cause they can run no more.

But do not sor

row thus, do not envy those who are running; you have a work to do; it may be the work of the head, or of the eye, it surely is whatever work God gives to you. It may be the work of lying still, of not stirring hand or foot, of scarcely speaking, scarcely showing life. Fear not: if He your Heavenly Master has given it to you to do, it is His work, and He will bless it. Do not refine. Do not say, This is work, and, This is not; how do you know? What work, think you, was Daniel doing in the lions' den? or Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace? Their work was "glorious, laudable, and honourable,❞—they were glorifying God in suffering.

"If we truly knew what sorrow is, we should count it a high calling to be allowed to minister the least word of consolation to the afflicted. Therefore if we be called to suffer, let us understand it to be a call to a ministry of healing. God is setting us apart to a sort of pastoral office, to the care of the sick of His flock. There is a hidden ministry which works in perfect harmony with the orders of His Church; a ministry of secret comfort, diffusing itself by the power of sympathy and prayer. Within His visible Church are many companies of sorrow, many that weep alone, a fellowship of secret mourners; and to them the contrite and

humbled are perpetually ministering, shedding peace, often unawares. Things that they have learned in seasons of affliction, long-pondered thoughts, realities learned by suffering, perceptions of God's love and presence-all these are put in trust with them for the consolation of His elect. They know not oftentimes to whom they speak. Perhaps they have never seen them, nor ever shall. Unknown to each other, they are knit in bonds higher than all the ties of blood; they are joined and constituted in that higher unity which is the order of Christ's kingdom. When all the relations of this lower life shall be dissolved, the bonds of their heavenly kindred shall be revealed. Mourners and comforters shall meet at last in the holy city. 'And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away.'

b

" a

To this "ministry of healing" you are called, you are "set apart to it" by suffering: you learn how to fulfil it, by the "things which you suffer." You must go deep into the waters to know how cold they feel, and how deep they are. Many a time you have thought that you should be drowned, "the deeps have swallowed

A Rev. xxi. 4.

b Heb. v. 8.

1

a

you up;" but you have been taught by sorrow to know more of the love and faithfulness of God, than you could have learned in any other way; and now you are called to go down into the waters with each one who asks your help, to show them that there is sure ground whereon to stand; to show them where He is, who, though He may seem to be sleeping, needs only that they should cry out, "Lord, save me: or I perish." b

They may be trying to walk upon the waters, not having as yet learned their own weakness: they are sinking, and they cry to you for help. Here is your work lying close beside you, brought even to your sick bed: you have asked for work, here it is; be thankful for it, and ask Him to bless it. Seek only to "fulfil your course," to "do your duty in the state of life unto which it hath pleased God to call you;" and if it be a state of sickness, rejoice that "you are counted worthy of this calling," and "submit yourself wholly to His holy will and pleasure; and be sure that it shall turn to your profit, and help you forward in the right way that leadeth to everlasting life." a

Ps. lxix. 15.

• 2 Thess. i. 11.

b Matt. viii. 25.

Service for the Visitation of the Sick.

VII.

PROBABILITY OF RECOVERY; OPPOSITE
TEMPTATIONS ABOUT IT.

EVEN if you have been brought to look upon your's as a life-long sickness, there are times when the possibility of recovery comes before you. Sometimes it may be with an eager desire, almost an impatient longing; at other times perhaps with a hope that it will never be, an aversion to the very idea of it; and again at other times with a morbid indifference; and yet again, as almost a ludicrous imagination.

Probably, when first illness came upon you, you were either most earnest in your desires and prayers for recovery, or almost fearful lest you should recover, eager and impatient to depart.

You were surely right to pray, and that earnestly, that if it were the holy will of God, you might recover your bodily health; for health is a most precious gift, full of blessings, and duties, and responsibilities, and sorrows, and enjoyments. Besides, life is a wonderful and blessed gift from God, and we ought to "love life," and heartily to give thanks for our "creation and preservation, and all the blessings of this life." Perhaps your temptation has been not to do so-to be careless of life and health

to see no brightness and blessing in it, only a wearisome burden which you must bear. You may have found it a hard thing to join in the thanksgiving for either creation or preservation. At times you have, with a sinful longing, wished your days here on earth were ended. You have hoped and believed that you were ready to depart, or at least you felt that God could make you so at any moment. Instead of "seeing good days," your "years" have been those in which you said, "I have no pleasure in them." You have dragged on a weary load of discontent with life, and have envied each one who was "taken from the evil to come." You thought that you wished to "depart and be with Christ; which is far better;" but were you not more anxious to get away from trouble, and sorrow, and sighing? How often you have said, “O that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.' You would not

enjoy life, you refused to do it. You had much to make it sweet and pleasant to you; but you would not see the bright things, and thought that there was nothing but darkness all around. You thought that you, at least, were not dealt with lovingly-that all your "pleasant pictures" were broken; all that you loved best on earth, the closest and the dearest ties se

a Eccles. xii. 1.

c Ps. lv. 6.

b Phil. i. 23.

d Isa. ii. 16.