The Life of Duty, volume II | Page 4

another is hideous with the discord of "sweet bells jangled, out of tune, and harsh." The life to come is one of perfect harmony, for each servant will be in complete accord with the Master's will and pleasure. And I think the vision of those who play upon their harps, and sing their song before the throne, show us that the life to come is one of occupation. There will be, doubtless, growth, progress, experience, work in Heaven. But there we shall be able to do what we so seldom do here--all to the glory of God. Here we work so selfishly, there all work is worship. Here we struggle for the crown that we may wear it, there they cast down their crowns before the Throne of God. When we speak of resting from our labours after death, and being at peace, we cannot mean, we dare not hope, that we shall be idle. When a famous man of science died, his friends said one to another, "how busy he will be!" We are bidden to be workers together with God, and we may believe that He has new and higher tasks for us all, when we shall have passed through that door in Heaven which Jesus has opened for all believers.

SERMON XXXVI.
THE CONTRAST.
(First Sunday after Trinity.)
S. LUKE xvi. 19, 20.
"There was a certain rich man, . . . and there was a certain beggar named Lazarus."
What was the rich man's sin? We are not told that he had committed any crime. He is not described as an extortioner or unjust. There is no word about his having been an adulterer, or a thief, or an unbeliever, or a Sabbath breaker. Surely there was no sin in his being rich, or wearing costly clothes if he could afford it. Certainly not: it is not money, but the love of money, which is the root of all evil. The sin of Dives is the sin of hundreds to-day. He lived for himself alone, and he lived only for this world. He had sunk all his capital in his gold and silver, and purple and fine linen. He had no treasure laid up in Heaven. So when the moth and rust had done their work, and death had broken through like a thief and stolen all his earthly goods, he had nothing left. This parable is full of sharp contrasts. First, there is the contrast in the life of these two men. The one rich, the other a beggar. The one clothed in purple and fine linen, the other almost naked, and covered with sores. The one fared sumptuously every day, the other lay at the gate starving, and longing for the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table. The one had friends and acquaintances who ate of his meat and drank of his cup, the other was "a pauper whom nobody owns," and the dogs were his only earthly comforters. The rich man had great possessions, yet one thing he lacked, and that was the one thing needful. He had the good things of this life, yet he had not chosen the good part which could not be taken away from him. He had gold and silver, purple and fine linen, but he was without God in the world. Lazarus, the beggar, was after all the truly rich man, "as having nothing, and yet possessing all things." Next, there is a contrast in the death of these two men. One expired in a luxurious bed. No doubt there were learned physicians beside him, and perhaps friends and relatives, though, as a rule, selfish people have few true friends. The other died we know not where, perhaps in the hot dusty road at the rich man's gate. There were no doctors to minister to his wants, no kindly hands to sooth his burning brow, to moisten his parched lips, to close his glazing eyes. But the angels of God were about his bed, and about his path, and in their hands they bore him up, whom no man on earth had loved or cared for. And there is a contrast in the after time for these two men. The rich man was buried, doubtless, with great pomp. Some of us have seen such funerals. What extravagance and display take the place of reverent resignation and quiet grief! Of the beggar's burial place we know nothing. But the sharpest contrast of all is in the world beyond, from which for a moment Jesus draws back the veil. He who had pampered his body and neglected his soul is now in torment; he who never listened to the whisper of his conscience, is forced to hearken to its reproaches now; he who had great possessions is worse off than a beggar--he had