LECTURE V.

THE WAYS OF WISDOM.

"And when he came to himself, he said, I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee. And he arose, and came to his father."-Luke xv. 17, 18, 20.

FROM my choice of these words as a text, it might naturally be supposed that I intend to speak only of those who have wandered far from the right path, and whose danger is already imminent. The young man in the parable "went to a far country," by which is indicated the degree of his iniquity; his living was quite wasted, and all his means of selfsupport quite gone, before he came to himself. Then, when his unworthiness was complete, and there was no other to whom he could turn, he said, "I will arise and go to my father"; scarcely hoping indeed to be received,

but having no other hope to save him from despair.

How perfectly true to nature, when all other friends deserted him, that he turns himself to the home of his childhood, seeking forgiveness first from those whom he has most injured! It is the father's house and the mother's love, to which we turn as a sure haven of rest, when the world treats us unkindly. It is there that we are most sure to find acceptance, however great our ill-desert. Although sinful and degraded, friendless and outcast, we are sure of a welcome there. Nor is there a pang which the world's worst treatment can inflict so severe as this thought, that in spite of all our errors, in spite of all our ingratitude, in spite of all our heartless disobedience, a welcome is ready for us there, whenever we will return; that a fond mother will find excuses for us through the greatness of her love, and hope for us through the greatness of her faith; that the father, although he may seem more stern, is ready, whenever he sees us returning, to come out and meet the penitent, "to fall

upon his neck and kiss him." Such is a parent's love; so great is a parent's forbearance. If it had not been for his confidence in this, must there not have been times when the weight of his sins would have crushed the prodigal, when the degree of his unworthiness would have driven him to despair? But the remembrance of that love which no ill-desert could estrange awakened hope for himself, and drew him back again to the paths of virtue.

How precious, therefore, to our souls, should be that Gospel which reveals the ALMIGHTY GOD, whom we have offended, as the Father who is in Heaven! What hopes are excited by that word, while at the same time the greatness of our sin is made more fully to appear! For in proportion to the long-suffering of those whom we offend is our wickedness in offending them. But still that precious hope returns, and if He whom we have chiefly offended is most ready to forgive, we will yet arise and go to our Father, and say unto him, "Father, we have sinned against Heaven, and before thee."

But need we wait until we have wandered so far? May we not feel the truth of all I have said, even when our steps have gone but a little way from the Father's house? Must we wait until the soul is buried under sin before we attempt to rise from it? Must he who feels the power of disease taking hold upon him wait until the whole body is corrupted, and the strength nearly gone, before he appeals to the physician? What then must be the consequence, but fatal disease and death? If I understand the Scriptures, salvation is needed by those who have gone but a little way in sin, as well as by those who are reaching its furthest limit. The peril may not seem to be as great, but the saving power is equally needed. In both cases, the principle of life is wrong, and a radical change is therefore required.

The weeds which are springing up in a cultivated garden may seem to be insignificant, and a few moments' care would remove them; but small as they now are, they contain already the elements of mischief. Give them

time to grow, and it is all they need. Their roots strike deeper, they gather to their own pernicious uses the strength of the soil; they grow up rapidly, overshadowing and stunting the growth of the worthier plant, and coming to an early maturity, they scatter the seeds of increasing mischief. The wind disperses them abroad, until, in a few years, the whole garden has lost its fruitfulness, and the neighboring fields are also ruined. Then, if you would eradicate those weeds, which a year ago were so insignificant, you must strike the plough deep and turn their roots up to the light of heaven; and years of patient industry will be needed before you rid yourselves of the evil. Is it not better to pull them up when they are but few, and their hold upon the soil feeble? They are evil now, is it not better to prevent them from becoming the parent of greater evil? But remember that, whenever you take them in hand, precisely the same process is needed for their effectual removal. You may pull them up as with your fingers, or the ploughshare may be required for the work; but, in either case, they