of stedfastness and perseverance, and therefore we may hear the voice of Christ saying to us again and yet again, "Hold fast till I come." Yes; there is the source of our encouragement, the ground of our hope, "Behold, I come quickly." This is what we are to be always keeping in our view, because this is the chief thing that will enable us to "hold fast." Here we wait and watch-I trust many of us are doing so -but Christ is coming soon. Here we fight and struggle against many foes. The battle often rages fierce and long; but Christ is coming soon. Here we are sometimes depressed and discouraged, and sometimes almost overcome; but hold fast: Christ is coming soon. Here we have many difficulties to face, many temptations to meet, many trials to undergo, many sorrows to bear, many sins to be overcome; but Christ is coming, coming quickly. And when He comes, He will bring with Him the crown, to reward those who have held fast to the end. Oh, my fellowChristians, let us think much of the second coming of Christ! It will aid us in many a difficulty, it will cheer us in many a struggle, it will uphold us in many a season of depression, and it will animate us in many a time of weakness. Let this be our Captain's watchword, as we go forth day by day to fight the good fight of faith, and let the words be ever ringing in our ears, "Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown."

XIII.

"Knocking, Knocking, Who is Ghere?

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Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me."-REV. iii. 20.

F all the Seven Churches of Asia-lamentably as several of them had fallen from their high estate-none had sunk to so low an ebb as the Church of Laodicea. It is indeed a pitiable description that the Spirit gives of that Church-"wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked ”—and above all, the sin which of all others God especially detests―undecided, vacillating, "lukewarm." Moreover, instead of feeling her sinful state, and mourning over it, and rousing herself to amend it, she was seemingly unconscious of her true condition, lulled into a false security, and even deluded into saying, "I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing."

And yet, sadly displeasing as this state of things must have been to God, the message He sends this Church is a peculiarly gracious one, breathing forth a spirit of even deeper tenderness and love than that addressed to any other: "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore and repent." And then He adds the beautiful words of entreaty and appeal that form my text, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." In this verse we observe, first of all, a summons—one knocking for entrance; then a condition—a willing admittance; and lastly, a promise—a mutual banquet. Let us look at these points in their order, and God grant that they may be all fulfilled in our own case.

"Behold." Yes, we may well "turn aside and see this great sight;" for it is one that should fill us with devout wonder, with deep distress, and yet with holy joy. We see a door, closely barred and bolted, and the hinges are cankered with rust, and thick with mould; it is overgrown too with many briers and brambles-weeds grow rankly up to the very threshold, and through the dismal window we see that within darkness and desolation reign supreme, and all looks gloomy and bare. Truly an uninviting spectacle! But before this wretched portal, and in striking contrast with it, there stands a majestic figure, "clothed with a garment down to the foot," and His countenance betokens mingled tenderness and grief. Upon His head He wears a crown of gold, and over it another one-a crown of thorns. And His atti

tude is that of one ever knocking for entrance, ever waiting for an answer from within, but receiving none. And still He lingers, and ever and anon repeating His gentle summons, and unwilling to turn baffled and disappointed away. His eyes bear traces of weeping, and sometimes a heavy tear, a tear of regret, trickles down His cheek. And as we behold Him, we see that the hand which so tenderly knocks for entrance. is a pierced hand; and we know that He who stands there is none other than the once crucified, but now glorified, Son of man.

Dear friends, this picture is capable of a twofold explanation. It may be taken as representing the appeal of Christ to the world at large. He has knocked at that door for 1850 years, and it may be that in these latter days He is knocking for the last time. But the picture has also a personal meaning, and in this sense it either is, or has been, true of all of us. I would that it were only the latter in every instance. But, alas! it would be too much, we know, to say so. Doubtless there are many whose hearts are even now only too truly represented by this impenetrable door, with its rusty hinges and its overgrown threshold, barred and bolted against the Saviour's entrance. And still He stands there in the cold and darkness outside, so truly emblematic of the greater cold and darkness within, patiently waiting and knocking. And yet still they hold out. And the longer they hold out the harder it is to open the door; for sin with its subtle advances gradually enwraps the heart like a creeper, and the world throws an ever-thickening crust over it, and Satan

makes use of the delay to harden it more and more. But still the Saviour stands and knocks. He knocks in the reading and preaching of His word; He knocks in the sacred ordinances and services of His Church; He knocks in the warning voice of conscience; He knocks in the secrecy and stillness of night, when all is hushed and silent around. And sometimes His summons is a louder one than usual, and the call to open more distinct—a providential escape, a sudden bereavement, a serious illness, or, it may be, a stray "word in season," or a mysterious, indescribable influence, the soul can hardly tell how or when it came. Let me urge you, dear friends, not to neglect these silent messengers, these solemn appeals, from God. They are not to be slighted, or set aside, or trifled with. One day they will cease for ever. When that will be no man can tell; but because the time is short, because it is so uncertain, is it wise to delay? To-day Christ knocks at the door of your hearts, it may be for the last time; to-morrow that knocking may be silent, to be heard no more for ever. And then, when it is too late, when you have resisted all the Saviour's entreaties, and rejected all His offers of mercy, when you have listened in vain to all His loving appeals for entrance, and at last have driven Him from your door, how will you then stand before God?

And this brings us to the second point presented to us in the text; viz., the conditions upon which, and upon which alone, the Saviour is willing to enter"If any man hear my voice, and open the door." "If." It is a little word, and yet how much depends