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borne homeward by a love that is far too strong ever to let him go. It is only when we are leaning upon Christ that we are able to win heavenward at all. He alone keeps us from falling, and can present us faultless before the presence of God's glory, with exceeding joy.

TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY

T

Morning

DAVID AND JONATHAN

Passage to be read: 1 Sam. xx. 1-23.

HERE are few friendships that have so deeply impressed the world as that of David and Jonathan. Through the storm and darkness of the sad history of Saul it shines like a bright star on a cloudy midnight. The world has had many famous friendships. There was that of Damon and Pythias, for example, when Damon was ready and indeed eager to die for Pythias. There was that, too, of Pylades and Orestes, of which we read in the works of the great Greek dramatists. Nor must we forget the most wonderful friendship of all— that between Jesus and the beloved disciple. Well, the friendship of David and Jonathan takes rank with these. It is one of the great friendships of the world; and (with the exception of that between John and Jesus) it has influenced the world more powerfully than any of the others, just because the record of it is embalmed in a Book that has a world-wide circulation. Do you know who it was that when asked the secret of his life, answered, 'I had a friend'? I think had we asked David or Jonathan that question, they might have given a similar reply. Now one of the pleasant pictures of that friendship is before us in our passage for to-day. God grant to every one of us some experience of a strong and helpful comradeship.

WELL, I want you first to notice how unselfish it was.

There is a great deal that tricks itself out as friendship that is really selfishness in disguise. We show ourselves friendly, and are accepted as such, but our eye is on our own interests all the time. And this is true not only of men and women who are out in the rush and struggle of the world's life, it is just as true of our children in the nursery and of our boys and girls in school. But in true friendship, whether of men or children, there is something disinterested, something unexplainable; and in no historical friendship is this so marked as in the friendship of Jonathan and David. Do you remember when it began? It began when David returned from slaying Goliath (xviii. 1). And I think that had I been there instead of Jonathan, I should have sorely grudged the shepherd lad his triumph. Had Jonathan never dreamed of fighting Goliath? Had he never thought how glorious it would be if he could be the conqueror of the giant? Yet when a young man like himself achieved the task, and all the camp of Israel rang with it, was Jonathan envious, jealous, discontented?-he grappled him to his soul with hoops of steel. Remember, too, that Jonathan was heir-apparent, and David had been anointed king by Samuel. The kingdom was to be taken from the house of Saul and given to the house of David. Yet even when Jonathan learned all that, it did not destroy this so unselfish friendship: 'Thou shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee,' he said (xxiii. 17). This, then, distinguishes that classic friendship. It'smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.' And it is this that made it hardy to survive the changes and the shocks of coming days.

AGAIN, I want you to observe how inventive it was.

In all true friendship, as in all true faith, there is a sweet element of originality. I suppose it is because the heart is engaged in both, that in both there is a kind of

defiance of the stereotyped. Mock-friendships, in which the interests of self are dominant, are always content to move along the beaten track. But you never can tell across what virgin meadows, and up the side of what untrodden hills, the feet of true heart-friendship are going to carry it. It is never content with the routine of service. It has an inventive genius of its own. It is swift to help in a hundred little ways that none but a friendly heart would ever dream of. And I think that that pleasant feature of a rich inventiveness was never more marked in any friendship than in that of Jonathan and David. Just take the instance in our chapter for to-day. Just read that story of the arrow-flight again. There is more in that than a devising brain. There is the record in it of a devising heart—and that is one of the best fruits of friendship, which, like the pomegranate, says Bacon in his Essay, is full of many kernels. It helps us, as with a happy instinct, in those seasons when we cannot help ourselves. Hast thou a friend? Trust him and take his counsel. Art thou a friend? Let it be known by unexpected services. It is this that has always marked the world's great friendships, and separated them out from duller unions.

AND then I ask you to note how enduring it was.

It was like the friendship of Jesus for His own; it lasted, through storm and strain, right to the end. Can you recall any great instances of broken friendship? There are not a few narrated in our histories. There is that between Pope Innocent the Third and Otho, for instance; 'the imperial crown was on the head of Otho, and almost from that moment the Emperor and the Pope were implacable enemies' (Milman, v. 234). And there was that between Queen Elizabeth and Essex, which ended, for the gay Earl, upon the block. But the friendship of Jonathan and David never broke. No jeopardy, no change of place or circumstance impaired it. And

'when the arrow of the Philistine,' says Mr. Spurgeon, 'went through the heart of Jonathan on Mount Gilboa, it struck the name of David that was engraven there.'

'God keeps a niche

In heaven to hold our idols! and albeit

He break them to our faces, and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,

I know we shall behold them raised, complete-
The dust shook from their beauty-glorified,
New Memnons singing in the great God-Light.'

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TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY

Evening

THE PRODIGAL SON

Passage to be read: Luke xv. 11-32.

FRIEND of mine was on one occasion visiting one of our seaport hospitals. It chanced that at the time of her visit two Russian sailors were lying ill there; both of them rough, wild men who had led a wandering and riotous life. With a silent prayer to God that He would guide her to some suitable passage of Scripture, she read to them the parable of the Prodigal Son. And great was her wonder when she looked up from her book, and saw tears streaming down the sailors' cheeks. They had never heard the parable before. It broke on them freshly, with its matchless music. It touched some of these secret chords that had lain silent through many a sinful year. And my friend used to say that she never realised the reach and the tenderness of Jesus' words, till she read them, without note or comment in that ward. Is there no danger in a too familiar Bible? Have we not read and read again

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