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that falsehood is falsehood, and must (whatever the subject) work the effects of falsehood, and therefore he earnestly set himself to withstand incipient error. The saints at Philippi were marked by the vigour and stedfastness of their service. From the first day of their acquaintance with the Apostle they had fellowship with him in his service and suffering for the Truth. When even the Thessalonians forgot to minister to the Apostle's need, and suffered him, even whilst dwelling with them, and labouring for them, to know "necessity," the more vigilant eye of the Philippians marked and seized the opportunity. They sent to Thessalonica and ministered once and again to his necessities. Yet the insidiousness of evil needed to be watched against even at Philippi. There was danger lest even their earnestness in service should give rise to rivalry, and cause that things right in themselves should be done in strife or vain-glory; lest they should each look upon their own things only, and not also on the things of others. There was a danger lest Euodias and Syntyche (women who had both aided the Apostle in his labours) should mar their service and fruitfulness by not being like-minded in the Lord.

The history of the Church, both individually and collectively, supplies many an example of the disastrous effects of these lesser agencies of evil. What watchful Christian knows not the power of little circumstances in stealing away opportunities of service, or hindering in the use of them? An angry or impatient look may mar an act of grace. An unkindly word may spoil an act of liberality. A deed of devotedness may be marred by something that indicates an undue estimate of self. A little circumstance may cause fruit of the fairest promise to be despoiled of its bloom, or to be marred by some disfiguring blemish. One dead fly may cause the most fragrant "ointment of the apothecary to stink."

When faith has become enfeebled and our practical energies impaired, one result ever is, that the soul seeks to re-establish to itself, and as it were, to reconvince itself of, truths which ought to be assumed as unquestioned and unquestionable. The soul of a believer is not prospering in spiritual health when it is seeking to reassure itself of truths which the grace of God has supplied to it as the established basis and starting point of its action. St. Paul, after he knew the grace of the gospel, did not spend his hours in proving to himself that he was Christ's, or that Christ was his; he assumed it as an established and unquestionable fact-it formed the basis of all his thoughts-it was the spring of all his actions.

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In the case before us, she whose faith and whose energies had in a measure become enfeebled, and who was found hiding herself in secret places when first she was appealed to by her Lord, answered as we have seen, not at all. To His second appeal, however, she replied. Graciously adapting Himself to her weakness, He besought her to come forth that He might "see her countenance and hear her voice;" and the invitation was not in vain. She responded, and her voice was heard. But her first utterance showed what the meditation of her heart had been. She had evidently been pondering whether it was really true that her Beloved was hers and herself His. Without perhaps actually doubting it, she had occupied herself with reassuring herself of a truth which in her happier hours-her hours of energy, whilst occupied in feeding the kids or caring for the vines, she had never thought of questioning. "My beloved is mine, and I am His." It was indeed a precious and most blessed truth. It was well that she should assure herself of it if she doubted it. was not the kind of response sought for by her Lord when He said to her, come with me my love, my fair one, and let us view the goodliness of our Land together." In asking her to come and share His joys and glories, He did not ask that she should debate within herself the question of the reality or the faithfulness of His love. Yet as I have already said, it was well that she should reassure herself of this if she doubted it. It was well too that she should remember that her Beloved was One that "feedeth among the lilies." Was she tempted to doubt whether her Beloved had any thing dear to Him in this earth? It was well then that she should remember that whatever joys He might have in His own proper dwelling-place on the bright and blessed heights of the mountains of separation, yet that He had also joys in earth; that there were still there, some in whom His heart rested-some of whom He could say, "my delight is in them." Though He had indeed turned away, as she too had turned away, from the violence, and strife, and pride, of man's city, which He loathed; though the earth as formed morally under the hand of man had no beauty in His sight, yet there were in earth other spheres-spheres retired and lowly, where flowers of true fragrance and hidden beauty grew. There He found His solace and His joy. The renewed conviction of this-the conviction that the earth was not altogether abandoned by Him, as if an utter void in which nothing lovely grew, was a great step towards a renewal of those joys of faith which she had often known in the activities of

present service and testimony for her Lord. Nevertheless, to His invitation she responded not, save indeed to say, that her faith could not at present rise into the appreciation of the joys and glories of His heavenly home. "Until the day break and the shadows flee away, turn my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart on the mountains of severation." Such were her words. They seem to say, "A time will come when this night of sorrow shall end, and then I will accompany thee to thy heavenly land, and have full fellowship with thee in all its joys. Till then let the light and liberty and joy of the mountains of separation be thine. It is my delight to think of thee as above the darkness of this night of sorrow, in the joy and brightness of thy distant home. And although I tarry for a season here, yet when the morning of the new day comes, I will say to thee no longer as now, Turn my beloved,' for I will go with thee then, and enter into all thy joys, and tread with thee the heights of the mountains of separation, and follow thee whithersoever thou goest."

These words do not indeed show so strong an apprehension as might have been shown, of the fulness of her present lot of blessing. They fall short of the words of the Apostle when he said, "old things have passed away, behold all things have become new." Nevertheless, they are blessed words. They could only be used by a heart that had learned well to estimate the character of this present night of evil, and to contrast its darkness with the light and holiness of Heaven. They showed a full and joyful confidence in the love of her Lord, and a living anticipation of that coming hour when she too would know in no less perfectness than her beloved, the liberty and joy of the mountains of severation.

Abraham and Lot.

GENESIS XIII.

ON a former occasion we considered the narrative given in the twelfth of Genesis respecting the faithless departure of Abraham from the guidance of his heavenly Friend, until, having abandoned Canaan, the land of his hope, he found himself in Egypt, stripped of every thing that ought to have been dear to him; yet, still by persistence in his sin, involving himself more and more deeply in falsehood and guilt. There was One only who could effectually pity: One only who could rescue. And He did pity. God, though unsought, interfered to rescue His fallen servant, and brought him back into Canaan again; even to the very place where his sinful wanderings commenced. There last, he had builded an altar and invoked the name of the Lord, and thither he was caused to return, and there again Abraham called on the name of the Lord.

The Scripture speaks not of his contrition: but we may be sure it was very deep. "Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin, for I acknowledge mine iniquity, and my sin is ever before me"-was no doubt the language of his soul; for God never restores His servants after they have fallen, so as for His name to be again magnified in them, without first humbling them and bringing their hearts very low in deep and abiding contrition. The subsequent history of Abraham supplies abundant evidence of a subdued and chastened spirit. In separating Abraham it was the design of God not only to protect him and ultimately crown him with blessing, it was also His purpose to make Abraham His honoured servant among men, and to glorify in him His holy name.

An occasion for the trial of Abraham's faith soon presented itself. The favour of God had rested abundantly both on Abraham and on Lot in giving them flocks, and herds, and tents, and much prosperity. They were rich; but their riches had not been acquired by violence or

by evil. Their prosperity was the gift of God; nor had they through inordinate occupation with the gift forsaken or forgotten the Giver. Yet when the child of faith, pilgrim as he is and sojourner in a world that knows not God, finds himself surrounded by great outward prosperity, he has no little reason to fear. Riches become a curse and not a blessing, unless they are used for God: and for this no ordinary faithfulness, and wisdom, and grace, are needed. The snares of Satan for the people of God are generally laid in connexion with some outward blessings that the providence of God has given. So was it in the history before us. It was the abundance of the possessions of Lot and of Abraham that gave occasion of strife to their servants. The soul of Abraham was grieved. He spoke to Lot and proferred to him separation. "And Abraham said unto Lot, Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen; for we be brethren. Is not the whole land before thee? Separate thyself, I pray thee; if thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left."

No words can more plainly shew the unselfishness and generosity of the heart of Abraham. Although he was the elder and the chief -the person who had every title to choose and to command, yet he willingly relinquished all his rights, content to depart, or content to remain, as Lot, his brother's son, might determine. "If thou wilt take the left hand, then I will go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then I will go to the left." It was a question of little moment to Abraham where the tent of his pilgrimage was pitched. He was seeking a heavenly city.

And now, if Lot had been wise with heavenly wisdom, what would have been his reply? Would he not have shrunk from the very sound of the word "separation ?" Abraham and Lot were brethren -near kinsmen in the flesh, but yet more, brethren in tribulation, for they were pilgrims and sojourners in a strange country, surrounded too by many enemies, for the Canaanite and Perizzite were still in the land. Was this a time for Lot to separate from Abraham ? Nor was this all. Abraham, as Lot well knew, was the called of God. To him God had spoken: him God had made the depositary of the promises to him God had said, "I will bless thee and make thy name great, and thou shalt be a blessing, .

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shall all families of the earth be blessed." God had brought Abraham into a relation to Himself in which no one else, throughout the whole

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