that this language may indeed be marvellously powerful, and go as deep into the heart as the most penetrating that ever proceeds from the tongue. By and through this language, as we have just said, may a child or a friend be effectually guided; and you have no difficulty in understanding the terms, so to speak, on which the child and parent are, if we say that the looks of the one are sufficient for the direction of the other. And we wish that it might be thus between you and God. We wish that you might not be those cold and hard-minded servants, who must have every word written down before they will comply, and who think themselves required to do nothing for which there is not, in so many syllables, a direction which it is impossible to overlook or evade. We wish you rather to be like one of those devoted sons and daughters, who gaze on the countenance of the one whom they love and revere, eager to save him, as it were, the trouble of speaking, and to learn his wishes ere they can be breathed. We desire this for you, not merely because it is far better for you to stand to God in the relation of children than of servants, but because it is the Divine method to teach much through a look, and therefore you may remain uninstructed if you will take only words. There are striking and startling appointments of the Providence of God, and these are his voice; but there are noiseless and more common orderings of that Providence, and these are his glance. If you will only attend to the former, you will wander in a wrong path, till scared as by the shout of a foe: but if you are habitually regardful of the latter, you can scarcely fail to feel always under the leadings of a friend. For come with us now, and let us go with David to the oracle, that we may hear, in sounds breathed from the recesses of the sanctuary, in what way God will promise to lead on his people. We prostrate ourselves before the mysterious shrine, and we propose, in reverence and humility, our question as to the mode in which, sojourners as we are on earth, we may look to be directed by Him who dwelleth in the heavens. "Lord of all power and might, wilt Thou inform us of thy will, through the fearful tread of thy feet, as Thou dost pass through the fields of immensity; or through the

waving of thine arm, as Thou dost mar. shal before thee, and around thee, the troop of brilliant stars; or through the rushings of thy voice, heard above all human sound, whose whisper raised an universe, and could reduce it into nothingness? Is it thus, in modes which even the careless must observe, and the proud cannot mistake, that Thou wilt make known thy pleasure to those whom Thou dost love?" Nay-it is a still small voice which is breathed responsively from the oracle, the quietness of tone indicating the nature of the reply: and never henceforwards let us expect direction in our difficulties, and instruction in our ignorance, if we do not habituate ourselves to the momentarily waiting upon God, as those who feel, that in missing a glance, they may miss a lesson, seeing that the still small voice gives utterance to this promise, "I will guide thee with mine eye."

Now you cannot have failed to observe, that, throughout this examination into the promise of guidance which proceeds from the oracular voice, we have been insisting on the necessity of a meek and teachable disposition. The whole bent of our discourse has been towards the showing you, that the promise, made on God's part, supposes on our own a particular temper and habit, so that it can only take effect where this temper and habit exist. You cannot be too frequently reminded of this peculiarity in the passage-there cannot be guidance by the eye, unless there be constant attention in the one party, as well as constant superintendence in the other. And when you have observed that the promise virtually inculcates a particular disposition, the disposition of watchfulness, of readiness to note God's hand in the minutest occurrences, and to search out the lightest intimations of his will, you must feel the force of the Psalmist's admonition, which the oracular reply caused him to address to the by-standers. This admonition, as we have already remarked to you, warns against a disposition which is just the opposite to that which the promise requires. If guided by the eye, I am ready to follow the most gentle indication of the will of my leader; but I may refuse to be guided by the eye; I may give no heed to a look; and thus may I be like to the horse, and the mule, which have no un

derstanding, and which will go only as compelled by the bit and the bridle.

And you must see, that, founded as the admonition is upon the promise, it is implied that God desires to direct us through quiet and tender dealings, and that, if He have recourse to harsher, it is because our obduracy and inattention reuder needful such treatment. There is something very affecting in this consideration: God only knows how much of severe discipline we bring upon ourselves, through refusing to be taught through the gentler. We now, you see, take guidance by the eye, as indicating a course of tender measures; for though undoubtedly there may be severity in a look, yet guidance by the eye, as contrasted with guidance by the bridle and the bit, must be considered as expressive of gentleness, in opposition to roughness and force. God, if we would but permit Him, would lead us by his eye, that eye which is the light of an extended creation, and from which, as it rests complacently upon them in their ardent waitings round his throne, the angel and and the archangel draw their rich happiness. 'He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men:' and we might almost say-if we did not fear to attribute to God what consists not with his perfections-that the eye whose gentle glances we have refused to follow, is dimmed with tears, when the voice must speak sternly, and the hand rise in chastisement. But, alas! man, in the expressive language of the book of Job, is "born like the wild ass's colt;" and how is a look to tame what is so restive and ungovernable? The look is tried, but tried commonly without effect. The glance of the eye is in the warm sunbeam; and the smile of the face is on those many mercies which spread gladness and peace through unbroken families but the sunbeam wakes no love to God, and the mercies fail to attract man to his Maker.

And what is to be done, when in vain hath God looked down from heaven, in vain turned upon us his eye of lovingkindness, hoping that we would mark its beaming emanations, and trace them back till we were lost in Himself? Shall He leave us to run unrestrained in the wilderness, goaded by our own passions, and hastening to perdition? He loves us too well for this: He would not have

us perish without an effort for our deliv erance. But since gentle means have failed, He must now adopt harsh: the hand must be tried, where the eye has not succeeded, and the bridle be fastened, where the look has been scorned. We pretend not to say that this might be illustrated from the history of every individual: but probably the cases are far more frequent than are commonly supposed, in which the guidance of the bit has been made necessary by disobedience to the guidance of the eye. Why has poverty come, like an armed man, on an individual who was long blessed with prosperity! Ah! the prosperity which was nothing but the graciousness of God's countenance, did not lead Him to the Author and Giver of every good gift and of every perfect; and therefore is adversity being tried: perchance that hard dealing will turn him from the world, and direct him towards heaven. Why has affliction come heavily on that mother, who had garnered up her heart in her only son, and now must see him carried out to the grave? Ah! her child, in whom, as the sunny smile played upon his face, she ought to have viewed the reflected glance of her Maker, wooing her to Himself, did but bind her to the present world, in place of pointing her to a brighter: and now she who gave no heed to that look of Divine tenderness which was embodied in her cherub-like boy, must undergo the harsh processes of constraint and correction, if peradventure they may guide her to Him who wounds only that He may heal.

It would not of course become us, as we have already implied, to conclude, in every case where we see the bridle employed, that it is employed only because the eye has not been watched and obeyed. But still, when you observe how express are the assertions of Scripture as to the unwillingness of God to apportion pain to his creatures, you must allow that suffering is permitted because nothing but suffering will suffice; and you may suppose, that, in general, the harsh measure is not likely to be tried, till the gentle has been tried without success.

And this is simply what we think indicated by the promise in the first verse of our text, when taken in connexion with the admonition in the second. We leave you to draw for yourselves the practical inferences from our previous illustrations

of the promise in question. We leave you to conclude the necessity of a prompt and teachable temper, if you would study the Scriptures with profit, the temper of those who are perusing a document from one whom they love, who are anxious only to ascertain his wishes, and who are therefore as ready to act upon hints as upon explicit commands. Neither do we stay now to insist further on the importance of seeking God's help in the very smallest things, and of striving to trace the leadings of his Providence in simple, every-day occurrences. But this fresh view of the promise, obtained from regarding it in connexion with the Psalmist's admonition, is so rife with touching interest and instruction, that we must entreat you to be stedfast in its contemplation, and faithful in its remembrance. If we would preserve our blessings, we must see to it that these blessings conduct us to God. This is the inference, this the lesson. We may consider mercies as the beamings of the Almighty's eye, when the light of his countenance is lifted up upon us; and that man is guided by the eye, whom mercies attract and attach to his Maker. But oh! let us refuse to be guided by the eye, and it will become needful that we be curbed with the hand. If we abuse our mercies, if we forget their Author, and yield Him not gratefully the homage of our affections, we do but oblige Him, by his love for our souls, to apportion us disaster and trouble. Complain not, then, that there is so much of sorrow in your lot; but consider rather how much of it you may have wilfully brought upon yourselves. Listen to the voice of God, "I will guide thee with mine eye"-mine eye whose glance gilds all that is beautiful, whose light disperses all darkness, prevents all danger, diffuses all happiness. And why then is it that ye are sorely disquieted? why is it that "fear and the pit" are so often upon you; that one blessing after another disappears from your circle; and that God seems to deal with you as with the wayward and unruly, on whom any thing of gentleness would be altogether lost? Ah! if you would account for many mercies that have departed, if you would insure permanence to those that are yet left, examine how deficient you may hitherto have been, and strive to be more diligent for the future, in obeying an admonition which

implies that we should be guided by the soft lustres of the eye, if our obduracy did not render indispensable the harsh constraints of the rein, "Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle."

And, now, have we any other illustration to offer of our text, or any other inference to deduce from it, whether of doctrine or reproof? Indeed, we know not that there yet remains any other important view of a passage which, though easily overlooked, seems to us amongst the most touching and expressive to be found in the Bible. But in pondering the words on which we have discoursed, and considering their bearings on other parts of Scripture, we could not help connecting them with that awful cry in the book of Revelation, which is uttered by the impenitent when overtaken by judgment, and which passionately invokes shelter from the rocks and the hills, that there may be concealment from the face of Him who sits upon the throne. We are always much struck at the power thus ascribed to the face. It is said of the Judge, in a most sublime expression, "From whose face the earth and the heaven fled away;" and it is from the face, as we have just quoted, that the shrieking crowd implore the being hid. It is as though a look would then be enough: there will be no need for the tongue: the eye will condemn, and send forth consternation throughout the hosts of the rebellious. And if God be ready now to guide us with his eye, and if hereafter, supposing us to follow some other leader, we shall shrink from his eye, have we not not an exemplification of retributive justice, an evidence how thoroughly abused mercies, and neglected privileges, will rise up as witnesses against us, so that the Divine dealings with us here shall have only to be arrayed, in order to our sinking, selfsentenced, into the pit of the lost? The eye which is upon the sinful now to conduct, will be upon them to condemn ; and however easy it may be to resist the guidance of that eye whilst it beams forth in tenderness, it will be impossible to withstand its decree of banishment when lit up with anger. Yes, it may be the terrible thing at the judgment, to be forced to look on our benefactor, to behold Him face to face, to meet his eye! Any thing rather than this—even now,

person: seeye to it." What a scene! the judge acquits the prisoner, and at the same time delivers Him to death. He wishes to have no share in the murder about to be committed, though it could not be committed but by his order or concurrence. Alas! for human inconsistency: Pilate is not the only man, who whilst sinning against conscience, has contrived some excuse, and thought both to do the deed and prevent its consequences. But how striking was the testimony given to our Lord. He was to die as a malefactor: but who ever died as a malefactor, before or since, with the judge's verdict in his favor of his being a "just person?" It was wondrously ordered by God, that the enemies of Christ should be witnesses to his righteousness. Judas, who betrayed Him, could furnish no accusation, and hanged himself through remorse when He saw Him condemned. Pilate who allowed his crucifixion, stood forward amongst the multitude who were clamorous for his death, and declared, even whilst consenting to their wish, that He who called Himself their King had done nothing to justify his being made their victim. But the testimony thus borne to the Redeemer, however irresistible, in no degree takes off from the sin of those, who, having given it, were accessory to his death. Indeed, so far as Pilate is concerned, it is very evident that what makes him immeasurably guilty, is the consciousness, which he took no pains to conceal, of the perfect innocence of Christ. Had he had his doubts, had he felt, that, though appearances were in favor of our Lord, there were circumstances of which the Jews were better judges than himself, and which might perhaps warrant his condemnation, there would have been some shadow of excuse for his yielding to the importunity of the priests and the people. But not a syllable of the kind can be alleged. The Roman governor was as certain of Christ's innocence as of his own existence: he had not the remotest suspicion that He might be guilty of anything which merited death: and therefore, in suffering Him to be crucified, he passed his own condemnation, and registered his sentence as wilfully unjust, having by his vices so placed himself in the power of the wicked, that, in spite of the upbraidings

of conscience, he must join them in their wickedness.

remorse.

We speak, you observe, of the upbraidings of conscience: for the observable thing is, that this great principle was not dormant in Pilate, but, on the contrary, acted with faithfulness and vigor. Whatever the sensuality and tyranny of this Roman, he had evidently not succeeded in silencing conscience: he had not reached the state, sometimes reached by the wicked, when wrong actions seem preceded by no repugnance, and followed by no Through all the proceedings against Jesus in which he had part, there was manifestly a great struggle in his breast; and it was only a sense of danger, the fear of offending the people, and of giving ground for an accusation of neglect of the interests of Cæsar, which finally prevailed against the sense of what was right, and induced him to consent to the crucifixion of Christ. And this it is, as we have said, which fixes upon Pilate so enormous a criminality. Though backed by his legions so that he might have repressed any tumult excited by his refusal to do wrong, he knowingly and wilfully committed an act of monstrous injustice and cruelty, in the hope of obtaining a transient popularity, or averting a momentary anger. He could hardly have been ignorant that the very multitude, which were now vociferating "Crucify him, crucify him," had, but a few days before, rent the air with their hosannahs as Christ entered Jerusalem; and he might therefore have calculated that, if he shielded Jesus for a while from the popular fury, he should see Him again the object of the popular favor. But no he would run no risk: and, therefore, like many others who sacrifice the future to the present, he crushed his conscience and himself by the same desperate act.

Neither is this all: we do not think that the enormity of Pilate is to be estimated from the mere resistance of conscience. There is a circumstance in the narrative of this guilty man, which scarcely seems to us to obtain its due share of attention, but which, in our view of the matter, aggravates immeasurably his crime. And this is the circumstance related in our text, which is omitted indeed by the other Evangelists, and re