e of the scriptural language,--the words of the text for
example, not as describing what we are when we are full of sin; nor yet
as mere exaggerated language, which must be brought down to the level of
our present reality. Let us consider it as containing the words of
truth and soberness; not one jot or one tittle needs to be abated; it
must not be lowered to us, but we rather raised to it. It is a truth, it
is the word of God, it is the seal of our assurance: it is that which
good men of old would have welcomed with the deepest joy; which, to good
men now is a source of comfort unspeakable. For it tells us that God has
done for us, is doing, will do, all that we need; it tells us that the
price of our redemption has been paid, the kingdom of heaven has been
set open, the power to walk as God's children has been given: that so
far as God is concerned we are redeemed, we are saved, we are
sanctified; it is but our own fault merely that we are not all of these
actually and surely.

This is not a little matter to be persuaded of; if it be true, as I fear
it is, that too many of us do not love God, is it not quite as true that
we cannot believe that God loves us? Have we any thing like a distinct
sense of the words of St. John, "We love God because he first loved us?"
We believe in the love of our earthly friends; those who have so lately
left their homes have no manner of doubt that their parents are
interested in their welfare, though absent; that they will often think
of them; and that, as far as it is possible at a distance from them,
they are watching over their good, and anxious to promote it. The very
name home implies all this; it implies that it is a place where those
live who love us; and I do not question that the consciousness of
possessing this love does, amidst all your faults and forgetfulnesses,
rise not unfrequently within your minds, and restrain you from making
yourselves altogether unworthy of it. Now, I say, that the words of the
text, and hundreds of similar passages, are our assurance, if we would
but believe them, that we have another home and another parent, by whom
we are loved constantly and earnestly, who has done far more for us
than our earthly parents can do. I grant that it is hard to believe this
really; so infinite is the distance between God and us, that we cannot
fancy that he cares for us; he may make laws for a world, or for a
system, but what can he think or feel for us? It is, indeed,