Page images
PDF
EPUB

see how the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments are one, and how as one they must be studied and revered. In Hebrew and Christian history we trace the course of that majestic river, which, growing broader and deeper as it sweeps forward through the ages, bears us on to that goal of earthly hope, the City of God with Man. Embarked on any other stream, inviting as the prospect might seem, we should, soon or late, find ourselves,

"bound in shallows and in miseries."

Only one river affords us free and certain passage through the populous

realms of time-that on which Patriarch and Prophet, Apostle and Martyr, have voyaged, with its storied highlands of the past, and its fruitful shores of the present, its proud and swelling current disappearing from our sight amid the golden haze of brighter, fairer years.

II. Having considered the person and mission of Jesus Christ, first in the light of Messianic expectation, and then in that of Gospel realization, the question now comes, Does a revelation thus made still meet the deeper needs of man? or are those needs met by a purely natural system of faith and morals that foreshadows the religion of the future? This question plainly concerns us, not only as the members of a Christian body, but as dwellers on earth in this closing quarter of a century distinguished from the first for a bold, utilitarian spirit that cares little for tradition or authority.

That the prayer of the past has been for a special revelation of God's character and His purposes concerning man, will not be denied. The old heathen religions declare, if any thing, the craving of the human soul for such a confirmation of the truth of what it would believe.

The

childish conceptions and superstitions of these religions awaken our pity and sorrow, while the cruelty and sensuality they so often encouraged cause all that is humane and pure within us to rise up in indignant revolt; but we cannot help seeing that beneath the hard exterior of error and sin throbbed the yearning heart of humanity, burned the unutterable desire of the creature to be convinced of the existence of its Creator and to learn from His own mouth that He had thought for it. "Is there aught higher than man? Are we the children of Eternal Might and Goodness? Is there another life?" ---such were the questions that gave birth to

"The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion," and fostered fond belief in

"Spirits or gods that used to share this earth

With man, as with their friend."

And the same strong desire for a revelation, but vastly purer and more thoughtful, shows itself in the history of Israel. It was the proud boast of the Jew to the Gentile, that the one God over all and under all had been manifested to Abraham and his descendants. He had appeared to Moses in the Burning Bush, and delivered the Law from Sinai's flaming mount. He had wrought miracles of deliverance, when the heathen had threatened to devour, and spoken by the mouths of prophets His word of cheer and warning. Belief in a God supernaturally revealed was the joy and strength of Israel. She had lifted her hands heavenward and cried unto the Lord, she said, and He had heard her voice and gloriously answered her.

It was, likewise, the sublime thought of God, as revealed in Jesus Christ, that made the early Christians

so glad and strong, as they faced the sins and errors of an unbelieving age. God's mighty arm had been outstretched to save His people. He had given them His well-beloved Son. That Son had died for them on the reconciling cross, and, trampling tyrant Death beneath His feet, had appeared unto His disciples. What the latter, in common with all thoughtful souls, had prayed for, had been. granted in the advent and life, passion and resurrection of the Savior of mankind. Henceforward there were no mournful doubts to cast shadows upon their paths, no wolfish fears to tear their shrinking hearts. Thinking of what they were, when the Deliverer found them, and then of what they had become through faith in and obedience to Him, with the jubilant apostle, as he dared death and sin to do their worst, the members of the infant Church could cry, "Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus. Christ!"

For eighteen hundred years Christianity, because of its exalted conceptions of the Divine character and purposes, and its matchless moral precepts, has been dear to countless souls. This, of course, has been one unfailing source of its strength. This helps to explain why it has conquered so marvellously, setting up the Standard of the Cross amid the Arctic snows and under tropic suns. But we must not forget that Christianity's claim to be a revelation from heaven, and its evidences in support of that claim, have opened a way for it through the thick ranks of hostile systems. It has given what they who have accepted it have regarded as Divine answers to their questions, thus putting their doubts and anxiety to rest. Like its blessed Founder, it has taught "as one having authority, and not as the scribes," and has suc

ceeded where it would otherwise have failed, because it has proved to the satisfaction of millions upon millions the divineness of its descent.

But how is it with the average man of to-day? Does he, like his brethren of by-gone ages, desire to have the darling hopes of his soul confirmed by the voice of God! Is he content with a religious system founded simply upon what

reason

and nature teach? My brethren, of the truth of nothing may we be more confident than of the truth of thisthat man now, as ever in the past, feels his need of the light of Revelation. He knows far more than he did of old, but his knowledge does not resolve his perplexities for him. It does not even make him so happy and contented as it did of old. His material condition is improved, but his heart still thirsts for the Living God, and for that Living God revealed, as much as, if not more than, it did, when the creed of Pagan Greece and Rome became darkness to him, and with sad, imploring eyes he prayed for the coming of day. With Tennyson we ask,

"Who loves not knowledge? Who shall rail

Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper; Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail."

Yet with this poet we say,

"But on her forehead sits a fire;

She sets her forward countenance And leaps into the future chance, Submitting all things to desire.

[blocks in formation]

T

Her footsteps, moving side by side, With wisdom, like the younger child; "For she is earthly of the mind,

But wisdom heavenly of the soul." I am sure, therefore, that I am justified in saying that the vast majority of its thoughtful disciples accept Christianity for this among other reasons, that they believe it to be a revelation and not a religion. It is commended to them by its teachings concerning the Almighty Father of all, by its offer of pardon and peace through that Father's sacrificing Son, by its priceless gift of the Holy Spirit, by the beauty and grandeur of its moral code, and by its promise of immortal life; but it is because they regard Christianity as a direct revelation, that they feel they can fling to the winds all misgivings as to the truth of the tidings it proclaims. The suggestions of reason, the intimations of nature, and that philosophy of history which traces the foot-prints of Providence along the dusty highways of time, all thus receive that happy confirmation which the seeking spirit craves.

Why, then, should it seem strange to the members of certain schools, that believers in Apostolical Christianity should be so loth to surrender to the Rationalism of the hour? Why should men wonder that a bald Theistic system, which, denying the miraculous element in Christianity, builds its creed upon the deductions of the unaided reason, should not win the affections of Christ's Church? Why, too, should it be thought narrow and ungenerous for that Church to refuse to admit into the cannon of the Sacred Scriptures the religious books of India, Persia and China, when such an admission must needs ignore those marks of singularity that proclaim it the depository of revealed truth? If the Spirit has ever spoken by the mouth of man, there should

be both historical and moral evidence of that grand and uplifting fact, which evidence none but the literature of the Bible can produce. Such is the claim that the defenders of the Bible make for it, and not that they believe that God is partial in His dealings with His children, but that, loving all tribes and kindreds, and purposing to bring them all unto obedience to Him, He uses special instruments, fulfilling His promise to Abraham that in the patriach's seed all the nations of the earth should be blessed.

Thus to us, as to all men, the question whether Christianity is the Revelation of God to humanity, or only a more excellant phase of religion, is one of largest importance. Deny that Christianity is a revelation in the proper acceptation of the term, and our position is much like that of the thoughtful Gentile before the Advent, who, trying hard to credit. the voice of intuition, and to believe that the operation of a Divine Being were beheld in the economy of nature and man, cried out in the anguish of his uncertainty, "O God, if Thou dost exist, why art Thou not signally made known to them who hunger for an assurance of Thine existence, power and love?" Nothing can compensate us for the loss we suffer, if belief in Supernatural Christianity be taken from us. Reason is but a fallible guide that, even when intending well, sometimes leads us astray; while the facts and surmises of science shed only broken and dissolving gleams upon the paths of men. It is only as we see in Christ the eternal Sun of Righteousness, bright with uncreated glory, and shining never to set, that we can feel perfectly satisfied as to where we are amid the

immensities of time and space. It is only as He pours His radiance upon us that we can discern the goal of

the journey we are making, as we draw near and nearer to the mists and shadows of the silent valley of · death. Yea, O blessed Jesus, Thou

art the One we seek! We do not look for another; for Thou, our Savior, art come. The brightness of Thine appearing, the benignity of Thy countenance, the sweetness of Thy voice, the fulness and perfection of Thy doctrine, the greatness of Thy works, the grandeur of Thy death, and the triumph of Thy resurrection, feed heart, and mind, and soul with food that never fails. In Thine adorable name do we lift our prayers to Heaven; in Thy name do we battle with temptation and sorrow, and preach good tidings unto men; in Thy name do we press forward to life's earthly end, and with it on our tongues we would yield our souls to God-Christian Leader.

THE PEARL DIVER.

On the northern side of the Persian Gulf stands the little hamlet of Afmul. A few towering palms skirt the inner edge of the little settlement, while the warm, bright sands of the wide beach form the foreground of the scene. On this beach upon a summer eve lay stretched the lazy boatmen and perchance here and there a hardy diver, resting after a day's toil spent in the fatiguing and dangerous pursuit of the precious pearl.

But hist! Who is that, who in company with old Kalef, the boatman, comes forth from yonder neat and palm-thatched hut? It is Marabek, the rich slave merchant of Suez. Look! how haughtily he treads the ground, as if it were not fit to bear the weight of his richly appareled person, or the print of his jewelled slipper. His turban is of the finest silk of Teheran; and, as he lays his hand familiarly upon the shoulder of

old Kalef, the latter cringes beneath his touch as if it were that of some superior being. But there is a lookeron upon this friendly companionship who seems inspired by emotion somewhat different from either the condescending pride of the merchant or the humble deference of the old boatman. See! how he leans his elbow upon the warm sands, and thus reclining at length, turns his firey and mistrustful gaze upon the strange merchant and his aged companion.

"A malediction," said he, "upon this gaudy Turk! Why should he be so strangely kind to the old man, unless he wishes to form poor old Kalef into a cat's paw to accomplish some underhand purpose? A plague upon him and all his countrymen. No good comes of the rich making hale fellows well met of those who are far beneath them in station."

And Hafiz, the boldest diver and the handsomest youth in all Afmul, rose up with an impatient gesture and strode hastily to the beach, where he stood with folded arms, looking out upon the anchored boats and the clear placid surface of the gulf, which, like a vast mirror of delicate silver, faintly tinged with golden flowers, shone beneath the rays of the western sun. The forehead of Hafiz was clouded, though why it were difficult for himself to tell. Was he not full of strength and health and courage? Was he not the pride of the village? Did not the approval of the aged, the smiles and the praises of the young and beautiful follow him wherever he moved? All this was true; yet now all this failed to inspire him with cheerfulness. There was a sort of evil presentiment lingering about his heart--an inward whispering of secret danger, which, when pressing upon the soul, always brings a mental palsy upon the spirits of the most

was

fearlessly courageous. What the hidden danger, Hafiz had neither felt nor as yet had even thought to inquire of himself; and yet there was an intense consciousness that influ

ences were at work which were destined to bring his peace of mind into the greatest peril.

The burning sun had long withdrawn itself below the cooling wave, when Hafiz left the silent shore, and moving through the shadows of the little hamlet paused beneath a huge palm which stood in graceful grandeur not far from the threshold of old Kalef, the boatman. He waited not long before a light figure, concealed in a garment of many folds (which were, nevertheless, insufficient for disguise from eyes of jealous or af fectionate watchfulness) towards the place where he stood.

"Tamala!"

"Hafiz!" was the soft and low reply.

The young girl, for such her shape and speech revealed her, looked at her companion with tearful eyes, as she gently returned his delighted

embrace.

"Hafiz,” said she, in return of his inquiring and alarmed gaze, 66 we must part! I am about to leave you forever!"

"I knew it!” said Hafiz, reeling as if struck by some sudden hand, and speaking in a husky and passionate utterance, "I knew it!" That accursed slave merchant-"

"Has persuaded my poor old father to give me to him for a wife," said Tamala sobbing upon the broad breast of her lover. "He has given him much money, and has so cunning. ly talked that all remonstrance is in vain. Alas! I must go with him and leave you and my home forever. Would that I might die before the day of departure."

Hafiz repressed the burning passions which had agitated his frame.

To the shock of the storm succeeded a deep and deadly calm. He pressed Tamala to his bosom, and pushing away the silken and glossy hair kissed tenderly the maiden's throbbing brow.

"Grieve not," he said "my dear Tamala. Mahomet is good; we can trust in his blessing. Let us hope for the best. Thou canst at least put off the fated betrothal for at least two days, and perhaps for more. Meanwhile who knows what Providence may bring? A malison on the slave merchant? Let him beware! But, Tamala smile once upon me! Dry thy tears and smile again!" Thus Hafiz in broken phrases strove to calm the agitation of the moment and to put far away from the interviews of love the distractions of disappointment and sorrow. The eyes of the fair Tamala brightened again, and she seemed to forget the weight of impending grief as she listened to the words of endearment which flowed from the lips of her lover. Thus the moments fled by in sweet forgetfulness till the rising moon warned the lovers that it was time to separate.

"Farewell, sweet!" said Hafiz, as again he kissed the forehead of Tamala. "Let us leave the slave merchant to the hand of fate. We will be happy while we can; but woe be him whose violence shall tear us asunder!"

"The blessing of Mahomet rest upon you!" said the voice of the slave merchant.

Hafiz turned, and met the glance of Marabek. The young Persian's countenance darkened, and he half recoiled with instinctive repulsion. But Marabek either perceived not or affected not to perceive the gesture of dislike.

[blocks in formation]
« PreviousContinue »