A storm comes to a ship in mid-voyage. She is driven far out of her course, and is glad at last to find shelter in some friendly port. But there would soon have been shipwreck in the fair weather. The sunken rock, the unknown current, the treacherous sand, were just before the ship. The storm was her salvation. It carried her roughly but safely to the harbour. And such is affliction to many a soul. It comes to quench the sunshine, to pour the pitiless rain, to raise the stormy wind and drive the soul away to port and refuge, away to harbour and home within the circle of divine tranquillity—in the deep calm of the everlasting presence. God will keep his people in this position until all these earthly calamities are overpast, and the cry is heard no more from any, "I flee unto thee to hide me," but all unite in saying, We will dwell in the house of the Lord for

ever.

(d.) "I flee unto thee to hide me" from the fear and from the tyranny of death. This is the very last flight of the godly soul. It has surmounted or gone through every evil now but one: The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Terrors of law, assaults of men, shocks of temptation, adversities of life, afflictions of the soul-these are all gone by. The soul has gone through all that tribulation, and has now but one conflict more, one short struggle between it and life eternal, and yet that one short struggle seems more, sometimes, to the

soul's fear than all the trials of life beside. There are many things about death that make it thus tremendous and solemn. It is a dire necessity-" there is no discharge in that war." It is an impenetrable mystery— the grave keeps every secret, and all is silent within the veil. It is a conclusive and irrevocable crisis-the soul makes no returning step, the pathways of mortality are left for ever. It is felt to be the threshold of eternity— the gate opening immediately into blessedness or woe. It is the leaving of all mortal companionships, and the going away, alone, into an unknown place, into an untried being. Yes; alone, unless your soul knows the Psalmist's secret, and can take up the Psalmist's song"I flee unto thee to hide me." Then all will be changed. The dire necessity will soften itself into a law of love. The impenetrable mystery will be as the shadow of an angel's wing. The irrevocable crisis will be the bounding of the captive into liberty. The loss of the mortal companionship will be far more than repaired by the formation of higher fellowships, and by the immediacy of the presence of God. Look how softly yet triumphantly the pilgrim can thus pass from our sight! The shades of night are falling around him. He sees the deepening darkness, and cries, "I flee unto thee to hide me." In the flight the darkness descends, and for a little haply we hardly know whether he is in refuge. But listen! There is now another song. He has made

the last flight. He has reached the refuge. "I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." And yet again, from farther distance, there is borne back to us this sweet strain-" Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." And then we hear no more, or we hear but broken syllables, for death is just passing; but on the other side is heard, in bursting glory tones, " And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever!"

And now you have the alternative before you.

Will you pursue the sinner's flight, or will you be hid in the saint's refuge?

Will you be a fugitive and an outlaw, or a recognised and protected subject of the kingdom?

Will you be a portionless and weary-footed wanderer, or will you be a home-loving and home-coming child?

Will you battle with the storms of life single-handed, or will you flee to that sanctuary from which you will be able to look out upon them as men look from a sheltered dwelling, upon driving clouds and an angry

sea?

Will you go, as a solitary traveller, into eternity, and meet all its terrors and sublimities alone, or will you have the Eternal God for your refuge, and around you the everlasting arms?"

I know what your reason says when this case is submitted to you. I know what your conscience testi

fies. I know what your heart is telling you. But I cannot tell what you will do. I can only hope and pray, as do many more, that you will turn you now to the stronghold, as a prisoner of hope, that you will declare yourself at last in eternal sanctuary, and solemnly commit all-your body and your soul, your life and your death-into the keeping of your God.

God the only Portion.

Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that 1 desire besides thee. My flesh and my heart faileth; but God is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever.-PSALM lxxiii. 25, 26.

Whom

OD alone can fill and satisfy our souls. have we in heaven but him? And there is none upon the earth worthy of all our desire besides him. With the writer of this psalm this is not a quick or hasty conclusion. He has gone through long courses of trial and experience. He has made many attempts, in different ways, but the end of all is this-that God is the only portion.

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Whom have I in heaven but thee?" Not what have I. He feels as every thoughtful and wise person must feel, that things can never satisfy, in whatever abundance, variety, and beauty they might be provided on earth or in heaven. Not in things, but in persons, the personal soul must find its portion. Not in many, but in One, to whom the soul can look, to whom at all times it can come, and to whom, as here, it can lift up its cry, "Thou art the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever."