"For Thou, who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,

Hast given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings,

So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things.

“I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store;

We have enough, yet not too much
To long for more;

A yearning for a deeper peace,
Not known before.

"I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,
Though amply blest,

Can never find, although they seek,
A perfect rest,-

Nor ever shall, until they lean

On Jesus' breast."

"Lord, to whom can. we go

but unto Thee?

Thou hast the words of eternal life." This ardent question, put by the disciples to their Lord, syllables the felt necessity of the human heart, and has no answer but that which their faith and hope in Him enabled them to give. He, and He only, hath the words of life; He hath not only the words, but the power. "All power," said He, "is given to Me in heaven and in earth." He hath the power to undo the tremendous damage wrought by sin, power to

revivify our moral manhood, power to breathe into us the breath of life, so that once again we are "living souls." Happy is he and wise who understands this, heartily believes it, humbly accepts it; and having no confidence in the flesh, no resources in himself, no dependence on aught outside the might, the merit, the mercy of his Saviour, comes to Him, believes on Him, yields his whole heart to Him, and finds in Him his all in all. Herein is all we need, for time and for eternity, for body and soul, for basket and store, for family and fortune; all, from a thought of comfort to a throne of glory; all from day to day, from dawn to dark, from now till death; all, from the grave to glory, and through all the cycles of immortality!

All things, life in Christ will bring,

Store of all the heart can need;
Unfolding every precious thing,
Fruit, blossom, leaf and seed.

Apart from Christ, the living Vine,
There's nothing to desire ;

Of all besides, e'en were it thine,
Thine heart would only tire.

Apart from Him, there's nought of worth,

Created things are vain ;

With Him are glory, grace and wealth,

The highest, richest gain.

With Christ, thy God makes all abound; O better far for thee,

Than all the wealth that can be found

In earth, or air, or sea.

In Him is life, in life is love,

In love is all beside ;

And earth beneath and heaven above
Are thine, through Christ that died.

Of all the gifts that God can send,
That can to thee befall,

The Gift of gifts is Christ thy Friend,
For with Him thou hast all.

III.

STABILITY.

THE root of the vine is not only the source of life and nourishment, but it gives also stability and fixity to the tree, and therefore also to every branch united to the central stem. It is a definite and abiding anchorage. Holding fast by the solid earth in which it lies embedded, the root secures a settled and unchanging dwelling-place for all the growth above. Whatsoever storm and strife of wind and weather may shake and toss the branches to and fro, there is a limit beyond which they cannot pass" Thus far shalt thou go and no farther," says the strong resisting root, and holds the tree firmly in its place of rest.

I have heard of the existence of a singular vegetable production, said to be found in certain desert regions, which has no rootage whatsoever. It expands and grows, in globular form, by the outward agency of sun, and rain, and dew, together

with such haphazard nourishment as it may at times obtain by simple contact with the earth. But the strange waif and stray has no root-hold, no abiding-place. It is driven across the wilderness, to and fro, hither and thither, at the mercy of every foot that passes and of every wind that blows.

That may be a sufficiently appropriate illustration of the state and condition of a soul out of Christ, a stranger to the settling and contenting power of saving faith in God. He is said to be "like the troubled sea that cannot rest;" he is at the mercy of every wayward wind of passion, the sport of change and circumstance; being driven. through all sorts of dry places by ill-directed impulses, by strong gusts of temptation, by the chopping winds of varying fortune, by the stern compulsion of unsatisfied longings, and everywhere, and all the time, he is "seeking rest and finding none." "I have seen the wicked in great power," says the Psalmist, "and spreading himself like a green bay tree.” But with whatever spread of branches, whatever freshness of foliage, whatever of seeming power, he had no root! Hence the Psalmist proceeds to say of him ;—" yet he passed away, and lo, he was not; yea, I sought him, but he could not be found."