and the head leant slightly on one side. A woman, kneeling on the floor behind Him, was looking at some treasures in a large chest. The sun falling upon the figure of the boy, cast a shadow upon the floor, a shadow of a figure stretched as if it were ready for crucifixion, and the artist had well named his picture "The Shadow of Death." Reader, you may be young, as young as that boy in the picture; but near you too may be standing the shadow of death. The boy Jesus, in stretching His weary limbs, strangely cast a shadow on the ground of the death of the man Christ. And though you know it not, death may be standing quite as near to you as it was to Him--or nearer.