feel their brotherhood.

Even the very apostles

did not; for Paul and Barnabas had so hot a contention together that they parted from each other, and went on their work each alone. But how blessed to them will be that hour, when they who, from the infirmity of their human passions, could not here work together, will rest together for evermore in perfect union, with that Lord whom they both loved!

SERMON XXVIII.

CHRISTIAN PATIENCE.

GALATIANS, vi. 9.

Let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not.

It would be a long and not an uninteresting inquiry, to trace out the various ways in which the feeling of impatience shows itself in the human mind. By impatience, I do not mean hastiness of temper, but the sense of the imperfections of our condition, whether in body, mind, or spirit; and a restless desire to see them removed. Where St. Paul says that "the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now," he means to express the universal extent of this feeling, this consciousness of the inevitable want of rest so long as we are here on earth. Its development, of course, as of all the simple feelings of the mind, has been infinitely complicated,

and has led to actions apparently the most opposite to one another; for it has sometimes urged men to suicide, and at other times it has driven them to endure a long life of self-inflicted pains and deprivations. So, again, in the understanding; it has led, in some instances, to the wildest scepticism; in others, to the most blind superstition. Different tempers seek different means of relief, but almost all feel the same grievance; they desire rest and satisfaction to their minds, and they do not find it.

This lot of all mankind falls to Christians as well as other men. "Even we," says St. Paul, "who have received the first-fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body." There remaineth a rest for the people of God, but they are not yet entered into it. And in them the feeling of longing for that rest, if watched and hindered from enfeebling their practice, is in itself not blamable. Our Lord himself expressed it so far as it may be lawfully entertained, when he said, "O faithless and perverse generation! how long shall I be with you, how long shall I suffer you?" But he showed also that he did not allow it to influence him in its evil excess, for his very next words were a preparation for an act of charity; "Bring thy son hither to me. And he rebuked the unclean spirit, and

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healed the child, and restored him again to his father."

The feeling, then, which I speak of, being so general, and showing itself in such various ways, it would be impossible, even if it were likely to be useful, to go fully, on the present occasion, into all its branches. But the words of the text supply us with one very common instance, when they tell us "not to be weary in well-doing." For as we feel and show impatience in many other ways, so we do in this; we tire sometimes of our duty, because it does not bring with it all the fruit which we expect; or, because we seem not to make sufficient progress in it. And thus, after having gone on well for a time, and when some of the greatest difficulties of doing so had been overcome, we suddenly fall off, and leave ourselves with all our work to begin again, if, indeed, we are ever again disposed to begin it.

And this, our becoming weary of well-doing, arises also from different causes in different persons. First, it may arise from this, that our motive for well doing was not strong enough. People often begin to mend their ways from motives, good, perhaps, so far as they go, but by no means going far enough. A drunkard, or intemperate person, may leave off his bad habits for the sake of his health; an indolent man may be roused to exertion by the necessities of his family; or, to

take our own case, a boy may resolve to exert himself more than he has done, from a lively impression of what his friends may have said to him at home, and of the annoyance which his conduct had caused them. The motives here spoken of, are far from blamable; and, certainly, they are far from powerless. They often lead to a marked change in a person's habits, and this change is often lasting. But it is also very often not lasting, because, from time or circumstances, the power of the motive is weakened before it has completely done its work. The intemperate person, if he finds his health visibly improved, is apt sometimes to think that he can now afford to indulge himself with safety; the indolent person, in the same way, if fortune seems to favour him, may think that he may now relax a little, and enjoy the fruits of his labour. And here the impression of what was said or felt by a boy's friends when he was at home, becomes less lively by the mere lapse of time; he cannot so fully bring before his mind the displeasure or distress which their language and manner had manifested; their letters do not, perhaps, dwell on it, but express, as is natural, satisfaction at the present improvement in him, rather than regret for what is past. Then when the temptation to relax his efforts comes on him, he will flatter himself that he has done enough to please his parents, that they had not