INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS

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THE INVALID.

Of few days and full of trouble; such is an epitome of human life. You, my friend, are now ready to admit the truth of this. You are laboring under disease. Former activity has given place to confinement. Your situation is that of disappointment, irksomeness, and pain. A word of Christian interest cannot be unacceptable to you. As one who by experience is not wholly unacquainted with your case, let me suggest a few things.

You have been asking yourself in the retirement of this room, Why is it that I—why is it that man should be heir to so much suffering? Evidently and only because of so much sin. Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin, and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned. All suf

fering is penal. The pains you now undergo form a part of what is wrapped up in that comprehensive and ponderous word, "death." The sickness and other evils incident to our fallen state are one mighty expression of God's displeasure at sin. Every pain endured by man since the apostasy has been a punitive messenger reminding how dreadful is human guilt. You will not understand me as intimating that retribution is limited to the present life. No, the transient paroxysm, and the intermittent burning now felt, are only precursors of the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched. Bear in mind, then, that one design of this sickness is to impress upon you the fact of universal sinfulness and the consequent curse, and of your participation in the same. Do you penitently admit your own sinfulness? Do you feel your utter moral helplessness? Do you see convincingly your need of an almighty Saviour? For thus saith the Lord, Thy bruise is incurable, and thy wound is grievous. There is none to plead thy cause, that thou mayest be bound up; thou hast no healing medicines. Will you not, then, cry to the great Physician, Lord Jesus, have mercy on me?

But it is also true, a present Providence has ordered your sickness. You have spoken of an

hereditary predisposition, a certain exposure, an over-exertion, with which your illness seems to stand connected. This is proper. But beware of suffering such an expression as "It happened thus or thus," to beguile you into a denial of God's constant inspection and control of the events - the minutest even of your whole life. The very hairs of your head are all numbered. And affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground. Wearisome nights are appointed unto you. God has laid you upon this bed. As truly has he done it, as if his unseen hand had become visible in conducting you hither.

Your thoughts have probably anticipated me in saying that resignation, complete resignation, is justly claimed of you. Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins? There is infinite propriety in your suffering thus. Meek submission to it, therefore, as merited, and more than merited, is what God challenges first of all. Be still, and know that I am God. An approving apprehension of his justice is as indispensable as of his goodness. Neither can exist acceptably to him without the other.

And can you not at this moment see occasion for both? Is the full measure of your deserts

meted out to you? The rod is indeed applied, but it is not the scorpion. You are not lifting up your eyes in torment, in devouring flames. Mercies are mingled with judgments. Kindness and severity are blended mysteriously in your case, as in the case of every sinner while in probation. For he doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men. In every stroke of his rod, in every pain, there is also a fatherly forbearance. Strict justice demands everlasting and unmitigated misery, and the full and penitent admission of this God insists upon. You seem to look distrustful, as if this were a strange or a hard doctrine. But, my friend, I dare not deal an opiate doctrine. God has bidden me speak to you affectionately, yet plainly and solemnly. Woe is unto me if I administer what shall benumb your conscience. Unwarranted consolation would stupefy only to destroy.

But you are a professed Christian. God is now applying a test, that you may know whether you are truly such; and, if so, that you may become more eminently such. He has placed you in the alembic of suffering. It may seem to you, that in the process there is intensity, and even fury, yet all that he does is needful. It is not in anger that the refiner puts the precious metal into the fire. David could say, I was dumb, 1