XI.

And they shall go into the holes of the rocks, and into the caves of the earth, for fear of the Lord, and for the glory of His majesty, when He ariseth to shake terribly the earth.'-Isa. ii. 19.

WE

have once more come to that season of the Church's year when we have brought before us, in the order of our services, four of the most awful realities that can be placed within the range of human thought, and which, for the most part, are outside the range of human experience-I mean Heaven and Hell, and Death and Judgment.

We fancy that we know something of Heaven, and the old hymn-writer said truly, that to be in a building where every heart was engaged in worshipping God, and where every voice was raised in the praise of God, was 'like a little heaven below.' And there have been those who have sat by the bedside of a dying saint-remember, saints are still to be found on the earth as well as sinners-and who have seen, as it were, the very gates of Heaven ajar, and in the light which they have seen shining. in the face of that dying one have caught something of the rays of that sun which shall never set

nor be obscured.

Thus we think we know something about Heaven; and I believe we do, although it is but a faint image we can form.

Again, some of us, I fear, know something about Hell. No truer words were ever spoken than when it was said that many a man carries hell about within himself; and there are those who have suffered a foretaste of the pains of hell, just as we have seen that there are others who seem to have anticipated the joys of heaven: for when a man by wilful and long-continued sin has separated his soul from God, and cut himself off by his own voluntary act from all the joys which God gives to us here below, and has nursed in his own bosom that serpent of sin which sooner or later stings with his most bitter sting all who do nurse him, that man knows something about hell.

And Death. We know something of Death. We have all of us, if we have not seen Death, at least seen what Death can do. We have seen it lay the strong man low, and bring the woman, when she is in the very beauty of her womanhood, down by a stroke. We have seen Death take the desire of our hearts from us. We have seen him, with what seemed like hideous cruelty, deprive a father and mother of their only little one, and have said, 'This is the hand of Death! amongst us !'

This is Death walking

My friends, we know something, as I have said, concerning these three great realities, though we

too often talk about them as if they were not really in the hand of God, as they are; for even Death, remember, is sent in God's good time, and therefore is robbed of his terrors: but when we leave these three, and come to the fourth, we know nothing more than the poet's vision-the dream of men who have read their Bible, and have tried to picture to themselves what is meant by the word 'Judgment-day;' and we all must feel inclined (at least I do) to stand back and say no more: for 'the ground whereon we stand,' when we speak of this great subject one to another, is indeed 'holy ground.' We must feel that if a word is said which would move a soul further from God by painting in too terrible colours the realities of that Judgmentday, the word had better never have been spoken; and yet we feel we must feel that if we miss saying a word which might alter the state of one who could hear it a terrible responsibility would rest upon the speaker when that great day comes. I venture to think, that it can only be that those whose duty it is to speak on these things are able to feel that if they speak at all they must only speak what God teaches them to speak; it is only becausé of this that they are able to touch upon these subjects at all. Let us, then, think for a few moments of the Judgment-day.

And, first, just as we in the little things of life have settling-days, so God in His justice-nay, God in His mercy must have such a day coming for

all His creatures; and we ought to feel, and I trust we do feel, that we had better try while we have the time to prepare for it, and see, if we can, what it means that is, what it means to you and to me.

Now there can be no question that when that day comes one of its most awful characteristics, as we look back upon our earthly life, will be that it will be a day of separation. We shrink from death. But what is death? Death is only the parting for the time. There will come the great awaking, the meeting once more before the great white throne. Death is very little comparatively. The separation which I am thinking of will be a separation which lasts for ever. The separation which will take place on that great day of account will be such as can never be bridged over-the eternal going away of the good-those who are accounted good through the mercy of Jesus Christ-from those who have obstinately refused to take advantage of that mercy. And does it not strike a chord in every heart when we know that it must be good-bye for ever if we are not going together? My friends, does it not make a man look at his children, a husband look at his wife? aye, make us all look at each other? Does it not call us all to set our house in order, and see that we are so living that we may feel that when we have to render up our account the final good-bye never has to be said?

But it will also be a day of recognition of work done. When men reckon with men, what is their

object? Surely it is to see whether the tale of work entrusted by one to another has been faithfully done, whether the talent has been wrapped up in the napkin, and hidden, and brought back just as it was, or whether it has been put out to interest, and made into money! So it will be at that great day. God is not unrighteous that He will forget your work and labour of love.' It may have been love to the children, love in the home, love to the neighbour, love to the poor wandering outcast-that day will see the reward bestowed.

And it will be a day of realities. Now we see things as they seem to be; then we shall see things as they have been and as they are. We sometimes say that we should be different men, and different women, if we could see ourselves as others see us. I think we should; for it would be very much like looking into a good mirror. We do often deceive ourselves even now, and look with a kindly eye upon a great many things in ourselves which our more critical and less kindly neighbour who lives opposite to us may see in a different light. We shall at the Judgment-day see ourselves as God sees us— what we have been, nay, what we meant to be; and remember, nearly every man or woman is what he or she in the secret of the heart means to be and wishes to be.

It will be a day of surprises. Some will stand there, and when they see that separation of which we have spoken taking place they will say, 'Why,