A man may even truly honor and serve his fellowmen, may work for his country, and care only for the better and nobler things in human life; he may even, because he has a high ideal of what a good life is, reverence Jesus most sincerely; yet, with all this he may not rise to the standpoint of religion.

What that standpoint is, we best express by pointing to the life of Jesus. To him all life was from God, and for God. All power and beauty, all human love, the mystery of joy or sorrow, are but the various communication of the Father's life to the child's life.

In

You and I do not have this knowledge of the Father as immediately, as perfectly, as it was in Christ. dividually our faith is feeble, and our prayers so mixed with self that we need the whole chorus of believing souls to call forth all the consciousness of God of which we are capable. We need not only our own language, our own experience, in which to express our faith in God, we need also St. Paul, à Kempis, Channing, Phillips Brooks, or whatever great, clear soul can bring us God's word most largely. So, if you ask any man his religion, he generally refers you to some authority, some name, saying, "I am of this church or that," "I follow such and such a prophet." But remember that behind all these authorities and teachers of yours, is the ultimate truth, the divine life, which they struggle to utter. You are taught of them, they are taught of the Spirit. "Ye are Christ's," but "Christ is God's." All this mediatorial faith is but for a help, a beginning. Its consummation is reached when, instead of saying,

"Show us the Father," you find God directly, personally, in the holy place of your own soul.

As the old catechism truly said, the “Chief end of man" is "to know God and enjoy him forever." Το this end all else leads up,- all conquest of self and circumstance, all valiant service for truth and good, all fellowship with saintly souls,—it is that, by these many ways, you may be "filled with all the fulness of God." To this end is directed all the discipline your souls receive, both now and to all eternity. Gain or loss, power or weakness, both alike can bring such. larger measure of the divine life that, whether we live or die, we are the Lord's."

I know we cannot sufficiently express or realize this supreme and final aim of man's existence. If we could, we should be mortal men no longer: earth could teach us no more, and heaven itself, to the soul with the perfect vision of God, would have no further revelation to unfold.

But whatever deepens and ennobles your spiritual life is always bringing you into a more living fellowship with the Father. Every conquest for truth and right, every faintest prayer, and every voice within you which yearns for God, is fulfilling the end for which God made you,- that you may belong utterly to him, and "stand before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy."

GOD IN ALL.

HE flowing Soul, nor low nor high,

THE

Is perfect here, is perfect there.

Each drop in ocean orbs the sky,

And seeing eyes make all things fair.

The evening clouds, the wayside flower,
Surpass the Andes and the rose;

And wrapped in every hasty hour

Is all the lengthened year bestows.

Therefore erase thy false degrees!

From stock and stone strike starry fire!

Lo! even in the "least of these "

Dwells the Lord Christ,—the world's desire.

THE TRUE SELF.

"O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou understandest my thoughts afar off."- PSALM CXXXIX. I.

THE man who said that must have felt, more than some men ever feel, the mysteriousness of his own nature. He felt that God, and God only, had searched and understood him perfectly.

Was he not right? Who but God can understand any one of us? Who can judge his brother? Man judgeth after the outward appearance; and who does not know how full of error his judgments are? The character and actions of men, as they appear in history, and all the contemporary social reputations concerning which we maintain such a passionate interest, are but the flashing, surface foam of deep tides of spiritual tendency which never get recorded. Even persons to whom we are nearest, those united by the most intimate ties of blood or lifelong habit, are sometimes prompted by springs of action which it is beyond our power to estimate. All causes are invisible. But no processes in nature are so deeply hidden as those which fashion a human life. We do not even know ourselves. The currents of our conscious mind spring out of hidden sources, which are

perceived by us only in some rare moment of profound self-knowledge, seen as in a flash, and then closed to vision till the next apocalypse is given.

But are there not, perhaps, some clear, transparent souls in whom no doubtful depths exist, natures made like those crystals which show at a glance all the inner lines and structure? I do not believe it. Any wide experience must induce in sympathetic minds a sense of the mystery of human life and character. It is only the superficial observer who boasts such knowledge of the world that he can shelve each offered specimen of humanity in some mental cabinet, according to genus and species. This worldly estimate of character is but the practical cleverness of experts who judge the men they meet by the standard of their own interests. The lawyer's eye detects the tractable juryman. The accomplished hostess measures and adjusts the social talents of her guests, just as the politician can see what men may be made most useful in his campaign. But this expert's knowledge is partial. Human beings cannot be so catalogued, when all the range and complexity of character are taken into account. What most men really are, is beyond any human power to discern.

It is important for us to keep some consciousness of this mystery that is in each human life. If your social position brings you into contact with large numbers of persons, you acquire a useful but fatal facility in passing judgment on others. If you have lived much retired, and have little experience of the world, you come to regard both your own life and