ty
imported into the idea of the Christian future, by the too exclusive
prominence given to these two ideas--victorious rest after the
struggle, and abundant satisfaction of all desires. That future is
other and more than a festival; it is other and more than repose.
There are larger fields there for the operation of powers that have
been trained and evolved here. The faithfulness of the steward is
exchanged, according to Christ's great words, for the authority of
the ruler over many cities. But still, do we not all know enough of
the worry and turbulence and strained effort of the conflict here
below, to feel that to some of our deepest and not ignoble needs and
desires that image appeals? The helmet that pressed upon the brow
even whilst it protected the brain, and wore away the hair even
whilst it was a defence, is lifted off, and on unruffled locks the
garland is intertwined that speaks victory and befits a festival. One
of the old prophets puts the same metaphor in words imperfectly
represented by the English translation, when he promises 'a crown' or
a garland 'for ashes'--instead of the symbol of mourning, strewed
grey and gritty upon the dishevelled hair of the weepers, flowers
twined into a wreath--'the oil of joy for mourning,' and the festival
'garment of praise' to dress the once heavy spirit. So the
satisfaction of all desires, the accompaniments of a feast, in
abundance, rejoicing and companionship, and conclusive conquest over
all foes, are promised us in this great symbol.

But let us look at the passages separately, and we shall find that
they present the one thought with differences, and that if we combine
these, as in a stereoscope, the picture gains solidity.

The crown is described in three ways. It is the crown of 'life,' of
'glory' and of 'righteousness.' And I venture to think that these
three epithets describe the material, so to speak, of which the
wreath is composed. The everlasting flower of life, the radiant
blossoms of glory, the white flower of righteousness; these are its
components.

I need not enlarge upon them, nor will your time allow that I should.
Here we have the promise of life, that fuller life which men want,
'the life of which our veins are scant,' even in the fullest tide and
heyday of earthly existence. The promise sets that future over
against the present, as if then first should men know what it means
to live: so buoyant, elastic, unwearied shall be their energies, so