-when the dreary rainstorm wept itself dry, 'they were all
dead corpses.' To be in was life, to be out was death.

That is the first metaphor. Take another. That singular institution of
the old Mosaic system, in which the man who inadvertently, and therefore
without any guilt or crime of his own, had been the cause of death to
his brother, had provided for him, half on one side Jordan and half on
the other, and dotted over the land, so that it should not be too far to
run to one of them, Cities of Refuge. And when the wild vendetta of
those days stirred up the next of kin to pursue at his heels, if he
could get inside the nearest of these he was secure. They that were
within could stand at the city gates and look out upon the plain, and
see the pursuer with his hate glaring from his eyes, and almost feel his
hot breath on their cheeks, and know that though but a yard from him,
his arm durst not touch them. To be inside was to be safe, to be outside
was certain bloody death.

That is the second figure; take a third; one which our Lord Himself has
given us. Here is the picture--a palace, a table abundantly spread,
lights and music, delight and banqueting, gladness and fulness, society
and sustenance. The guests sit close and all partake. To be within means
food, shelter, warmth, festivity, society; to be without, like Lear on
the moor, is to stand the pelting of the storm, weary, stumbling in the
dark, starving, solitary, and sad. Within is brightness and good cheer;
without is darkness, hunger, death.

That is the third figure. Take a fourth, another of our Master's.
Picture a little rude, stone-built enclosure with the rough walls piled
high, and a narrow aperture at one point, big enough for one creature to
pass through at a time. Within, huddled together, are the innocent
sheep; without, the lion and the bear. Above, the vault of night with
all its stars, and watching all, the shepherd, with unslumbering eye. In
the fold is rest for the weary limbs that have been plodding through
valleys of the shadow of death, and dusty ways; peace for the panting
hearts that are trembling at every danger, real and imaginary. Inside
the fold is tranquillity, repose for the wearied frame, safety, and the
companionship of the Shepherd; and without, ravening foes and a dreary
wilderness, and flinty paths and sparse herbage and muddy pools. Inside
is life; without is death. That is the fourth figure.

In the Ark no Deluge can touch; i