but in infinite ways; not alone during revivals, not alone during impressive hours on Sundays, in the church, but àlways and continually the great brooding soul of God overhangs the race, and there are down-dropping influences exerted upon men perpetually, and operating upon their souls, dissuading or persuading, arousing or fortifying. In multitudes of ways, beyond our conception, the vivific nature of God is carrying life and power to human souls everywhere.

When, then, I urge men to work out their own salvation with fear and trembling,-that is, with earnestness,—and say to them, "It is God that worketh in you," they say, "If God is working in me, there won't be any need of my working." Why not? The apostle says, in Corinthians, "Workers together with God." Cannot two work at the same thing? Is it impossible that there should be two workers, and that there should be two influences, one from above, and that they should meet and co-operate ?

I say to a child, “Now, attend, my daughter, because your mother is watching you, and taking care of you, and helping you at every step. Give yourself to your studies and duties;" and she says, "But if mother is going to take care of

them I do not need to."

But do not the child and the mother and father co-operate? Do not the pupil and the teacher co-operate? Is not the action of the scholar as necessary as that of the teacher? The teacher stimulates, but the scholar studies. There never was a teacher so skillful that he could understand anything for his pupil. Every boy has to understand for himself. We talk about being self-educated, as if that were a rare achievement. There never was a man who could educate another man. You can store up knowledge, and educate yourself; but no man can educate you. education is self-education, in the nature of things.

All

And so, if it be declared that the divine Spirit is working in us, it does not mean that it does our work for us, and then infixes it in us. The work of conversion is not as if one made up the whole work of a clock, and went and put it into the empty case, each part in its place, and wound it, and set the pendulum a-going, and said, "Go on and tick." Char

acter is not made in that way. It is not first constructed and then put in its place. Where there is a rightly formed character, there are aspirations of soul, and lofty desires, and gracious affections; and these things we develop. We as

really develop them by that which is in us, as they are developed by that which is in God; and that which is in us, and that which is in him, co-work. And the command is,

"Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God that worketh in you, both to-" What? Two things that are the most difficult in the world—“to will and to do."

They discern

Many persons

Here is where men especially need divine help-to will that which is right. Many persons see what is right, but they look upon it just as they in the street look on objects that do not belong to them, and never will. the right, but they do not will to follow it. admire what is right in others-in a vision of the imagination they admire it—without any sense of its relation to their personality. Many men that lie admire the truth. Many that give up to intemperance admire temperance. Many who are dishonest admire honesty in others. Many men that are far from heroic admire heroism. Indeed, by the law of compensation, we often admire most that which we have lost ourselves; and the unvirtuous admire virtue; the weak admire strength, and so on through the whole category.

Then, there are a great many people who wish right things, but do not will them. They wish, but they do not put forth any effort to gratify that wish. There never was a lazy man, probably, that did not wish he was rich. I do not believe there ever was a man in the world who, when his bad disposition had brought him to grief, did not wish that he had a better disposition. A man in a passion offends his best friend, and he says, "Plague on my tongue! I wish it was out; I wish I could govern myself, and not talk so as to spoil everything." He wishes; oh, yes, he wishes; but wishing is not willing. There is something more in willing than in wishing. And although men admire and wish, they do not choose. No man can be said to will to possess or to choose any object or any grace, until he does something more

than to admire it and to wish for it. No man wills to have the truth until he desires it more than he does untruthuntil it is predominant in him. No man wills to be industrious until he prefers it above every other grace, under the circumstances.

The ox does not want to walk fast; but when you keep goading, goading him, then he wills to do it; he prefers that to the other thing; but it is not until he prefers it and does it that he wills it.

A man living in a certain course of life, and feeling that it is evil, and knowing many of its mischiefs, talks about it, and means to do this, that, and the other thing; but it is not until his will, under the concentration of various influences that are brought to bear upon him, takes hold of the right thing energetically, that it can be said that he has willed it.

That is the great trouble with men in the matter of religion. Do you say that you admire religion? There is not a person who had the good fortune, of all fortunes the best, of a father and mother that belonged to the church and had a Christian spirit that made his child-memory of them sacredthere is not a person like that who can look back upon the lives of his parents without saying, "I wish I were as good as my father. He was a better man than I am, and I wish I

were like him."

There is many a man who sits at the table and gambles, where the coarse joke passes backward and forward; and yet when some evil story strikes at his mother, he stops and says, "Now, boys, that has gone far enough; I am not going to talk about that any longer." He is low, and brutal, and hard; but he has a tender thought of his mother; and if, sometimes, you could see him alone, you would see him melted to tears by his recollections of her, and you would hear him say, "I wish I were as good a man as she was a woman." He admires and he wishes; but that is all, and nothing comes of it.

That is the trouble. You do not go far enough. You admire virtues, and you wish you had them, but you do not take the proper steps to acquire them. You do not will nor choose to have them. This is true in every element and

department of life. You want accomplishments, you want means, you wish you had them, but you are not willing to pay what they cost of strife and endeavor. You have not the patience and the continuity which are required to obtain them.

And that is the very point where, if anybody wants help, God stands ready to grant it. He works in men "to will." There it is, therefore, that the light beams, and that the blessing comes. There is hope for you, if you wish, and if you call on God for help in order that you may will, and that, willing, you may do. There is encouragement for every man who is discontented with his low estate, and with his ignoble character. Work out your own salvation, for God will work in you to will. Open your heart to him. Lay bare your disposition to God. There is an influence in the air, a universal, divine will, atmospheric, that strengthens men's wishes, and points them, acuminates them, and empowers them, until they become determinations and choices.

But, when a man has chosen, when he has determined, is he safe? No. Paul said, "To will is present with me, but how to perform I know not." How many men have made up their minds and changed them! How many persons have resolved, and have failed to carry out their resolutions ! How many men form purposes that they do not carry out ! I think our resolutions are much like children's amusements when they blow soap-bubbles. They are made of breath, and they grow larger, and they become more beautiful as they grow larger, and the more beautiful they are the more perishable they become; and as they are shaken from the pipe, see how they rise, irridescent, reflecting the rarest pictures; and while you look at them they are not there. And men-oh, what dreams they have of virtues oh, what dreams they have of piety! oh, what resolutions they make when they are under the influence of soul-subduing music, and while they are listening to the discourse which satisfies the reason, stealing upon the affections and the tenderer sentiments! How often men, sitting under such circumstances, say to themselves, "I see this as I never saw it before, and I will go home and change my life. I am

determined that, by the grace of God, I will be a better man. I will have prayers to-night." He goes home, and says, "Let me think this thing over." Somehow the colors are not so bright on the way home as they were when he was in church and listening to the discourse. When he gets home, he says, "Well, now, my wife will think it very strange; and I will put it off until to-morrow morning, and then I will tell her and the children that I am going to turn over a new leaf, and have prayers, and live a reformed life." He sleeps upon it; and when morning comes, he says, "What was it that I was thinking of last night? Oh! I recollect. Well, I don't feel very much like it this morning. I guess I will wait until to-night." And that is about the last struggle that he has on that subject. His goodness is as the morning cloud, and as the early dew.

Another man is very well satisfied that he is living an erroneous life. His associations are bad. His imagination is becoming contaminated. His very health is being undermined. He sees in himself the slackening of the nerves of industry. His boon companions and convivial friends dodge him. And he says, "It is time for me to stop." The text of the sermon, it may be, that he just heard preached was "The time past is sufficient"; and it has opened up to him his past record. It has disclosed to him what his life has been, and what the dangers are into which he is running. Listening to the sermon, and hearing the text, "The time past is sufficient," reiterated in his ears, he says, "That sermon is aimed right at me, and I will stop; I will reform;" and he goes home with a firm purpose; and his purpose abides with him until he meets some companion, until he finds himself in some congenial, pleasant company, and their spirits mix together, and he is beguiled and soothed and quieted; and before twenty-four hours are passed he says, "Well, I did mean to give up my past life, but I will take another turn." There was the will that was strong the night before; but, how to perform. Oh! if it could be done by willing, he would have done it that night. If it could have been done by praying, he would have done it. If it could have been done by writing in a journal, "I hereby vow and purpose to quit all illicit so