All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all,—Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair.—There is no creature loves me:—
And, if I die, no soul will pity me:—
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
illustrations of the latter clause of the verse.
Buchanan, the Scotch historian, relates that John Cameron, Bishop of Glasgow, was so given to extortion and oppression, especially upon his tenants and vassals, that he would scarcely afford them bread to eat, or clothes to wear. But one Christmas eve, as he lay in his bed in his house at Lockwood, he heard a voice summoning him to appear before the tribunal of Christ, and give an account of his actions. Being terrified with this notice, and the pangs of a guilty conscience, he called up his servants, and commanded them to stay in the room with him. He himself took a book in his hand, and began to read; but the voice, being heard a second time, struck all the servants with horror. The same voice repeating the summons a third time, and with a louder and more dreadful accent, the bishop, after a most lamentable and frightful groan, was found dead in his bed.
The Last Days of Nero. Nero had landed in Italy about the end of February, and now, at the beginning of June, his cause had already become hopeless. Galba, though stedfast in his resolution, had not yet set his troops in motion; nevertheless, Nero was no longer safe in the city. . . . Terrified by dreams, stung by ridicule or desertion, when his last hope of succor was announced to have deceived him, the wretched tyrant started from his couch at supper, upset the tables, and dashed his choicest vessels to the ground; then, taking poison from Locusta, and placing it in a golden casket, he crossed from the palace to the Servilian gardens, and sent his trustiest freedman to secure a galley at Ostia. He conjured some tribunes and centurions, with a handful of guards, to join his flight, but all refused; and one, blunter than the rest, exclaimed, tauntingly, “Is it, then, so hard to die?” At last, at midnight, finding that even the sentinels had left their posts, he sent, or rushed himself, to assemble his attendants. Every door was closed; he knocked, but no answer came. Returning to his chamber, he found the slaves fled, the furniture pillaged, the case of poison removed. Not a guard, not a gladiator, was at hand, to pierce his throat. I have neither friend nor foe, he exclaimed. He would have thrown himself into the Tiber but his courage failed him. He must have time, he said, and repose to collect his spirits for suicide, and his freedman Phaon at last offered him his villa in the suburbs, four miles from the city. In undress and barefooted, throwing a rough cloak over his shoulders and a kerchief across his face, he glided through the doors, mounted a horse, and, attended by Sporus and three others, passed the city gates with the dawn of a summer morning. The Nomentane road led him beneath the wall of the prætorians, whom he might hear uttering curses upon him and pledging vows to Galbo; and the early travellers from the country asked him as they met, What news of Nero? or remarked to one another, These men are pursuing the tyrant. Thunder and lightning, and a shock of earthquake, added terror to the moment. Nero’s horse started at a dead body on the roadside, the kerchief fell from his face, and a prætorian passing by recognised and saluted him. At the fourth milestone the party quitted the highway, alighted from their horses, and scrambled on foot through a canebrake, laying their own cloaks to tread on, to the rear of the promised villa. Phaon now desired Nero to crouch in a sand-pit hard by, while he contrived to open the drain of the bath-room, and so admit him unperceived; but he vowed that he would not go alive, as he said, underground, and remained trembling beneath the wall. At last a hole was made through which he crept on all fours into a narrow chamber of the house, and there threw himself on a pallet. The coarse bread that was offered him he could not eat, but swallowed a little tepid water. . . . Suddenly was heard the tramp of horsemen, sent to seize the culprit alive. Then at last he placed a weapon to his breast, and the slave Epaphroditus drove it home. . . . Nero perished at the age of thirty years and six months.—Merivale.
outlines and suggestive comments.
There are two descriptions of mercy. There is mercy to sufferers, and mercy to offenders. Mercy to sufferers is the disposition to relieve; mercy to offenders is the disposition to forgive. The two are infinitely united in God. Under his government all sufferers are offenders. It is only as offenders that they are sufferers; and when He pardons the offence, He cancels the sentence to suffering. And in every good man the two are united. They should, indeed, be regarded as one principle, operating in different departments. Now “the merciful man” whether considered in the one light or the other,—in exercising forgiveness or in relieving distress—effectually consults his own interests. He does so, even for present enjoyment. The Divine sentiment of the Saviour—“It is more blessed to give than to receive,” has its full application here. Jesus Himself, above all that ever lived on earth, experienced its truth. He “delighted in mercy.” He came from above on an errand of mercy. The “merciful man” participates in the blessedness of the Son of God. . . . He, moreover, procures favour with his fellow-men;—he “makes himself friends of the mammon of unrighteousness;” he causes society to feel an interest in him—to regard and treat him as its friend and benefactor. This is eminently gratifying and pleasing;—to know that in the hearts of our fellow-men our names are associated with affection and blessing, and that when we “fail,” there will be some ready to receive us into “everlasting habitations,” who have been made friends by our kindness during their sojourn in the wilderness. But above all, the mercy of the merciful is associated with the favour and blessing of God. . . . But the cruel stirs up resentment, instead of conciliating favour; so that on every hand, in every face, he sees an enemy, from whom he dreads the fulfilment of the Saviour’s maxim,—“With what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again.” How can he be happy? There is unhappiness in his very passions. The opposite of the character of God, they cannot but be associated with misery.—Wardlaw.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: This next paragraph includes the word “niggardliness,” which is a fine word meaning “stinginess” or “parsimony.” However, it can sound like a racial slur especially to people who are not familiar with the word or are not paying close attention. When teaching this material please consider substituting a synonym.
We are to preserve, as much as in us lies, these two parts of our nature, our souls and our bodies. . . . He that may truly be called a kind man, is kind to his own soul, in comforting his own heart, and in granting thereunto the delight which may be received by sleep, by food, and the use of all things necessary and pleasant. Wherefore the counsel which the son of Sirach giveth is good and worthy to be followed: “Love thy soul, and comfort thine heart, and put heaviness far away from thee.” (Ecclus. xxx. 21, etc.) On the contrary side the cruel person, either for niggardliness, or travail, or sorrow, pincheth, consumeth, or pineth his body. He ceaseth not to labour, nor saith, For whom do I travail and deprive my soul of good things.—Muffet.
The merciful man will ever find a merciful God. (Psa. xli. 1. Matt. v. 7). The widow of Sarepta and the woman of Shunem, each for their kindness to the Lord’s prophets received a prophet’s reward. (2 Kings iv. 16. vii. 1, 6). The alms of Cornelius brought good to his own soul. (Acts x. 2, 4). Even now “God is not unrighteous to forget our work and labour of love.” (Heb. vi. 10. Matt. x. 42). At the great day He will honour it before the assembled universe. (Matt. xxv. 34). . . . Cain found his brother’s murder an intolerable “trouble to his flesh.” (Gen. iv. 13, 14). The doom of Ahab and Jezebel was the curse of their own cruelty. (1 Kings xxii. 38. 2 Kings ix. 36, 37). The treasures of selfishness will eat as a canker in our own flesh. (Jas. v. 1, 3).—Bridges.
Why did not the wise man say, “He that is cruel troubleth his own soul?” He knew that a cruel man cares nothing for his soul. If you would obtain a hearing from the merciless man, say nothing about his soul. He values it less than his dog. But if you could convince him that his want of mercy will be hurtful to his flesh, he would think a little about his ways. And it is evident from Scripture, that his flesh, no less than his soul, is under a fearful curse.—Lawson.