the place where Moses was when he thus prayed. He was in the wilderness; not in some of the halls of Pharaoh, nor yet in a habitation in the land of Goshen; but in a wilderness. And perhaps from the summit of the hill, looking upon the tribes of Israel as they were taking up their tents and march. ing along, he thought, "Ah! poor travelers. They seldom rest anywhere; they have not any settled habitation where they can dwell. Here they have no continuing city;" but he lifted his eyes above, and he said, "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations." Passing his eye back through history, he saw one great temple where God's people had dwelt; and with his prophetical eye rolling with sacred frenzy, he could see that throughout all futurity the specially chosen of God would be able to sing, "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations.”

Taking this verse as the subject of our discourse this morn. ing, we shall, first of all, explain it; and then we shall try and to what the old Puritans called "improve" it; by which they d not mean improve the text, but improve the people a little the consideration of the verse.

1. First, we will try to explain it somewhat. Here is a abitation: "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place ;" and, secondly, if I may use such a common word, here is the lease of it: "Thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations."

First, then, here is a habitation: "Lord, thou hast been our habitation." The mighty Jehovah, who filleth all im mensity, the Eternal, Everlasting, Great I Am, does not refuse to allow figures concerning himself. Though he is so high that the eye of angel hath not seen him, though he is so lofty that the wing of cherub hath not reached him, though he is so great that the utmost extent of the travels of immortal spirits have never discovered the limit of himself—yet he does not object that his people should speak of him thus familiarly, and should say, "Jehovah, thou hast been our dwelling-place." We shall understand this figure better by contrasting the thought, with the state of Israel in the wilderness; and, secondly, by making mention of some things by way of comparison, which are peculiar to our house, and which we never can enjoy if we are not the possessors of a dwelling-place of our own,

First, we shall contrast this thought, "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place," with the peculiar position of the Israelites as they were traveling through the wilderness.

We remark, first, that they must have been in a state of great uneasiness. At nightfall, or when the pillar stayed its motion, the tents were pitched, and they laid themselves down to rest. Perhaps to-morrow, ere the morning sun had risen, the trumpet sounded, they stirred themselves from their beds and found the ark was in motion, and the fiery cloudy pillar was leading the way through the narrow defiles of the mountain up the hillside, or along the arid waste of the wilderness. They had scarcely time to arrange their little property in their tents and make all things comfortable for themselves, before they heard the sound of "Away! away! away! this is not your rest; you must still be onward journeying toward Canaan!" They could not plant a little patch of ground around their tents, they could not lay out their house in order, and arrange their furniture, they could not become attached to the spot of ground. Even though just now their father had been buried in place where a tent had tarried for a time, yet they must be off. They must have no attachment to the place, they must have nothing of what we call comfort, ease, and peace; but be always journeying, always traveling. Moreover, so exposed were they, that they never could be very easy in their tents. At one time the sand, with the hot simoom behind it, would drive through the tent and cover them almost to burial. On frequent occasions the hot sun would scorch them, and their canvas would scarce be a preservation; at another time the biting north wind would freeze around them, so that within their tents they sat shivering and cowering around their fires. They had little ease; but behold the contrast which Moses, the man of God, discerns with gratitude, "Thou art not our tent, but thou art our dwellingplace. Though we are uneasy here, though we are tossed from side to side by troubles, though we travel through a wilderness, and find it a rough pathway, though when we sit down here we know not what comfort means, O Lord, in thee we possess all the comforts which a house can afford, we bave all that a mansion or palace can give the prince, who can loll

upon his couch, and rest upon his bed of down. Lord, thou art to us comfort, thou art a house and habitation." Have you ever known what it is to have God for your dwelling. place in the sense of comfort? Do you know what it is, when you have storms behind you, to feel like a sea-bird, blown to the land by the very storm? Do you know what it is, when you have been caged sometimes by adversity, to have the string cut by divine grace, and like the pigeon that flies at once to its own dovecot, have you sped your way across the ether, and found yourself in God? Do you know what it is, when you are tossed on the waves, to go down into the depths of Godhead, there rejoicing that not a wave of trouble ruffles your spirit, but that you are serenely at home with God your own Almighty Father? Can you, amid all the uneasiness of this desert journey, find a comfort there? Is the breast of Jesus a sweet pillow for your head? Can you, lie thus on the breast of Deity? Can you put yourself in the stream of Providence and float along without a struggle, while angels sing around you-divinely guided, divinely led-"We are bearing thee along the stream of Providence to the ocean of eternal bliss!" Do you know what it is to lie on God, to give up all care, to drive anxiety away, and there-not in a recklessness of spirit, but in a holy carelessness-to be careful for nothing, “but in every thing by supplication to make known your wants unto God?" If so, you have gained the first idea: "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place throughout all gen. erations."

Again, the Israelites were very much exposed to all kinds of noxious creatures, owing to their residing in tents, and their habits of wandering. At one time the fiery serpent was their foe. By night the wild beasts prowled around them Unless that fiery pillar had been a wall of fire around them and a glory in the midst, they might all have fallen a prey to the wild monsters that roamed the deserts. Worse foes they found in human kind.

mountains; wild They never felt

The Amalekites rushed down from the wandering hordes constantly attacked them. themselves secure, for they were travelers through an enemy's country. They were hasting across a land where they were

66

not wanted, to another land that was providing means to oppose them when they should arrive. Such is the Chrisuan. He is journeying through an enemy's land; every day he is exposed to danger. His tent may be broken down by death; the slanderer is behind him, the open foeman is before him; the wild beast that prowls by night, and the pestilence that wasteth by day, continually seek his destruction; he finds no rest where he is; he feels himself exposed. But, says Moses, Though we live in a tent exposed to wild beasts and fierce men, yet thou art our habitation. In thee we find no expos ure. Within thee we find ourselves secure, and in thy glo rious person we dwell as in an impregnable tower of defense, safe from every fear and alarm, knowing that we are secure.” O Christian, hast thou ever known what it is to stand in the midst of battles, with arrows flying thick around thee more than thy shield can catch; and yet tho. hast been as secure as if thou wert folding thine arms and resting within the walls of some strong bastion, where arrow could not reach thee, and whee even the sound of trumpet could not disturb thine ears? Hast thou known what it is to dweil securely in God, to enter into the Most High, and laugh to scern the anger, the frowns, the sneers, the contempt, the slander and calumny of men; to ascend into the sacred place of the pavilion of the Most High, and to abide under the shadow of the Almighty, and to fee, thyself secure? And mark thee, thou mayest do this. In times of pestilence it is possible to walk in the midst of cholers and death, singing—

It is possible to stand exposed to the utmost degree of danger, and yet to feel such a holy serenity that we can laugh at fear; too great, too mighty, too powerful through God to stoop for one moment to the cowardice of trembling, “we know whom we have believed, and we are persuaded that he is able to keep that which we have com nitted unto him." When houseless men wander, when poot distressed spirits, beaten by the storm, find no refuge, we enter into God, and shutting behind us the door of faith, we say, "Howl, ye winds blow, ye tempests; roar, ye wild beasts; come on, ye robbers!"

"He that hath made Lis refuge God,
Shall find a most secure abode,
Shall walk all day beneath his shade,

And there at night shall rest his head."

Lord, in this sense, thou hast been our habitation.

Again, poor Israel, in the wilderness, were continually ex posed to change. They were never in one place long. Some times they might tarry for a month in one spot-just near the seventy palm-trees. What a sweet and pleasant place to go out each morning, to sit beside the well and drink that clear stream! "Onward!" cries Moses; and he takes them to a place where the bare rocks stand out from the mountain side, and the red burning sand is beneath their feet; vipers spring up around them, and thorny brakes grow instead of pleasing vegetation. What a change have they! Yet, another day they shall come to a place that shall be more dreary still. They walk through a defile so close and narrow, that the affrighted rays of the sun dare scarce enter such a prison, lest they should never find their way out again! They must go onward from place to place, continually changing, never having time to settle, and to say, "Now we are secure, in this place we shall dwell." Here, again, the contrast casts light upon the text: "Ah!" says Moses, "though we are always changing, Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place throughout all generations." The Christian knows no change with regard to God. He may be rich to-day and poor tomorrow; he may be sickly to-day and well to-morrow; he inay be in happiness to-day, to-morrow he may be distressed; but there is no change with regard to his relationship to God. If he loved me yesterday he loves me to-day. I am either better nor worse in God than I ever was. Let prospects be blighted, let hopes be blasted, let joy be withered, let mildews destroy every thing, I have lost nothing of what I have in God. He is my strong habitation whereunto I car continually resort. The Christian never becomes poorer, and aever grows richer with regard to God. "Here," he can say, "is a thing that never can pass away or change. On the brow of the Eternal there is never a furrow; his hair is unwhitened by age; his arm is unpalsied by weakness; his heart does not