the world in which they privately repose; and many a man who leaves his office or closes his shop an envied man, and who, as he walks along the streets, is looked upon as thriving, and therefore happy, finds, when he reaches his own dwelling, that he is far otherwise; for disease, discord, profligacy, and disappointment may have been making havoc of those cherished domestic affections which properly cluster around a man's hearth. And hence, we may conclude, that for a man to be completely prosperous, so far as this life is concerned, it is necessary, not only that he succeed in his worldly pursuits, but that he also enjoy such an amount of home comfort as not seriously to disturb his private tranquillity.

Now, suppose the case of a man who possesses, and who has long possessed, both these elements of earthly prosperity-whose silver and gold, whose flocks and herds have multiplied exceedingly, and whose domestic relations and circumstances have been fashioned precisely according to the desires of his own heart; a man who in examining his wealth finds it ample, and in surveying his character finds it honourable; suppose such a man to look, as every man will now and then look into the future, what is the prospect that meets his eye? Why, a fair and smiling one to be sure; the sun is bright and warm, the sky is clear and cloudless; no untoward event discolours its stainless azure, and no fears of adversity gather like thick and threatening piles of vapour in the region of its horizon! And what is the natural tendency of such a prospect on the mind? Why, of course, to inspire a confidence in the future; an assurance that the morrow shall be as to-day, and yet more abundant; a conviction, like that of the Psalmist, that he shall never be moved; that the foundations of his prosperity are too deep to be dug up-too firm to be shaken, but are stable as the everlasting hills!

It is somewhat difficult to account satisfactorily for the impression, so common to the human mind, that because a man has been prosperous for some time, therefore, he will continue to be so. The impression is, no doubt, a delusion; but it is a delusion which seems indigenous to human nature. To argue the character of the future from that of the present and the past, is one of the most ordinary courses in the world. We see some things that last long, and we are ready to conclude other things may do so too. Besides, our faith is often influenced by our hopes and desires. We wish some things to be true, and we are very apt to make the vigour of our wishes compensate for the feebleness of evidence on the subject; and then we have a natural indisposition to believe many things will ever be changed. You may remember St. Peter tells us of some ancient infidels who scoffed at all predictions of Christ's coming to judge the world. They bolstered up their unbelief by an appeal to the stability of the material universe, and to the regularity and accuracy of all the process of nature. They said, "Where is the promise of his coming, for since the father is fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation." We have most of us, probably, been conscious of the operation of this principle, or at least, of the difficulty of realizing the idea of changes that we know very well must occur. What thoughtful man, for instance, when gazing at the desolation of winter, the frost hardening the earth, the trees stripped of their foliage, the flowers vanished, the grass withered and brown, the birds dumb, and a piercing atmosphere chilling and icing all things, has not felt it hard to realize the truth, that in a very few months the genial breath of summer will make the trees rustle with leaves, the fields green with verdure, tinged here and there with the red and blue and yellow

of flowers, and the air resonant with the joy and melody of singing birds? And then we have been conscious of the same thing in reference to our own physical condition. Where is the man in the prime of life, with the bright eye, and the ruddy cheek, and the raven hair, and the elastic step, who is able adequately to imagine the change which pass upon him in a brief space, and to picture himself to his own mind as an aged man, dim of eye, furrowed and wrinkled of cheek, stiff or tottering of step, and hoary or bald of head? It cannot very easily be done-the mind recoils from the contemplation, and prefers rather to survey the forces of nature, to rejoice in their strength, and to wonder from whence the imperceptible change is to come. So it often is in reference to worldly prosperity; the man of wealth and honour, naturally elated by his success, examines his footing, but it shakes not; he stamps upon it, but there is no vibration beneath his tread; his mountain seems strong and secure; and then, laying the flattering unction to his soul, his very heart ejaculates in the midst of his security, and in the fulness of his prosperity, "I shall never be moved."

But this passage teaches farther—

II. THAT THIS CONFIDENCE IN THE FUTURE IS A FOOLISH

THING.

The progress of events often demonstrates it to be a mere delusion. The Psalmist said in his prosperity, "I shall never be moved;" but when he wrote these words he knew better, and therefore must have been buffetted by adversity, or apparently that better knowledge would not have been acquired.

It is superfluous to enter into any train of reasoning to prove that confidence in the future is vain and hollow; let me rather direct your attention to facts. And as there is one book in the world proceeding from the great Foun

tain of Truth, and therefore being itself true, both in mass and detail, let me select from its pages two or three instances appropriate to my present purpose.

And first, let me lead you far back in the history of the world, even to patriarchal times; and far away into oriental lands. And let me ask you to observe a man seated at the gate of an antique-looking city; those gates being ordinarily the bench of the magistracy of those simple times. Though that man is not a king, yet around him are princes and nobles, and before him a crowd of old and young-the subjects, or the spectators of his administration of justice. That man is distinguished by his wealth-far richer is he than any in that assembly, for the Scriptures of truth declare him to have been, in that respect, "the greatest of all the men of the east." He is renowned for his wisdom; for when he spake, "the princes refrained talking, and the nobles held their peace, and laid their hand upon their mouth. He was applauded on all sides for his benevolence and for his justice, for "when the ear heard him, it blessed him: when the eye saw him, it gave witness to him - because he delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him, and he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy:" while at the same time, he "searched out the cause that he knew not, and brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of their teeth." Surrounded by a goodly family of sons and daughters; looked up to by a vast household; honoured by the obeisances of the young, and the rising of the aged, as he walked along the streets; that man was one of the most eminent examples of prosperity and influence the world ever saw. If ever a man's mountain stood strong, it was his; if ever the words, “I shall never be moved," became human lips, Job, the man

of Uz, might have uttered them. And he did utter something like them; for he tells us that he said, "I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand."

But there is another scene in his history: you may look at him again, and you will see him, not seated at the gate of the city, but crouching among ashes: not in health and honour, but covered with loathsome ulcers; an object of pity and aversion. His vast fortune has melted away, like the lingering snow of winter before the warmth of spring; barbarian hands have reaved him of part, and the lightnings of heaven have destroyed the remainder; his children have come to a sudden and violent death, amid the raging of the tempest; his wife whispers in his ears counsels of impiety and despair; and the remnant of his once numerous host of friends, though sympathizing with him under his unparalelled afflictions, can scarcely refrain from looking at him with the eye of suspicion, and speaking to him with the tongue of reproach. What a change was this! Who can imagine a more striking comment on the last clause of the text: "thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled."

Take another illustration of the vicissitudes of human condition. Go then, to one of the largest and most magnificent cities the world ever saw, and among the wonders of art that meet your eye, you may perceive one pile of building more massive and splendid than the rest. That is a king's palace. Had you entered it one day, some thousands of years ago, you would, probably, have observed a man pacing to and fro amid its lofty columns, apparently wrapt in the contemplation of some pleasing and exciting theme. That man is the mightiest monarch on the face of the earth. His empire extends over thousands of miles, and embraces multitudes of people speaking various languages. He is a conqueror too; having overrun ancient, and mighty,