mbly--engaged, it may be, in unseen conflict with the emissaries of
evil--assisting us in our prayers--joining with us in our
praises--waiting to waft these upwards, and get them perfumed with the
incense of the Saviour's merits.

Nor is it the Sanctuary alone they overshadow with their wings of light.
The lowliest homestead of the believer is oftentimes made a MAHANAIM ("a
Host"). The dwellers in the world's thousand Bethany-homes of simple
faith and lowly love are "entertaining angels unawares." In the hour of
sickness they are there unseen to smooth our pillow. In the hour of
danger they are at hand to "shut the lions' mouths." In the hour of
bereavement they are employed bringing messages of solace from the
Intercessor within the veil, and enabling us to "glorify God in the
fires." In the hour of death they are waiting to lend their wings to the
Immortal tenant as it bursts its earthly coil. Oh, if the _return_ of
the Repentant Sinner be to them an hour of joyous jubilee;--if their
songs of triumph greet the Believer _justified_;--what must it be to
exult over the gladsome consummation--the Believer _glorified_; to be
engaged on the Great Day as Reapers at the ingathering of the sheaves
into the heavenly garner--throwing open, at the bidding of their Great
Lord, the Golden Portals that the ransomed millions may enter in!

"Oh never, till the clouds of time
Have vanish'd from the ken of man,
And he from yonder heaven sublime
Look back where mystic life began,
Will gather'd saints in glory know
What blessings men to angels owe.

"This earth is but a thorny wild,
A tangled maze where griefs abound,
By sorrow vex'd, by sin defiled,
Where foes and friends our walk surround;
But does not God in mercy say,
Angelic guardians line the way?

"Sickness and woe perchance may have
Ethereal hosts whom none perceive,
Whose golden wings around us wave
When all alone men seem to grieve;
But while we sigh or shed the tear,
Their sympathies may linger near.

"When gracious beams of holy light
From heaven's half-open'd portals play,
And from our scene of suffering night
Melts nigh its haunted gloom away;
Each doubt perchance some angel sees,
And hovers o'er our bended knees!

"And when at length this wearied life
Of toil and danger breathes its last,
Or ere the flesh, with pa