Daily Thoughts | Page 4

rest to the weary. That was a coward's wish--and so
you would not come. . . . I was not worthy of you. And now I will not
hunt you any more, old Death. Do you bide your time, and I mine. . . .
Only when you come, give me not rest but work. Give work to the idle,
freedom to the chained, sight to the blind!
Two Years Ago, chap. xv. 1856.

The One Refuge. January 24.
Safe! There is no safety but from God, and that comes by prayer and
faith.
Hypatia. 1852.

Future Identity. January 25.
I believe that the union of those who have loved here will in the next
world amount to perfect identity, that they will look back on the
expressions of affection here as mere meagre strugglings after and
approximation to the union which then will be perfect. Perfect!
Letters and Memories. 1842.

Friendship. January 26.
A friend once won need never be lost, if we will be only trusty and true
ourselves. Friends may part, not merely in body, but in spirit, for a
while. In the bustle of business and the accidents of life, they may lose
sight of each other for years; and more, they may begin to differ in their
success in life, in their opinions, in their habits, and there may be, for a
time, coldness and estrangement between them, but not for ever if each
will be trusty and true. For then they will be like two ships who set sail
at morning from the same port, and ere night-fall lose sight of each

other, and go each on its own course and at its own pace for many days,
through many storms and seas, and yet meet again, and find themselves
lying side by side in the same haven when their long voyage is past.
Water of Life Sermons.

Night and Morning. January 27.
It is morning somewhere or other now, and it will be morning here
again to-morrow. "Good times and bad times and all times pass over." I
learnt that lesson out of old Bewick's Vignettes, and it has stood me in
good stead this many a year.
Two Years Ago, chap. i. 1856.

Communion with the Blessed Dead. January 28.
Shall we not recollect the blessed dead above all in Holy Communion,
and give thanks for them there--at that holy table at which the Church
triumphant and the Church militant meet in the communion of saints?
Where Christ is they are; and, therefore, if Christ be there, may not they
be there likewise? May not they be near us though unseen? like us
claiming their share in the eternal sacrifice, like us partaking of that
spiritual body and blood which is as much the life of saints in heaven as
it is of penitent sinners on earth? May it not be so? It is a mystery into
which we will not look too far. But this at least is true, that they are
with Him where He is.
MS. Sermon.

The Great Law. January 29.
True rest can only be attained as Christ attained it, through labour. True
glory can only be attained in earth or heaven through self-sacrifice.

Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; whosoever will lose his life
shall save it.
All Saints' Day Sermons. 1870.

The Coming Kingdom. January 30.
There is a God-appointed theocracy promised to us, and which we must
wait for, when all the diseased and false systems of this world shall be
swept away, and Christ's feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives, and
the twelve apostles shall sit on twelve thrones judging the twelve tribes
of Israel! All this shall come, and blessed is that servant whom his Lord
when He cometh shall find ready! All this we shall not see before we
die, but we shall see it when we rise in the perfect material and spiritual
ideal, in the kingdom of God!
Letters and Memories.

Christ's Coming. January 31.
Christ may come to us when our thoughts are cleaving to the ground,
and ready to grow earthy of the earth--through noble poetry, noble
music, noble art--through aught which awakens once more in us the
instinct of the true, the beautiful, and the good. He may come to us
when our souls are restless and weary, through the repose of
Nature--the repose of the lonely snow-peak and of the sleeping forest,
of the clouds of sunset and of the summer sea, and whisper Peace. Or
He may come, as He comes on winter nights to many a gallant
soul--not in the repose of Nature, but in her rage--in howling storm and
blinding foam and ruthless rocks and whelming surge--and whisper to
them even so--as