us their Divine character; it is not till the day begins to break, that we find that we are in the presence of God's messengers. We learn that we have wrestled with an angel, and then we seek to detain him, and earnestly ask for a blessing.

Sorrow comes unbidden, unwelcomed; it takes its place at our fire-side, sits at our table; its presence casts a shadow on us; but when we allow it to commune with us, when it touches us, our life seems changed, our thoughts and affections are transfigured. Death comes over our threshold, into our home; and life is never more the same. It reads us some lesson out of the black letter book of God's providence. The lesson we hear in tears, but we never more forget it. "We confess that we are strangers and sojourners here." We begin to think of leaving this tent. "We declare plainly that we seek a better country." Death, so dreaded by us, acts in his ministrations only as an angel, who takes our loved ones into the everlasting home of the heavens.

Christ came into this world on a Divine mission. "He came unto his own, but his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name." He came into a world He had made, but He was homeless. "The foxes had holes, and the birds of the air had nests, but the Son of man had not where to lay his head." There were some homes into which He entered which He

K

honoured by His presence. He sat with men at their boards - they sometimes made a feast for him; they little knew they were "entertaining” the incarnate God. Of all the homes into which He entered, the home of Bethany was most favoured. Sorrow and death came into that home though He had been the guest, but they were only to prepare the way for his manifestation as the "Resurrection and the Life." Christ comes now to the loving heart; He says, "He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him." He is in the world now, a Stranger still to some of you, and yet He stands at the door and knocks; how often has He asked for admission? Hear Him, and let Him not depart, but throw open the door. He says, "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."

MAN'S NEEDS AND GOD'S WEALTH.

"But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.”—PHILIPPIANS iv. 19.

His wants were

We are trying to learn the lesson Paul had mastered. He had learned to be content. few, and his theory was simple: nothing into the world, and it is

"We brought certain we can

carry nothing out. And having food and raiment let us be therewith content." If we will only adopt his theory of life we shall be better able to learn his lesson. Still he speaks of hunger and thirst, of fastings often, and even of cold and nakedness." I know," said he, "how to be abased, and I know to abound; everywhere and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need." He knew more of hunger than fulness, and was far more familiar with need than abundance. He was naturally a very independent man; he would not take gifts from all men, but real kindness touched him, and he was deeply moved by the generous gifts of the Philippians to him, and in acknowledging them he

says, in effect, God will requite you. shall supply all your need."

I. Man's needs and God's wealth.

"My God

Man's needs. There are, first, physical needs. There is no creature born into the world with so many Iwants as man. The creatures which are so far beneath him in the scale of being have not so long and helpless an infancy, and acquire much sooner the knowledge necessary for self-support. There are

successive births in the same life. There is a series of developments. Man passes from one stage to another, higher and yet higher, but he never reaches the platform where he finds perfection. We may learn the greatness of his nature from the character of his wants. Only a great nature could have such wants. He must have a world made on purpose for him, and all things in it must serve him. All laws, influences, agencies,—all are regulated by the character and condition of his life, all minister to his needs. Light, air, sound, fragrance, beauty, all are for him. He makes the earth his storehouse, his granary. "All things are put under his feet, all sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field, the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas." How much man needs, and his needs are constantly recurring; he is hungry, he needs bread; he is thirsty, he needs water; he is tired, he needs rest; his needs com

mence with his birth, and end only with his death. All the rivers empty themselves into the sea, and yet there is no perceptible difference in its fulness. Man has marvellous powers of receptivity; the world may empty its treasures at his feet, and yet leave needs that cry out for supplies.

Man has needs. There are social needs. Life can only fully develop itself by clinging to other forms of life. The affections require some object round which they may twine, and thus give grace and beauty to life. The words, father, mother, brother, sister, friends, companions, these represent the capacities and needs of man's social nature. Let him be deprived of any of these, and he stretches out his hands in vain, and ever after feels that he is poor.

There are mental needs. The mind in its highest and best state of culture is like the garden of Eden, in which all forms of life sprang up, whilst its trees were not only "pleasant to the sight but good for food." But the mind may be like the wilderness, which brings forth only thorns and briars, though light, and dew, and rain fall upon it. The mind needs teachers, books, and culture; the libraries of the world represent its needs. It wants all the wealth of the past and the present. It wants all the mighty thoughts and all the results of the labours of kingly intellects. In its highest state it unfolds its wings, and leaves the earth, and seeks to look upon the sun.