ure for him.
'Delight thyself in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of
thine heart.' Whatsoever, in touching Him, we do deeply long for may
have blended with it human elements, which will be dispersed
unsatisfied, but the substance of it is a prophecy of its own
fulfilment. And as surely as the stork in the heavens, flying
southward, will reach the sunny lands which draw it from the grim
northern winter, so surely may a man say, 'I know that I have a house
in heaven, because I long for it, and shrink from being found naked.'

Of course such longing, such aspiration and revulsion are no proofs
of a fact except there be some fact which changes them, from mere
vague desires, and makes these solid certainties. And such a fact we
have in that which is the only proof that the world has received, of
the persistence of life through death and the continuance of personal
identity unchanged by the grave, and that is the Resurrection of
Jesus Christ from the dead. Our faith in immortality does not depend
merely on our own subjective desires and longings, but these desires
and longings are quickened, confirmed, and certified by this great
fact that Jesus Christ has risen from the dead; and therefore we know
that the yearnings in us are not in vain. So we come to this
certitude, first, by reason of his experience; and, second, by reason
of the longings which that experience fosters if it does not kindle,
within our hearts.

And let no man take exception to the Apostle's word here, 'we know,'
or tell us that 'Knowledge is of the things we see.' That is true,
and not true. It is true in regard to what arrogates to itself the
name of science. And we are willing to admit the limitation if the
men who insist upon it will, on their sides, admit that there are
other sources of certitude than so-called 'facts,' by which they mean
merely material facts. If it is meant to assert that we are less sure
of the love of God, of immortality, than we are of the existence of
this piece of wood, or that flame of gas; then I humbly venture to
say that there is another region of facts than those which are
appreciable by sense; that the evidence upon which we rest our
certitude of immortal blessedness is quite as valid, quite as true,
quite as able to bear the weight of a leaning heart as anything that
can be produced, in the nature of evidence, for the things round us.
It is not, 'We fancy, we believe, we hope, we are pretty nearly
sure,' bu