st good out of
the things that are seen, we must bring into the field of vision 'the
things that are not seen.' The case with which he is dealing is that
of a man in trouble. He talks about light affliction which is but for
a moment, working out a far more exceeding and eternal weight of
glory, 'while we look at the things which are not seen.' But the
principle on which that statement is made, of course, has its widest
application to all sorts and conditions of human life.

And the thought that emerges from it directly is that only when we
take the 'things that are not seen' into account, and make them the
standard and the scale by which we judge all things, do we understand
'the things that are seen.' That triumphant paradox of the Apostle's
about the heavy burdens that pressed upon him and his brethren,
lifelong as these burdens were, which yet he calls 'light' and 'but
for a moment' is possible only when we open the shutter of the
dungeon which we fancied was the whole universe, and look out on to
the fair land that stretches beyond. A man who has seen the Himalayas
will not be much overwhelmed by the height of Helvellyn. They who
look out into the eternities have the true measuring rod and standard
by which to estimate the duration and intensity of the things that
are present. We are all tempted to do as villagers in some little
hamlet do--think that their small local affairs are the world's
affairs, and mighty, until they have been up to London and seen the
scale of things there. If you and I would let the steady light of
Eternity, and the sustaining pressure of the 'exceeding weight of
glory' pour into our minds, we should carry with us a standard which
would bring down the greatness, dwindle the duration, lighten the
pressure, of the most crushing sorrow, and would set in its true
dimensions everything that is here. It is for want of that that we go
on as we do, calculating wrongly what are the great things and what
are the small things. When, like some of those prisoners in the
Inquisition, the heavy iron weights are laid upon our half-crushed
hearts, we are tempted to shriek, 'Oh, these will be my death!'
instead of taking in that great vision which, as it makes all earthly
riches dross, so it makes all crushing burdens and blows of sorrow
light as a feather.

But, on the other hand, do not let us forget that this same standard
which thus dwindles, also magnifies the small, and in a very solemn
sense, makes