be sustained, consoled, fortified; _the Spirit of God_
must come to dwell in us. We often set ourselves to work on ourselves,
to set our spirit in order; this is well, but it is not enough. We
want more. Jesus Christ Himself must dwell in our hearts by the Holy
Spirit.

"My friends, let us reflect upon the character of the promises of the
Gospel, and we shall see how far we are from possessing and enjoying
them. May God open the heavens above our heads; revealing all to us,
filling us with all wisdom, granting us to see that even here below we
may attain to perfect joy, while looking forward to possess hereafter
the plenitude of bliss and of victory. May He teach us how to gather
up the blessings which the heavens love to pour upon the earth which
opens to receive them. And so may He teach us to know that if earth is
able to bear us down and trouble us, it is unable to quench the virtues
of heaven, to annul the promises of God, or to throw a veil, be it even
the lightest cloud, over the love with which God has loved us in Jesus
Christ."[13]

"He being dead yet speaketh." On his bed of prolonged and
inexpressible sufferings Monod, called comparatively early to leave a
life and ministry of singular fruitfulness and rich in interests, found
in Jesus the inexhaustible secret of this blessed _equilibrium_ of St
Paul. And what a cloud of witnesses have borne their testimony to that
same open secret, as the most solid while most supernatural of
realities! As I write, the memory comes up before me of a beloved
friend and kinsman, my contemporary at Cambridge, called unexpectedly
to die in his twenty-second year. Life to him was full of the
strongest interests and most attractive hopes, alike in nature and in
grace. He had no quarrel with life; it had poured out before him a
rich store of social and mental blessings, and a large wealth of
surrounding love, and the Lord Jesus, taking early and decisive
possession of the young man's heart, had only augmented and glorified,
not rebuked or stunted, every interest. But a slight fever, caught in
the Swiss hotel, was medically mismanaged, and when perfect skill was
summoned in, it was too late. His mother came to her son on his sofa
to tell him that he was not only, as he knew, very poorly; he was about
to die. In a moment, without a change of colour, without a tremor,
without a pause, smiling a radiant smile, he looked up and answered,
"Well, to depart and to be with C