HOME-SICKNESS AND THE HOMEWARD WAY.

BY GOTTLIEB GRAUBART.

IV.

There was but a brief pause after what we have related in the last number, when old Gottlieb continued his friendly and instructive discourse as follows:

"When the Spirit has brought us to a sense of our wants, by taking away our earthly supports and sources of happiness, by disappointments and bereavements, his work is not yet completed. This is only one part. It is only the making loose from earth; the fastening upon God yet remains. He must now also deliver us from ourselves. Tho vine, when loosened from twigs that lie on the earth, must not now attempt to rely on its own strength, and endeavor to direct its tender and slim shoots to climb of themselves. If we have once learned that there are no true sources of rest and peace in the world, we must also learn that there are none in ourselves.

The prodigal came to himself, and entered into his own thoughts and feelings only to be convinced again that there was not his home. After he had considered his own heart, he found no rest there but only thoughts and longings of home: How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! He thought again, and thought on, until in his heart was brought forth the resolution, 'I will arise and go to my father." This was not all; he thought on still, and becoming still more dissatisfied with his heart, he begins to be deeply conscious of his own guilt. This turns all into penitential confession: 'I will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son!' This is the point-he had sinned-he was no more worthy to be called his son-all in him was sin and misery. This brought him to look away from himself. Blessed are the home-sick, my dear boy, they shall come to their Father's house!

This, then, is the next work of the Spirit, to convince of sin, and to lead thus the soul to true penitence, and an ardent longing to be freed from sin, so that when it does get home to God, it may behold his face in righteousness. But mark now, there is a false penitence, as we have seen that there is a false faith. There may be sorrow, but there may be no disgust at living in the strange land. The soul may still be without a desire to go home. There may be weeping that is not on the homeward way. We should, therefore, not comfort ourselves that we are homesick truly just because we have sorrow of heart. Now I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to ropentance: for ye were made

sorry after a godly manner. For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death!' Here you see are two kinds of sorrow, leading to two directly opposite results, as far apart as heaven and hell; the one working life, the other death!

No act can be right, and be a blessing to the person himself, unless the motive which causes it is right. So sorrow is not true penitence unless it is produced by an evangelical cause. The true outward must always be in true connection with the true inward. False repentance is connected with the FUTURE, and rises out of it. Its cause is something future. It is that sorrow which is produced in the heart by looking into the future, and seeing and fearing the consequences to which sin leads. This is the sorrow of the world-which is a selfish sorrow. The world weeps because its plans and schemes are threatened to be frustrated, and because it sees before it in the future something which will interfere with their onward course. If these obstacles in the future did not exist, the onward flow of their lives would be pleasant enough to them, and they would see nothing over which to weep. This is seen from the fact, that such as are thus made sorry, return again to their former course of enjoyments and pursuits as soon as the future is bright once more. Thus sometimes when sinners are suddenly taken sick, the future with all its awful realities seems to draw at once near them; death threatens and hell yawns-they grow sorry, weep and pray and promise, and resolve; but where is their goodness when the hand of death withdraws, and the future opens once more brightly with promises of a longer life? Where are those who repented on their sick beds when health returns? They soon return, like the dog to his vomit, and like the sow to he wallowing in the mire! They are harder, more stupid and wicked than before. The evil spirit comes back, with seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Ephraim and Judah quaked, trembled, wept and repented as long as God stood in their way, and held up before them the sword of his judgments, threatening to cut them off in their sins; but when God became gentle, and sought to find in them the fruits of tender penitence and love, they went on their way as before, while He was left to complain over them like a father over a hard-hearted ungrateful child. O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? for your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it goeth away.'

It is

Before the time the prodigal 'came to himself" and felt his sins, and his unworthiness to be called a child, he would gladly have remained in the land, if the famine had ceased, or even if he could have had husks to eat. But no man gave him any husks! often the case, that persons are made sorry by being cut off by the hand of providence from earthly sources of comfort, and thus are brought to think of home; but as soon as some source of earthly comfort is again opened up, they fly to it. Their sorrow was selfish, rising from fear of the future, and consequently evan

escent. 'These have no root, which for a while believe, and in time of temptation fall away.'

This gave me some new light.

"Having now looked at, and examined the chaff which the wind driveth away," said old Gottlieb, "let us examine the wheat, which brings an hundred fold unto life everlasting.

True penitence looks back, and is connected with the PAST. The past comes up in clear and keen vividness before the spirit; the deeds, the SINS of the past! The home-stead, from which, in the proud spirit of self-dependence, we have departed, comes up to our remembrance, and the spirit is filled with aching regret. The despised yearnings of a Father's heart after us, as we went unthankfully away from His presence, and then the wicked waste in riotous living of that substance which was the gift of His love-all this comes back, like the ghost-like thoughts of an ill-spent life at the hour of death. These thoughts, made more keen by the sense of present wretchedness, by the emptiness of the land in which we were reduced to a level with swine, and by the fear of a worse future, press from the sad spirit the gracious confession: Father I have sinned!' It is the office of the Spirit to convict of sin first; then to show the necessity of righteousness; and lastly to hold up the certainty of a coming judgment (John 16). It is His office to bring things to our remembrance (John 14: 20). It is only by bringing our sins to remembrance, that we can be convinced of sin. Memory is, however, connected with the past, and not with the future. The future, with all its solemn realities, may, and ought to be, viewed; but only to cast our thoughts back more intensely upon the past. It is only the past which makes the future dreadful. If the past be atoned for, the future has no fears. In the past is the fountain of that stream upon which a sinner glides towards a gulf in the future that looks so dark and dreadful. Let this stream, as arising out of the past, be purified and calmed, and it will bear us sweetly on into the future, till we reach a sea of eternal rest, on whose calm bosom restless waves and noisy storms are unknown!

In order to true penitence then the past must experience a resurrection before the mind. Forgotten sins must find us out. It is related of a certain ancient rich and tyrannical land holder, that during a famine his tenants and dependents came to him for wheat of which his storehouses were full. He, however, took them to his barns under pretence that he would supply their wants; but instead of that he shut them up in his empty barns and starved them. While he and his guests were rioting in fullness, the hungry and starving cries of his tenants were heard from the empty barns, when he would say to his guests: 'Listen to my barn-mice!' They had scarcely died with starvation when he began to be tormented with droves of mice crying after him every where! On the way they followed him; into his palace they came; around his bed they crowded in droves imitating the pitiful cries of his starving subjects. He had no rest day nor night. At last he built a tower in the water at the edge of the sea, expecting in it to live secure

from these tormenters, which reminded him constantly of his wickedness in starving the poor. All to no purpose. Through the water, and up from all sides, into his chamber they came, still crying like the starving people in the barns!

This is a legendary story; but it illustrates, how past sins must come home, and how there is no escape from them. Either in the hour of penitence in this life, or in hell in the life to come, they must come in upon the soul to make it feel itself and its need of deliverance. As Moses said, to the Israelites, we may say to all sinners Behold, ye have sinned against the Lord and be sure your sin will find you out." God remembers all their wickedness, and he will make them remember it too, and will beset them about with their own ways.

The butler of Pharaoh, by a turn of providence, had his mind carried back to the time when he had acted wickedly and ungratefully towards Joseph, the pious captive of Israel. His sense of sin caused him suddenly to exclaim in confession and penitence: 'I do remember my faults this day! When Job was in great afflietion and darkness, he was reminded of his past sins, even those of his youth, which produced tender penitence and confession: Thou writest bitter things against me, and makest me to possess the iniquities of my youth.' When David was in doubt and trouble, he was beset most fearfully by a remembrance of his past sins, and by them pressed to humble and penitent confession: I acknowledge my transgessions, and my sin is ever before me.'

When Peter had denied the Saviour three times, 'the Lord turned and looked upon Peter.' That look turned his thoughts upon the past! 'And Peter remembered the words of the Lord !' He then went out; perhaps to some retired place. There in the hour of reflection, Oh how bitterly did his sin rush in upon his conscience. Behold the erring, sinning Peter! His countenance falls at the crowing of the cock! He is bowed down in penitence, trembling and weeping at each remembrance of his oath and his wicked denial of his faithful Lord. Perhaps at times he felt quiet enough, his concience being strangely asleep; but the shrill cock-crowing, as it was borne to his ear through the silent night, echoed through his lonely soul like ominous sounds of sullen wrath. This turned his mind upon the past, and brought him to himself: And when he thought thereon, he wept!'

This feeling of true penitence is lasting, and keeps the spirit in an humble and tender frame, working in it a sweet longing after its peaceful and final home. False penitence is like the winterspring which flows only in dark and stormy seasons; that which is true, is like the spring which flows under the quiet influence of summer marking its course with freshness, as well as in winter when all other waters are bound in icy chains. When Peter went out to weep, the Saviour left him weep on. How long he wept we are not told. No doubt wave after wave rolled over his heart! Perhaps between them a ray of light and hope fell into his dark spirit to keep him from utter despair. No doubt, these waves rolled

gradually slower, were fewer and farther between as time passed on, and their gushing violence was calmed into an even tenderness, yet will the heart feel a more or less painful sense of want till it awakes in the likeness of God. Ancient tradition says, that through all his life Peter wept whenever he heard the cock-crow! Also, that so penitent and humble did a sense of his sin keep him, that when at last he was to be crucified at Rome for the truth as it is in Jesus, which he had so faithfully and fearlessly preached, he requested that he might be crucified with his head downward because he was not worthy to die in the same way that Jesus did, since he had so wickedly denied him!

Is it thoughts of the past, or thoughts of the future, that cause home-sickness? Of the past! Then cherish the memory of it. Out of the past everything is continually issuing, struggling through the earnest present, into the hopeful-dreadful future!

He that is thus penitent has already some sweet intimation that there is pardon, love, and a willing reception awaiting him at home. Indeed it is a sense of his Father's forbearing goodness, that leads to true repentance. The Saviour has already turned and looked upon Peter, when he goes out to weep. Even before the prodigal has made the confession, Father, I have sinned,' he has already been encouraged to make the declaration, I will arise and go to my Father.' The first tear shed by the true penitent falls upon the homeward way! They shall come with weeping, and with supplication will I lead them' (Jer. 31: 9). They shall ask the way to Zion, with their faces thitherward-going in weeping, they shall seek the Lord their God.' (Jer. 59:4). Ho! ye that are asking for husks, and yet perishing in want, why seek ye not the homeward way?"

The old man ceased. Though I felt joy, yet it was that joy which brings tears, and an indescribable aching of the heart, which you can scarcely call sorrow! Has the reader never felt it? Alas! The force of his remarks had produced in me a feeling which found words from the mouth of Job: "Even to-day is my complaint bitter. Oh that I knew where I might find him: that I might come even to his seat! I would order my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments."

The old man smiled, as he rose from his seat, and said: "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise !"

VERY LUCID.-Carlyle, in his third volume of his history of Frederick the Second, indulges in a very lucid, but quite characteristic sentence: "Let us try and select, and extricate into coherence and visibility out of these historical dust heaps, a few of the symptomatic phenomena or physiognomic procedures of Frederic in his first weeks of his kingship, by way of contribution to some portraiture of his then inner man." A very little of this reading lasts a man a long time.