xperience, of a true hero, namely, the man who wrote the 119th Psalm; a
hero according to God, but not according to the world, and the pomp and
glory of the world.

No great statesman was he, nor conqueror, nor merchant, nor financier
passing millions of money through his hands yearly; and all fancying that
they, and not God, govern the nations upon earth, and decide the fate of
empires.

He was a man who made no noise in the world: though the world, it seems,
made a little noise at him in his time, as it does often bark and yell at
those who will not go its way; as it barked at poor Christian, when he
went through Vanity Fair, and would not buy its wares, or join in its
frivolities. Such a man was this Psalmist; for whom the world had
nothing but scorn first, and then forgetfulness. We do not know his
name, or where he lived. We do not even know, within a few hundred
years, when he lived. I picture him to myself always as a poor,
shrivelled, stooping, mean-looking old man; his visage marred more than
any man, and his figure more than the sons of men; no form nor comeliness
in him, nor beauty that men should desire him; despised and rejected of
men: a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, even as his Master was
after him.

And all that he has left behind him--as far as we can tell--is this one
psalm which he wrote, as may be guessed from its arrangement, slowly, and
with exceeding care, as the very pith and marrow of an experience spread
over many painful years of struggle and of humiliation.

I say of humiliation. For there is not a taint of self-conceit, not even
of self-satisfaction, in him. He only sees his own weakness, and want of
life, of spirit, of manfulness, of power. His soul cleaveth to the dust.
He is tempted, of course, again and again, to give way; to become low-
minded, cowardly, time-serving, covetous, worldly. But he dares not. He
feels that his only chance is to keep his honour unspotted; and he
cries--Whatever happens,--I must do right. I must learn to do right.
Teach me to do right. Teach me, O Lord, teach me; and strengthen me, O
Lord, strengthen me, and then all must come right at last. That was his
cry. And, be you sure, he did not cry in vain.

For this man had one precious possession; which he determined not to
lose, not though he died in trying to hold it fast; namely, the Eternal
Spirit of God; the Spirit of Righteousness, and Truth, and Justice, which
leads men into al