tic might say, foolishly and culpably, in supplying
the dissolute boy with resources, and taking him back without a word of
just reproach. A sad lack of moral discipline, no doubt! If he had kept
the boy in fear and godliness, if he had tied him down to honest work,
the disaster need never have happened. Yet the old man, who went so
often at sundown, we may think, to the crest of the hill, from which he
could see the long road winding over the plain to the far-off city, the
road by which he had seen his son depart, light-heartedly and full
of fierce joyful impulses, and along which he was to see the dejected
figure, so familiar, so sadly marred, stumbling home--he is the
master-spirit of the sweet and comforting scene. His heart is full of
utter gladness, for the lost is found. He smiles upon the servants; he
bids the household rejoice; he can hardly, in his simple joy of heart,
believe that the froward elder brother is vexed and displeased; and his
words of entreaty that the brother, too, will enter into the spirit of
the hour, are some of the most pathetic and beautiful ever framed in
human speech: "Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine;
it was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother
was dead, and is alive again, and was lost, and is found."

And this is, after all, the way in which God deals with us. He gives us
our portion to spend as we choose; He holds nothing back; and when we
have wasted it and brought misery upon ourselves, and return to Him,
even for the worst of reasons, He has not a word of rebuke or caution;
He is simply and utterly filled with joy and love. There are a thousand
texts that would discourage us, would bid us believe that God deals
hardly with us, but it is men that deal hardly with us, it is we
that deal hardly with ourselves. This story, which is surely the most
beautiful story in the world, gives us the deliberate thought of the
Saviour, the essence of His teaching; and we may fling aside the bitter
warnings of jealous minds, and cast ourselves upon the supreme hope
that, if only we will return, we are dealt with even more joyfully than
if we had never wandered at all.

And then perhaps at last, when we have peeped again and again, through
loss and suffering, at the dark background of life; when we have seen
the dreariest corner of the lonely road, where the path grows steep and
miry, and the light is veiled by scudding cloud and dripping rain, t