to us that this world is still promising to its salad
dupes, it would not come within a thousand miles of satisfying our
hearts. Whether the hopes of our hearts are to be fulfilled within the
veil or no, that remains to be seen; but all the things without the veil
taken together do not any longer even pretend to promise a hope to hearts
like ours. Our Forerunner has carried away our hearts with Him. We have
no heart left for any one but Him, or for anything without or within the
veil that He is not and is not in. And till that hope also has made us
ashamed,--till He and His promises have failed us like all the rest,--we
are going to anchor our hearts on that, and on that only, which we
believe is with Him within the veil. If our Forerunner also disappoints
us; if we enter where He is, only to find that He is not there; or that,
though there, He is not able to satisfy our hope in Him, and make us like
Himself, then we shall be of all men the most miserable. But not till
then. No; not till then. And thus it is that Captain Good-hope has his
billet in our heart; thus it is that his blue colours float over our
house; and thus it is that his three golden anchors are blazing out in
all their beauty on the best wall of our earthly house.

3. 'The third was that valiant captain, the Captain Charity. His
standard-bearer was Mr. Pitiful, and for his scutcheon he had three naked
orphans embraced in his bosom; and he also had ten thousand men at his
feet.' O Charity! O valiant and pitiful Charity! Divine-natured and
heavenly-minded Charity! When wilt thou come and dwell in my heart?
When, by thine indwelling, shall I be able to love my neighbour, and all
my neighbours, as myself? When, in thy strength, shall I cease from
repining at my neighbour's good; and when shall I cease secretly
rejoicing over his evil? When shall I by thee renewing me, be made able
to cease in everything from seeking first my own will and my own way; my
own praise and my own glory? When shall it be as much my new nature to
love my neighbour as it is now my old nature to hate him? When shall I
cease to be so soon angry, and hard, and bitter, and scornful, and
unrelenting, and unforgiving? When shall my neighbour's presence, his
image, and his name always call up only love and honour, good-will and
affectionate delight? When and where shall I, under thee, feel for the
last time any evil of any kind in my heart against my brother? Oh! to
see