RESIGNATION.

BY RICHARD BAXTER.

LORD, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live;

To love and serve Thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad,
That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad
To soar to endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than he went through before;
He that into God's kingdom comes,
Must enter by His door.

Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if thy work on earth be sweet,

What will thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,
And weary, sinful days;

And join with the triumphant saints
That sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,

The eye of faith is dim;

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,

And I shall be with Him.

THE NEW YEAR'S NIGHT.

(From the German of Jean Paul Richter.)

AN old man stood in the New Year's midnight by a window, and gazed with a look of deep despair upon the unshaken, ever-blooming heavens, and down upon the still, pure, white earth, whereon now was no one so joyless and sleepless as he. His grave stood close by him concealed only by the snows of age, and not by the green of youth; and he brought with him from the whole of a long life nothing but error, sin and disease; a worn-out body, a desolate soul, a breast full of poison, and an old age full of sorrow.

The bright days of his youth returned like spectres, and carried him back to that fair morning when his father first placed him upon the crossway of life, where the right leads through the sunny path of virtue into a wide and peaceful land, full of light and harvest and angel forms; but the left conducts down through the mole-path of vice into a dread abyss, full of dripping venom, full of darting snakes and of dismal, suffocating damps.

Alas! the serpents were hanging upon his breast, and the poison drops were on his tongue, and he knew-not where he was.

Senseless with unutterable grief, he cried aloud to heaven-"Give me my youth again! Place me once more, O father, upon the crossway of life, that I may make a better choice!"

But his father and his youth were far away. He saw wandering fires dance along the marsh, and lose themselves in the graveyard, and he said "These are my wasted days." He saw a star shoot from heaven, and sparkling as it fell,

vanish upon the earth. "Such am I," said his bleeding heart, aud the serpentteeth of remorse dug deeper in their wound.

His glowing fancy showed to him spectres stealing along the roofs; a windmill raised its arms threatening to crush him, and a deserted mask in the empty charnel house gradually assumed his own features.

Suddenly, in the midst of this conflict, the music of the New Year floated down from the church tower like a far off anthem. His soul became more calm. He looked around the horizon and over the broad earth, and he thought of the friends of his youth, who now, better and more blest than he, were teachers in the earth, were happy men and the fathers of happy children, and he said:"O, I might also like you, had I chosen, have slumbered on this New Year's night with tearless eyes. Alas! I might have been happy, ye blessed parents, had I but followed your counsels, and your New Year's wishes."

Amid these feverish recollections of his youth, the mask with his features in the charnel house, seemed to rise up before him, until by means of that superstition which in New Year's night sees apparitions and future events, it became at length a living youth.

He could look no longer. He covered his eyes, and a thousand scalding tears streamed down, vanishing in the snow. Distracted and comfortless, he could only moan forth in a low voice, "Come back, my youth, O come back!"

And it came back, for he had only been dreaming so fearfully, that New Year's night. He was still a young man, only his errings were no dream. But he thanked God that he, still young, could retrace his steps in the filthy track of vice, and restore himself to that sunny path which leads into the pure land of harvest.

Return with him, young reader, if thou art like him in the paths of error. This fearful dream will one day be thy judge, and when in the depths of anguish thou shalt cry, “Come back, bright youth," it will not then come back.

EVERY ACT OF DUTY AN ACT OF DEVOTION.

WHAT a comfort to the heart of a Christian, is the thought that every act of duty is an act of devotion, and the most acceptable that can be offered.

Although "in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving," Christians should make known their requests unto God, this is only a small part of what is required of them. There are the duties of every-day life, which demand attention. The farmer must plough and sow, and cultivate the earth, and gather in his harvest. The mechanic must procure materials for his work, and tools with which to shape them into forms of usefulness or beauty. The literary man must spend hours in study. The professional man is often burdened with intellectual labour. In the quiet and retired sphere of domestic life, woman is found ever busy. Her house is to be kept in order. Her children are never-ceasing objects of care and watchfulness. Not unfrequently her time is all occupied with the various duties which devolve upon her. Among the poor, she is at the same time cook, chambermaid, housekeeper, nurse, seamstress, and teacher. Her time is not at her own command. She cannot appropriate even a half-hour that she may spend it alone in communion with her Father in Heaven. She is often tempted to despondency, because she can so seldom enjoy the religious privileges which have been so precious to her, and she longs to meet with God's children, to unite her supplications with theirs.

Let all these weary workers remember that, whether they eat or drink, or whatever they do, they may do all to the glory of God. The farmer, in the performance of his labour as husbandman, may as truly honour God as the clergyman who is ministering to the spiritual wants of mankind. The mechanic, diligent in his business, may honour him in the faithfulness and honesty with which he performs his work, as really as he could do it by spending days and nights in

prayer and exhortation. The professional man, too, has his own sphere of toil, where he may render acceptable service.

Woman's cares are more continuous and more unvarying than man's, and they afford her fewer periods of rest than he enjoys. How much she needs, as she wearily attends to the wants of her family, to realize, in her inmost soul, that she is serving God most faithfully when she hopefully performs her duty, whatever it may be. She needs the life-giving support of this thought, that she may not degenerate into an automaton. It ennobles every kind of labour, and makes it honourable. It will elevate every being who cherishes it, and is comforted and sustained by it.

Many Christians, from not understanding this rule, are groping in darkness, when, were their hearts opened to receive it, their path would be as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day. Our Father in heaven requires no more of his children than he will give them grace to perform. One duty cannot interfere with another. If we seek divine guidance, and do with our might what our hands find to do, we shall be accepted of him.

It is indeed a blessed thought that every act of duty is an act of devotion. God is not a hard master. He is a Father-a tender loving Father-easily pleased, if he sees in us a desire in all things to honour his name.

ANNE H.

ETERNITY.

ETERNITY is a sea without bottom or banks, for what line or plummet can fathom its depths?

O eternity! If all the body of the earth and sea were turned to sand, and all the air, up to the starry heaven, were grains of sand, and a little bird should once in every thousand years take away but the tenth part of a grain of that vast heap, the period consumed in taking it all away would not comprise eternity.

What angel can span eternity? 2 Cor. 4: 17, "An eternal weight of glory." There is peace without trouble, ease without pain, glory without end. Eternity makes heaven to be heaven. It is the diamond in the ring; the sunlight of glory shall rise on the soul, and never set. The wicked have a never-dying worm, but the godly a never-fading crown. Then how willing should we be to work for God and live to God!

Eternity is a circle that hath neither beginning nor end. It is the highest link of the saint's happiness-a lamp ever burning, never wasting.

HOPE.

HOPE is a grace planted in the heart by the Spirit of God, whereby a Christian is quickened to the expectation of those things which are held forth in the promises :-"If we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it."

There is a close affinity between faith and hope, but yet they differ. Hope looks at the excellency of the promise; faith to the certainty of the promise. Hope reads over the terms of the promise; faith looks at the seal of the promise. Faith believes; hope waits. Faith shows the Christian the land of promise; hope sails thither with patience. Faith strengthens hope, and hope comforts faith. Faith is the cable, and hope the anchor; and both these help to keep the soul steady, that it doth not dash upon rocks or sink in the quicksands.

True hope is quickening; it is called "a lively hope." Hope becomes a spur to duty, a whetstone to industry. Divine hope is as winds to the sails, as wheels to the chariot. It makes the Christian active in religion,-"He runs the way of God's commandments." Hope wrestles with difficulties: it despiseth dangersit marcheth in the very face of death.

THE

PRESBYTERIAN MAGAZINE.

FEBRUARY, 1855.

Miscellaneous Articles.

THE EXTENT OF THE ATONEMENT. No. III.

As the purpose of Christ, regarding the extent to which the legal effects of his death should reach, is manifested in the position he occupied in the covenant of Redemption, so also may it be gathered from the intimate connection subsisting between his death and his intercession. From the fact, that our Redeemer intercedes for a limited number, we infer, that it was for a limited number he died. An argument, similar to this, has been already presented, the design of which was to show the extent to which the obligations of the Father reached. The principle is the same in both. The thing assumed in both cases is, that Christ would not be more sparing of his prayers, than of his blood. This is certainly a safe assumption, for nothing can be more agreeable to the convictions of all men, than, that a love which leads a man to die, would lead him to intercede. It is just a case of the a majori ad minus-he who hath done the greater, will assuredly do the less-he who has died for us, will certainly intercede for us. The principle being, then, unquestionable, the only thing to be proved is, that Christ does actually limit his intercession. The passages usually cited in support of this doctrine, have been given in the course of the argument mentioned above. We shall, therefore, at present only add one other consideration in confirmation of what is there argued. This consideration is, however, a very weighty one-one which must of necessity determine the question. It is this,—that either the intercession of Christ is limited, or it is not always successful. One or other of these conclusions must be adopted; for nothing can be more manifest than the fact, that all are not made partakers of the saving benefits of his mediation. To adopt, or cherish the latter conclusion, would be to take away from our great High

VOL. V.-No. 2.

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Priest, the chiefest glory that sparkles in his diadem, and flatly to contradict a truth shadowed forth by the sweet savour, and acceptance of the incense appointed under the ceremonial law, and didactically stated in the New Testament Revelation. His intercession must be always successful, for him the Father heareth always. There is an efficacy, a power, in that intercession, which cannot fail. It speaks of covenant ties-of pledges given-of conditions fulfilled.

"There the exalted Saviour stands,

Our merciful High Priest;

And still extends his wounded hands,
And urges his request."

Up from the scenes of Gethsemane and Calvary he comes, with all the triumphs of the conqueror of death. He enters the everlasting gates, and before him the angelic ranks give way; and there he stands, wearing on his breast, and bearing on his shoulders, the names of his people! Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ who thus appears, and where shall be found an accuser of the brethren? In the presence of such an advocate, the law, and Satan, and conscience are all silent; and from the elders, and "the living creatures," and the angelic armies, there arises one shout of glory, and honour, and blessing, and might, and majesty, and dominion to him who sitteth on the throne, and to the Lamb forever! That intercession fail! O, were those who question its constant efficacy admitted to look upon that scene before the throne, how would they hide their heads with shame in presence of the enraptured throng!

If then, his intercession be all-prevalent, it must be limited as to its objects. There is no possibility of holding, that the intercession of Christ is all-prevalent, and yet, at the same time, of holding, that those for whom he intercedes are not saved. The efficacy and the limitation of the intercession are, therefore, inseparable; and he who holds the former, must admit the latter. But, as we have already seen, to speak of an intercession limited, and an atonement unlimited, would be nothing short of ascribing folly to Christ. Can we conceive of such a change in the love of the compassionate Redeemer? Can we conceive of him, the merciful High Priest, loving all men so as to die for them, and yet not loving them so as to intercede for them? Ah, no!-the thing is inconceivable; and he who holds to an efficacious intercession, must admit a limited intercession, and he who admits a limited intercession, must admit a limited atonement.

Our next argument is drawn from the connection that obtains between the gift of the Son, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. It is certainly reasonable to suppose, that these two gifts would have an equal extension; and this the more especially, as the Spirit was