Nothing is more important, yet few things are more difficult, than the proper control of our spirits in the time of trouble. There are two extremes to be avoided; stoicism and despondency. Stoicism feels too little; despondency, too much. The former hardens the heart; the latter breaks down the spirit. The one is a want of sensibility; the other, a lack of fortitude. This is an affected contempt of suffering; that, a practical abandonment of hope. Midway between the two lies the path of duty and happiness. St. Paul, quoting from King Solomon, warns us against them both: "My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord"—that is stoicism; "neither faint when thou art rebuked of him"—that is despondency. Israel is charged with the former: "Thou hast stricken them, but they have not grieved; they have made their faces harder than a rock." Job fell into the latter: "Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me."
No piece of history is more affecting than that of the perfect man of Uz. For the trial of his fortitude and his fidelity, the Almighty delivered him up, with certain restrictions, into the hand of Satan. The Sabeans and the Chaldæans robbed him of his oxen, his asses, and his camels, and slew his servants with the edge of the sword. Fire from heaven consumed his flocks in the field, and all his children perished together in a tempest. He was smitten "with sore boils from the sole of his foot unto his crown; and he took him a potsherd to scrape himself withal; and he sat down among the ashes." His wife, the last on earth that ought to have been unkind to him, assailed him with bitter mockery; saying, "Dost thou still retain thine integrity? Curse God and die!" Three friends, more faithful than the rest, came from afar to see and console him in his sufferings; and when they beheld the greatness of his grief they sat down with him in speechless astonishment; and surely that seven days' silence was better than any words of condolence they could have spoken. But when "Job opened his mouth and cursed his day," and related the sad story of all his troubles, they too became his censors, charging him with hypocrisy, and secret wickedness, and oppression of the poor and needy. These allegations stung him to the heart. Oh! was it not enough that God had forsaken him; that Satan had assailed him with all his weapons; that predatory bands had stripped him of his possessions; that the elements of nature had conspired against his prosperity; that his seven sons and three daughters had been taken from him in one day; that his body had become a mass of putrid disease, a loathsome living death; and that the wife of his youth looked upon him no more with affection, but treated him with cold indifference or haughty scorn? Must these wise and excellent men, the last friends left to him, join the cruel mockery, and accuse the upright of oppression, impiety, and every evil work? "The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?" The good man's heart is crushed; he is ready to give up all for lost; and he pours forth his whole soul in this passionate appeal: "Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me."
It is permitted us to complain under such afflictions, provided we do not "charge God foolishly." There is no guilt in tears, if they are not tears of despair. It is no crime to feel our loss. Insensibility is no virtue—has no merit—wins no reward. Religion does not destroy nature, but regulates it; does not remove sorrow, but sanctifies it; does not cauterize the human heart, but enables us to "rejoice evermore," and teaches us to "glory in tribulations also." Abraham mourned for Sarah; Joseph mourned for Jacob; David mourned for Jonathan, and even for wicked Absalom; "devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over him;" and Jesus, the pattern "Man of sorrows," groaned in spirit, and wept at the grave of Lazarus. These chastisements are intended for our improvement; but if they are not felt, their end is not realized. If we have no sense of the stroke, how shall we submit to the hand that smites us? If our hearts are seared against all painful impressions, God is defeated in the purpose of his providence, and the best means of our salvation prove ineffectual; for he that is not sensible of his affliction will continue secure in his sin. The loss of one who is very dear to us—a husband and father, upon whom we depend so much for counsel, support, protection and happiness—must inflict a very deep wound; and who shall forbid that wound to bleed? None may say to the widow, "Weep not;" but He that can also say to the dead, "Young man, arise." Grief must have vent, or it will break the heart. Tears must flow, or they will fester in their fountains. It is cruel to deny one the relief of mourning, when mourning is so often its own relief. Sorrow calls for sympathy. Compassion is better than counsel. It is a great alleviation, when we can pour out our grief into another's bosom. Sympathy divides the sorrow, and leaves but half the load. "Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ." This is what the troubled patriarch longed for, but could not find. His kindred were estranged from him, and all his inward friends abhorred him: his servants responded not to his call, and the wife of his bosom regarded him as an alien. No wonder that he exclaims, as if his heart were breaking, "Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me."
But it is better to complain to God than to man. He will appreciate my complaint He knoweth my heart. He seeth my sincerity. He pitieth me with more than a father's pity. His word can still the storm and calm the sea. His look can turn my darkness into light. He hath invited me to call upon him in the day of trouble, adding, "I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me." He hath said, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." The apostle saith, "Is any among you afflicted? let him pray." David saith, "I cried unto the Lord with my voice; with my voice unto the Lord did I make my supplication. I poured out my complaint before him; I showed before him my trouble. When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path." There is a psalm—the CII.—on purpose for the afflicted, and this is its title: "A prayer of the afflicted, when he is overwhelmed, and poureth out his complaint before the Lord." The afflicted may complain; when he is overwhelmed he may complain even unto the Lord; yea, he may pour out his complaint before him, as one poureth out water; and here is an inspired formula of woe which he may employ in the divine presence without fear of extravagance or impropriety. Sorrow sometimes renders one speechless: "I am so troubled," saith David, "that I cannot speak." Oh! what a relief when we can empty our anguish into the ear and the heart of God! Such prayer is not incompatible with perfect submission to the divine will. "I was dumb, and opened not my mouth, because thou didst it;" dumb as it respects murmuring, but not as it respects prayer, for the next words are, "Remove thy stroke away from me; I am consumed by the blow of thy hand." Jesus in Gethsemane exhibits a pattern of perfect submission joined with fervent prayer. He "prayed earnestly," "in an agony," "with strong crying and tears;" thrice prostrating himself upon the ground; thrice imploring the Father, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me;" but as often adding, "Nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done."
Oh! yes; you may complain, in the spirit of pious subordination; but you ought to guard against the excess of sorrow. To grieve too much were as great an evil as not to grieve at all. Where, then, is the proper limit, and when does sorrow become excessive, and therefore sinful? I answer:
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it renders you unmindful of your remaining mercies. It might be much worse with you than it is. You have forfeited all your comforts, yet God has withdrawn but few of them. Are those that remain worth nothing to you because others have been removed? Will you relish the less the fruit that is left, because some of it was blighted by untimely frost? You should set the higher value upon what you have, and enjoy the blessing with a grateful heart.
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it causes you to forget the grief of others. You are not the only sufferer in the world, nor is there any thing very peculiar in your afflictions. Thousands have experienced similar troubles, losses, bereavements. Some have parted with more than husband and father—have lost all at once, and are left to tread the dreary earth alone. You are doubtless acquainted with many with whom you would not now exchange conditions. And can you be so selfish as to forget all griefs but your own?
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it makes you indifferent to the public welfare. Poor old Eli was less afflicted by the death of his two sons than by the loss of the ark of the Lord, because with that was so intimately connected the prosperity of his people, the object dearest to his heart. A Spartan mother, who had five sons in the battle, stood at the gate of the city when a messenger came with tidings. "How prospers the fight?" she inquired. "Thy five sons are slain," answered the messenger. "I did not ask after my sons," replied the patriotic woman, "but how prospers the fight?" "We have won the day," said the other, "and Sparta is safe." "Then let us be thankful to the gods," exclaimed the inquirer, "for our continued freedom." Her private griefs were swallowed up in her concern for the public good.
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it disqualifies you for the duties of your position.
"Nothing in nature, much less conscious being,Was e'er created solely for itself."
You live for others. Your friends have claims upon you. Your families and fellow-citizens require your beneficent activities. You cannot cast off this responsibility. It is written in your inmost nature. It is interwoven with the very constitution of human society. Wherefore the noble faculty of speech, the high prerogative of reason, the sweet flow of domestic sympathies, and the congregation of men in communities, with statutes and civil compacts, and distinctions of rank and office? All these indicate your duty to the human brotherhood; and if you grieve so as to unfit yourselves for that duty, you defeat the end of the divine benevolence.
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it blinds you to the grand purposes of Providence. Poor Job saith, "My soul is weary of my life," and again and again he desireth the quiet shelter of the grave. Yet do we find him piously inquiring into the reasons and final causes of the Almighty's mysterious dealings with him: "I will say unto God, Do not condemn me; show me wherefore thou contendest with me." We are well assured that "affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground." All things are under the restraint and control of Infinite Wisdom and Love. In every pain you suffer, whether appointed or permitted only, God is seeking your good. It were a double loss, doubly aggravated, first to lose your friend, and then to lose the benefit of the loss. Is not the loss of the former sufficient, without adding to it, by your immoderate grief, the infinitely greater loss of the latter?
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it refuses the proffered consolations of friendship. When Jacob rent his robe, and put sackcloth upon his loins, and mourned many days for Joseph, and all his sons and daughters rose up to comfort him, he refused to be comforted, saying, "I will go down into the grave unto my son mourning." "In Ramah was a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning; Rachel weeping for her children, refuseth to be comforted because they are not." To decline the needed consolation when it is offered, is certainly a sin. There is some little excuse for the children of Israel in Egypt, when Moses spake unto them of the promised deliverance, and "they hearkened not unto him for anguish of spirit and for cruel bondage." The dying Rachel would have called her son Benoni, "the son of my sorrow," but that would have been too sad a remembrancer to Jacob of his beloved wife, and he called him Benjamin, "the son of my right hand."
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it will not accept relief even from the hand of God. He hath assured you that his grace is sufficient for you, and invited you to come to him for help in time of need. Yea, he is a present help in trouble; and he saith, "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." To all who ask, he "giveth liberally, and upbraideth not." And will you not ask and receive, that your joy may be full? He hath not given you breath merely for sighs and groans, nor articulate utterance for ungrateful complaints of his providence. He hath afflicted you, perhaps, on purpose to draw you to himself; and will you thus defeat the designs of his mercy? Will you turn your back upon him when you need him most? Will you refuse to pray when prayer is most necessary for you? To whom will you go for aid, if not to God? Where will you find comfort, if not in his love? When will you seek the throne of grace, if not in time of trouble? Oh! how sweet is it to say with the psalmist, "In the multitude of my thoughts within me, thy comforts delight my soul."
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it preys upon your health and endangers your constitution. Grief unreasonably indulged soon devours the vigor of the physical system. This is an effectual method of suicide, not less guilty than a resort to the knife, the rope, the river, the pistol, or the poison. Some drink themselves to death, and others grieve themselves to death; who shall pronounce the former more criminal than the latter? Sorrow sometimes kills as suddenly as a bullet or a poniard through the heart; and sometimes it acts as a deadly potion, slow but sure. The food never nourishes, that is always mingled with tears. When your grief is so great, that no balmy airs, nor beautiful scenes, nor pleasant melodies, nor sympathies of friendship, nor solacements of society, nor consolations of religion, can soothe or refresh the soul, then your health is impaired, your strength gradually wastes away, the world loses too soon the benefit of your life, and you haste unsummoned to the judgment. This is the sorrow of the world which worketh death.
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it sours and imbitters the spirit against both God and man. This deplorable effect, instead of the peaceable fruits of righteousness, is often produced by affliction, when the providence is misinterpreted and perverted. Then the heart murmurs against God; saying with David, "I have cleansed my hands in vain;" or with Jeremiah, "My strength and hope are perished from the Lord;" or with Jonah, "I do well to be angry, even unto death." I have known persons indulge their grief to such a degree, that they loved nothing, enjoyed nothing, took interest in nothing, cared not for their nearest friends, grew indifferent to society, found no relief in solitude, turned away from the house of God, spurned his holy oracles, hated books, hated Nature, hated the very sunlight, neglected their own persons, and spent life in a continual groan. This is rebellion against Providence. "Why doth a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sin?" How much better to say, "I know, O Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that in faithfulness thou hast afflicted me!"
Your sorrow is excessive, and therefore sinful, when it continues so long as to become the settled habitude of the soul. The time for mourning has been limited by all wise nations, and the wisest have generally made it shortest. The Egyptians, who knew not God, mourned seventy days for Jacob; Joseph, his son, only forty-seven days. Israel mourned thirty days for Aaron, and thirty days for Moses, but only seven days for Saul. The inward sorrow, however, may last much longer than the outward show. The formal ceremony is soon laid aside; while the stricken heart carries its wound, still bleeding, to the grave. But the first poignancy of grief should not be allowed to continue too long, lest it produce the injurious effects of which I have already spoken. When it is not only indulged, but cherished as a luxury, it soon becomes sinful. When the mourner persists in nursing his woe, and feeds it with melancholy reflections in silence and seclusion, heeding neither the dissuasives of friendship nor the solacements of religion, he despises his own mercy and injures his own soul. Remember your departed friends with tenderness, but let your sorrow be subdued and holy, and aid the healing art of Nature with the balm of grace to shorten as much as may be the term of its continuance.
"But it is my best Friend that hath smitten me. It is the stroke of my heavenly Father that hath wounded me. For God maketh my heart soft, and the Almighty troubleth me. He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head. He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone; and my hope hath he removed like a tree. Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my friends; for the hand of God hath touched me."
Then it is a painful touch. It is grievous to be smitten by a friend, and the stroke of the father breaks the heart of the child. Your bereavement is indeed a fiery trial, a sword in the bones, a spear that pierceth to the soul. I pity your sufferings, and wonder not at your complaint.
But it is a common touch. "What son is he whom the father chasteneth not?" Who hath not lost a friend? Who hath not sat in the shadow of the tomb? Even the immaculate Saviour suffered in the flesh. "It pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief." And can you hope for exemption?
And it is a righteous touch. The Creator is also the proprietor, and he has an unquestionable right to resume what he hath loaned. All are his; and shall he not do what he will with his own? Shall not the master of the garden gather his own fruits, the commander of the army dispose of his own men? What claim have you upon him for happiness? And how much more misery do you deserve than you have ever suffered!
And it is a needful touch. The loving Father never inflicts a needless stroke. Your delinquency calls for chastisement. Your forgetfulness of eternity requires the stern admonitions of death. The creature that has usurped the Creator's place must be removed. The heart that has grown fast to the world must be torn away. The tree that has struck its roots so deep into the soil must be loosened before it can be transplanted.
And it is a skilful touch. The musician is familiar with all the keys and powers of his instrument. The physician is well acquainted with the character of the disease and the qualities of the application. God's understanding is infinite, and his wisdom is infallible. He knoweth perfectly, when, and where, and how, and by what special means, most effectually to touch the human heart.
"Learn to lie passive in his hand,And trust his heavenly skill."
And it is a tender touch. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend." "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him; for he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust." "A bruised reed will he not break, and the smoking flax will he not quench." The wound must be probed, but the surgeon will do it gently, and soothe the pain with cordials. "He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men;" but "for your profit, that ye may be partakers of his holiness." He correcteth his people with loving-kindness,
"Most merciful when most severe."
And oh! is it not a blessed touch? It is the touch of a sword, which subdues the rebel will; the touch of a hammer, which breaks the stony heart; the touch of a fire, which separates the dross from the gold; the touch of a light, which illuminates the darkness within; the touch of a key, which opens the royal palace to the king; the touch of a fountain, which washes away sin and uncleanness; the touch of a sceptre, which assures of the monarch's gracious acceptance; the touch of a master, who asserts his claim and takes his property; the touch of a Saviour, rescuing the soul which he hath ransomed with his blood; the touch of a lapidary, polishing an immortal gem for Emmanuel's crown! God's dealings are mysterious but merciful. "Clouds and darkness are round about him; righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne." He saith to us, as he once said to Simon, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."
"A bruised reed he will not break;Affliction all his children feel;He smites them for his mercy's sake;He wounds to heal."
The Christian, like the Captain of his salvation, is made perfect through sufferings. His present griefs are the pledges of future joys. The gloomy night shall soon give place to an eternal day.
Such are the ways of God. And shall my ignorance impeach his perfect knowledge, and my folly arraign his infinite wisdom, and my evil complain of his transcendent goodness, and my weakness refuse the aid of his almighty arm? "The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him." Strange were it indeed to hear one say: "Alas! I am undone, for I have nothing left but God." But is not this practically the language of the believer who sinks into a state of despondency under providential bereavements? He that has God for his portion could not be enriched by the bequest of a kingdom, by the inheritance of a world. The heir of God is heir of all things.
Zeno, who lost his whole fortune in a shipwreck, afterwards declared that it was the best voyage he ever made, because it led him to the study of philosophy and virtue. Happy for you, my friends, if your afflictions lead you to Christ! Happy, if, losing a friend, you find a Saviour! Receive, I beseech you, this chastisement as a new proof of your heavenly Father's love. Learn something from heathen Seneca, who said he enjoyed his friends as one who was soon to lose them, and lost them as if he had them still. Nay, learn rather from Him who bore your griefs and carried your sorrows; who, with the burden of all our accumulated woes pressing upon a sinless heart, exclaimed—"Father, not my will, but thine, be done!" Thus shall your loss disclose to you the pearl of great price, and enrich you with the imperishable wealth of the kingdom of God!
[1] Preached at a funeral, 1862.
X.
WISDOM AND WEAPONS.[1]
Wisdom is better than weapons of war.—Eccles.ix. 18.
We glory in the excellence of our arms. We boast of our superiority in this respect to the ancients. We attach great importance to such advantages, and rely upon them for the success of our campaigns. It is well. Let these things be properly estimated. But are we not in danger of overlooking what is much more essential to our prosperity? Is there nothing better than guns and bayonets? The royal Preacher gives the preference to wisdom. Wisdom is the right use of knowledge, the pursuit of worthy ends by proper means; and if we take the word in this its ordinary sense, the truth of the text will be obvious to all. But in the writings of King Solomon, as often in other parts of the Holy Scriptures, wisdom has another and higher meaning—piety, practical religion, conformity of heart and life to the law of God; and attaching this signification to the term, who can question the statement of the wisest of monarchs, "Wisdom is better than weapons of war"?
We will begin with some simple illustrations of this proposition in its lower application to secular affairs, and thus prepare the way for more copious discourse concerning its higher application to spiritual matters. And may God mercifully grant me persuasive words, and you "a wise and understanding heart"!
"Wisdom is better than weapons of war," because it gains its advantages at less expense. Weapons of war are very costly, and millions of money are required to insure their success. But wisdom wants no gold. "More precious than rubies," it is "without money and without price."
"Wisdom is better than weapons of war," because it wins its victories without sacrificing human life. Weapons of war strew the field with mangled and ghastly corpses, and fill the land with widows and orphans and broken hearts. But wisdom sheds no blood. Its tendency is to preserve life, and not to destroy. It resorts to counsel instead of appealing to the sword, and subdues its enemies without endangering its friends.
"Wisdom is better than weapons of war," because it leaves no wrecks or ruins as the landmarks of its progress. Weapons of war spread desolation and destruction on all sides; and buildings burned, and plantations devastated, and wealth scattered to the wind, everywhere attest the evils of international contention. But wisdom wastes no property. It accomplishes its beneficent purposes without injuring any man's estate. It turns no fruitful field into a wilderness, and disfigures the landscape with no smouldering heaps of demolished habitations.
"Wisdom is better than weapons of war," because it gives no encouragement to the malevolent and wicked passions. Weapons of war produce hatred, contempt, revenge, a thirst for blood; converting men into fiends, and rendering earth the counterpart of hell. But wisdom makes no enemies. It conciliates. It attracts love, inspires confidence, and binds communities and nations together in fraternal amity. It breathes something of the spirit of Christ's evangel, and echoes the angelic proclamation—"Peace on earth, good-will toward men."
"Wisdom is better than weapons of war," because its achievements are always of a much more valuable character. Weapons of war may overcome brute force, breaking the power of armies, subverting the thrones of monarchs, and arresting the course of incipient revolutions; while the mind remains unconvinced, the will unsubdued, and the heart still strong in its enmity. But wisdom eradicates the principle of hostility. It blasts the bitter fruit in the bud. It disarms enemies by making them friends. It occupies the mind, subjugates the will, and leads captive the heart. Therefore it is said, "He that winneth souls is wise."
These illustrations of the text in its lower application must suffice. Proceed we now to the higher. Wisdom is true religion, evangelical godliness; and this, whatever view we take of it, will be found superior to weapons of war.
We see its superiority in the excellence of its nature. Weapons are material: wisdom is spiritual. Weapons are terrestrial; wisdom is celestial. Weapons are worn upon the person: wisdom is seated in the soul. Weapons are wielded by the warrior: wisdom controls its possessor. Weapons are of earthly origin, human invention, Satanic suggestion: wisdom, like "every good and perfect gift, is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." It is a beam divine, by which we see the invisible. It is the breath of God, inspiring a new life, and imparting a new nature. It is an influence from the Infinite Spirit, quickening the dead conscience, and purifying the polluted heart. It is a gracious power, which subjugates, exterminates all that is hostile to holiness within, "bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ," and nerving every faculty to the conquest of the mighty host of spiritual foes that "beleaguer the human soul."
We read its superiority in the importance of its objects. Weapons are employed both for aggressive and for defensive purposes: so is wisdom, but in a very different way. Are weapons used to gain freedom? So is wisdom, but it is the freedom of the soul. To acquire riches? So is wisdom, but they are the "durable riches of righteousness." To augment power? So is wisdom, but it is power over the passions and the habits. To repel invasion? So is wisdom, but it is the invasion of the Prince of darkness. To expel enemies? So is wisdom, but they are the enemies intrenched within us. To extend dominion? So is wisdom, but it is the dominion of the world's Redeemer. To subjugate nations? So is wisdom, but they are the nations fighting against God. To liberate captives? So is wisdom, but they are the captives of sin and Satan. To gratify revenge? So is wisdom, but it is revenge against the destroyers of our race. To secure commendation? So is wisdom, but it is the commendation of the Eternal Judge of quick and dead. To achieve glory and honor? So is wisdom, but it is the glory of a heavenly inheritance and the honor of an imperishable kingdom. These are objects worthy of angelic enterprise, and illustrative of the transcendent excellence of wisdom.
We observe its superiority in the purity of its principles. Weapons foster and encourage evil passions in the human heart, and stimulate all its corrupt and vicious propensities; while wisdom eradicates them, originates the opposite virtues, and cultivates in all their "beauty of holiness" the gracious "fruits of the Spirit." On the one side we see pride; on the other, humility. On the one side, contempt; on the other, courteous respect. On the one side, distrust; on the other, ingenuous confidence. On the one side, restless ambition; on the other, tranquil contentment. On the one side, grasping avarice; on the other, open-handed beneficence. On the one side, bitter emulation; on the other, mutual aid and sympathy. On the one side, injustice and oppression; on the other, due regard for the rights of all. On the one side, deceit and wily treachery; on the other, unswerving truth and uncompromising fidelity. On the one side, turbulence, confusion and anarchy; on the other, the reign of divine law and angelic order. On the one side, savage brutality and diabolical cruelty; on the other, tears for all woes and help for all needs. On the one side, bitter and implacable malignity; on the other, the spontaneous flow of brotherly kindness and charity. On the one side, the desperate wrath and fury of revenge; on the other, meekness, gentleness, oblivion of injuries, and all the mind of Jesus. On the one side, an impious disregard of the Almighty's government; on the other, a profound reverence for his holy name, with an earnest desire to know and a settled purpose to do his blessed will. On the one side, an exemplification of the spirit and temper of hell; on the other, a practical illustration of those pure affections and hallowed influences which make men resemble the angels, and render our life "as the days of heaven upon earth." These are the ennobling principles of wisdom.
We perceive its superiority in the grandeur of its alliances. Weapons may secure an alliance with the governments of the world, with its wealth and power, its learning and eloquence, its useful and decorative arts, the glory of its monarchs, the policy of its statesmen, the influence of its sages, and the splendid renown of its conquerors. But wisdom boasts of loftier alliances with "the saints that are in the earth, and the excellent in whom is all its delight;" "a holy nation, a royal priesthood, a peculiar people;" theéliteof the universe, the "sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty," "whose names are in the book of life," whose robes of light, and harps of gold, and thrones of power, and crowns of glory, and palms of victory, await them in the city of "many mansions," the "house not made with hands, eternal, in the heavens." It connects itself by invisible but indissoluble ties with the redeemed denizens of the "city of God," the purest and noblest men that ever lived and died, patriarchs and prophets, apostles and martyrs, philanthropists and reformers, "the salt of the earth," and "the light of the world,"
"Doers of illimitable good,Gainers of inestimable glory."
It claims community with the cherubim and the seraphim, spirits of light and love, the unshorn strength and unsullied purity of heaven. It lays hold upon the throne of God, and establishes an everlasting covenant with the Almighty, and interests the Ruler and Proprietor of the universe in its cause. Such an alliance secures divine sympathy, heavenly recognition, efficient co-operation, help for all needs, succor in all troubles, defence against all dangers, deliverance from all enemies, the triumphant success of all enterprises, and the enjoyment of "all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ Jesus." And with this magnificent endowment of privileges, unknown to the hero of the battle-field, Wisdom, strong in her weakness, rich in her poverty, happy in her misfortunes, tranquil amidst popular commotions, and fearless of ten thousand foes, sits singing in the house of her pilgrimage—
"Not from the dust my joys or sorrows spring;Let all the baleful planets shedTheir mingled curses round my head,Their mingled curses I despise,If but the great Eternal KingLook through the clouds and bless me with his eyes."
We confess its superiority in the character of its achievements. With arms men conquer inferiors or equals: through wisdom they overcome beings vastly greater than themselves—greater in number, in nature, in knowledge, in cunning, in courage, in energy, in endurance, in all the facilities and resources of warfare, except such as are furnished by the grace of God. With arms we vanquish human enemies: through wisdom, superhuman. With arms we vanquish external enemies: through wisdom, internal. With arms we vanquish visible enemies: through wisdom, invisible. With arms we vanquish mortal enemies: through wisdom, immortal. With arms we vanquish earthly enemies: through wisdom, heavenly principalities and powers dethroned and doomed. With arms we subdue provinces and subvert empires: through wisdom, overcome self, and bring our own rebellious nature under the government of God; and he who accomplishes this, saith Solomon, "is better than the mighty—than he that taketh a city." Alexander is said to have conquered the world. Vain boast! The world was not half conquered. But "he that is born of God," St. John tells us, "overcometh the world; and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." Faith is the theological synonyme of wisdom. Faith is the foundation of all true religion. Faith, wisdom, is real heroism. And it was through this the holy men of old achieved their splendid triumphs and won their immortal honors. And it is through this that the Christian still overcomes the world; overcomes its spirit; its false philosophy; its evil customs and fashions; its cunning strategy, and its open violence; the shallow sophistry of its unbelief, and the affected valor of its impiety; the fascination of its soft seductions and all the fury of its fierce revenge. Faith, with Hope and Charity for its allies, sprinkled with "the blood of the Lamb," and bold in "the word of its testimony," with the eagle's eye and the lion's courage, goes forth to the holy conflict; and all the missiles of malice, ridicule and infidelity—as cannon-balls by cotton-bales—are effectually repelled by the meekness and gentleness of its spirit; and the enemy at length succumbs to the virtue that he finds invincible. This is real victory! This is the sublime triumph of wisdom!
We behold its superiority in the measures and motives of its warfare. Here is a perfect contrast. Arms triumph by physical force and energy: wisdom prevails by the persuasiveness of truth, the gentleness of charity, the beauty of holiness, and the spirit of the Lord. The soldier seeks the aid of science and strategy: wisdom adheres to the simplicity of the gospel, repudiating all art, concealment, disingenuous trickery, such as false colors, masked batteries, treacherous ambuscades, and challenges its enemies with an honest front upon the open field. The military hero is cheered on by the voice of popular applause: wisdom has no admiring multitudes, seeks no encouragement from the world, but pursues its spiritual warfare in silence and in secret,
"All unnoticed and unknown,Loved and prized by God alone."
There is much in "the pomp and circumstance of glorious war" to stimulate the combatants: wisdom has all the stern reality of the conflict, without any of its inspiring accompaniments—the martial strain, the glittering ranks, the floating banners, the roar of artillery, the shout of charging squadrons, and the clash of resounding steel. The mailed knight of the battle-field may gather strength from emulation: wisdom knows no emulation but that of love and good works—no fierce competition or contentious rivalry—striving only to excel in kindness of heart, sweetness of temper, and the moral likeness of the Son of God. You may be encouraged to the conflict by the hope of gain: wisdom has no expectation of earthly profit—no spoils to be won, no cities to be sacked, no mansions to be robbed, no bank-vaults to be rifled; but it forsakes all to follow Christ, and is content to practise his daily self-denial. You may look forward to worldly distinctions and honors: wisdom seeks no promotion short of the kingdom of heaven—no fame of heroism, no record in history, no celebration in song, no decoration of stars and wreaths, no triumphal arches, nor monumental pillars, nor statues in the temples of the gods. Nay, the times have been when those noble heroes who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens, though the world was unworthy of them, were deemed unworthy of the world; had trial of cruel mocking and scourging, of bonds and imprisonments; were tortured, not accepting deliverance; were tempted, stoned, burned, beheaded, crucified, sawn asunder; wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, and concealed themselves in dens and caves of the earth; being destitute, afflicted, tormented. "But wisdom is justified of her children."
We discover its superiority in the certainty of its final success. Arms may fail for want of discipline and skill: wisdom has drilled her soldiers, teaching their hands to war and their fingers to fight. Arms may fail for want of strength to wield them: wisdom girdeth us with strength unto the battle; and nerved by her influence, the feeblest in our ranks can run through a troop and leap over a wall. Arms may fail for want of competent officers: wisdom rejoices in the "Captain of the Lord's host," "the Lion of the tribe of Judah," with his eyes of flame, his vesture dipped in blood, many crowns upon his head, and a sharp two-edged sword proceeding out of his mouth, followed by the armies of Heaven, going forth conquering and to conquer. Arms may fail for want of sufficient defences: wisdom is environed with "a wall of fire," a living circumvallation of seraphim and cherubim; and "the name of Jehovah is a strong tower, into which the righteous runneth and is safe." Arms may fail for want of timely re-enforcements: wisdom can call to her aid at any moment "twelve legions of angels;" and, could we see their splendid array, the mountain is continually aflame with the artillery and cavalry of God. Arms may be rendered useless by the overwhelming forces of the foe: wisdom leads "a great multitude that no man can number;" any one of whom can chase a thousand, and two can put ten thousand to flight; as Gideon, with his three hundred, routed and destroyed the myriads of Midian. You may be unsuccessful in battle from a variety of inevitable accidents: wisdom never breaks her blade, nor bursts her musket, nor loses her bayonet, nor dismounts her artillery, nor drops a chance match into the magazine; and her batteries can never be stormed, nor her forces flanked, nor her trains captured, nor her ammunition exhausted, nor her officers out-generalled and circumvented by superior strategy. Your troops may lack the proper support of the government: Jehovah has pledged all his infinite resources to the aid of wisdom in "the good fight of faith;" and his word shall not fail till heaven and earth pass away. Your hopes may perish upon the very verge of victory: what soldier of wisdom ever left the field without the spoils of a vanquished foe? "Yea, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that hath loved us." Success, therefore, is certain. "The victory is the Lord's, and he giveth it to whomsoever it pleaseth him." Let the enemy boast, and rage, and threaten! "Who hath hardened himself against the Lord and prospered?" The sea shall drown them; the earth shall devour them; the fire of heaven shall consume them; the stars in their courses shall fight against them; or they shall perish at the blast of an angel's breath under the very walls of the city of God! However the line of battle may waver for a season, however the fortunes of the field may vacillate between victory and defeat, the word of God is sure, and wisdom shall triumph at the last.
We recognize its superiority in the ineffable glory of its issues. "Lamentation and mourning and woe" follow the triumph of arms, and the land bewails the unreturning brave: the victories of wisdom are universal blessings, cheering the earth and gladdening the skies; and wherever she prevails, the desert rejoices and blossoms as the rose; and "the voice of salvation and praise is in the tabernacles of the righteous, saying, The right hand of the Lord is exalted! the right hand of the Lord doeth valiantly!" The warrior may win a splendid spoil; and the capture of vast stores and precious treasures—the acquisition of cities, kingdoms, continents—may reward his valor: wisdom "winneth souls"—more costly than all the gems of Golconda, and all the gold of California—the most magnificent structures ever reared, and the most extensive empires ever formed. The victor may feel a proud gratification in his success, but it is necessarily mingled with much of unhappiness: the achievements of wisdom afford "fulness of joy, and pleasures forevermore"—joy without any mixture of sorrow, pleasures without any interval of pain. The commendation of superiors and the applause of the multitude are often imbittered to the conqueror by the envy of rivals and the malice of foes: but the "Well done, good and faithful servant!" of the Eternal Judge shall be re-echoed by the happy universe, and the saints and the seraphim shall compass you about with songs of deliverance, and every detractive tongue shall be shut up in the bottomless pit forever. History will record your heroism, eloquence will emblazon your victory, and poetry will perpetuate your praise; and the pencil, the chisel, the temple, the towering column and triumphal arch, will transmit your fame to future generations: but the Christian's memorial is in the New Jerusalem, "the new heavens and earth wherein dwelleth righteousness"—"a new name, which no man knoweth, save he that receiveth it"—a new creation, glowing with the image of its Creator, over which the morning stars shall sing together, and all the sons of God shall shout for joy. The renown of your heroic deeds may fill the world and flourish over your grave: but wisdom shall inherit "a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." The brass will tarnish, and the marble will moulder, and the voice of the orator will go silent, and the minstrel shall sing no more in the sepulchre; but wisdom's "praise is not of men, but of God;" "and they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever." Pharaoh perished; but Moses is immortal. Ahab went down to the dust; but Elijah drove his steeds of flame through the sapphire firmament. Saul fell in his blood upon Gilboa; but the tuneful son of Jesse still leads the symphonies of the church in the wilderness, while the cherubim and the seraphim around the throne join in his choral hallelujahs. Egypt is a desert, and Babylon is a heap of ruins, and Nineveh looks sadly up from her ancient sepulchre by the Tigris, and the imperial Mother of Nations sits in melancholy widowhood upon the bank of the "yellow Tiber;" but Joseph, and Daniel, and the captive Tobit, and "Paul, the prisoner of Jesus Christ," have found "a city of habitation," "whose builder and maker is God"—
"Where age hath no power o'er the fadeless frame,Where the eye is fire and the heart is flame!"
The Roman conqueror returned in triumph, with large display of spoils and prisoners; and a magnificent array went forth to meet him, and the populace rent the heavens with shouts of welcome, and the wall of the city was torn down for his entrance, and splendid offerings sparkled at his feet, and stately structures over-arched his head, and rich odors perfumed the air, and sweet music enlivened the scene: oh! who shall tell of wisdom's coronation in the metropolis of the universe—the unnumbered millions of the ransomed, with palms and crowns and lutes, amid the radiance of angelic beauty too bright for mortal eyes, singing as the sound of many waters and mighty thunderings unto him that loved them and washed them in his blood!
"Wisdom is better than weapons of war." Are you satisfied with the proof? Then rally to the standard of wisdom, join her forces, fight her battles, win her rewards, sing her transcendent glories, and share the blissful immunities and emoluments of her victorious veterans forever! Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid of the opinions or the speeches of others? Oh! for shame! You have plenty of martial courage; where is your moral courage? You can march up to the mouth of the cannon and rush upon the point of the bayonet; why quail you at the scoff of the infidel and the scorn of the blasphemer? Come out, come out, on the side of truth and righteousness! Enrol yourselves with the saints, under "the Captain of your salvation!" Defiant of earth and fearless of hell, put on your arms, and away to the field, and take part in the conflict, that you may have place in the coronation!
"Soldier, go—but not to claimMouldering spoils of earthborn treasure,Not to build a vaunting name,Not to dwell in tents of pleasure.Dream not that the way is smooth,Hope not that the thorns are roses,Turn no wishful eye of youthWhere the sunny beam reposes.Thou hast sterner work to do—Hosts to cut thy passage through;Close behind the gulfs are burning—Forward! there is no returning.
"Soldier, rest—but not for theeSpreads the world her downy pillow;On the rock thy couch must be,While around thee chafes the billow:Thine must be a watchful sleep,Wearier than another's waking;Such a charge as thou dost keepBrooks no moment of forsaking.Sleep as on the battle-field—Girded—grasping sword and shield:Those thou canst not name or numberSteal upon thy broken slumber.
"Soldier, rise—the war is done:Lo! the hosts of hell are flying!'Twas thy God the battle won;Jesus vanquished them by dying.Pass the stream—before thee liesAll the conquered land of glory;Hark! what songs of rapture rise!These proclaim the victor's story.Soldier, lay thy weapons down,Quit the sword and take the crown;Triumph! all thy foes are banished,Death is slain, and earth has vanished!"