good news for a sinful world? Who but he ever manifested such a
large-hearted benevolence for mankind? See how he extends his
kind regards to every man of our race! Overlooking every distinc-
tion of colour, clime and nationality, he sends the good news to every
individual capable of listening to the message. Opening his arms of
mercy wide, he welcomes every returning sinner. You will observe,
too, that the time when these words were uttered makes them words
of triumph, so that the love seen in them has in it all the extacy of
triumphant accomplishment. It is as if the great Speaker has said,—
"The dreadful work is done! The bitterness
Of death is past. The cup of suffering drunk.
I die no more! My Father is well-pleased
With my propitiation for the whole
World's sins. Salvation free is now prepared;
My heart's intense desire at last fulfilled.
Nothing remains but for the joyful news
To be conveyed, and then the boon received.
Unto my Father, I, indeed, ascend;
For thus, alone, can your great joy be full.
But ye my Heralds are! Haste, then; go forth
To the remotest bounds of this lost world.
In every place where is an ear to hear,
There let there be a herald voice to tell
The story of my love. Let all men know,
That none can trifle with my sovereign word:
Effect immediate it must needs produce;
Accepted or rejected it must be.
Immediate acceptation shall consist
In such a soul-subduing faith in me,
And in my gospel, as shall forthwith bring
The willing convert, lowly to submit
To my benign authority and will,
By an immersion in the yielding flood
Of waters, into the three names, august,
Of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This
Shall be the appointed sign of acceptation.
Immediate rejection is the charge
Laid to account of those who disbelieve;
And, disbelieving, have no right, no will,
No power, no way of entrance to my death.
Acceptance shall be crowned, without delay,
With all the joy and power of my salvation.
Rejection, condemnation shall receive.
Let this arousing issue of your work,
To all alike be plainly pre-announced,
That, so, just fear my waken up the soul
Of every careless one to feel love's power.
Take heed!-The joyful story of my cross,
And of my kingly power to save first tell.
Then hold forth the alternative, that each
Accepts or else rejects the blessing sent.
The accepting trust my word, and in this trust
Are then immersed into my name and death.
Those who believe not, thus reject my love,
And are on this account, forthwith condemned;
Nor can the guilt escape till they return.
But let them tremble, lest receding far,
And still receding, farther, lower, away,
Their condemnation, just and unremoved,
Becomes, by death, perpetual and complete,
And Judgment stereotypes DAMNATION !”
On which side of this alternative, do you, dear reader, stand?
Promptly accept salvation in Christ's way.
Findochty, Banffshire.
Poetry.
THE LEPER.-BY WILLIS.
"Room for the leper! Room!" and as he came
The cry passed on, "Room for the leper, Room":
Sunrise was slanting on the city gates,
Rosy and beautiful, and from the hills
The early risen poor were coming in,
Duly and cheerfully, to their toil, and up
Rose the sharp hammer's clink and the far hum
Of moving wheels and multitudes astir,
And all that in a city murmur swells,
Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear,
Aching with night's dull silence, on the sick
Hailing the welcome light, and winds that chase
The death-like images of the dark away.
"Room for the leper!" and aside they stood,
Matron and child and pitiless manhood-all
Who met him on his way-and let him pass,
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper, with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance, like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!"
'T was now the depth
Of the Judean summer, and the leaves,
Whose shadow lay so still upon the path,
Had budded on the clear and flashing eye
Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young
And eminently beautiful, and life
Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip
And sparkled in his glance, and in his mein
There was a gracious pride, that every eye
Followed with benisons-and this was he
With the soft air of summer there had come
A torpor on his frame, which not the speed
Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast
Of the bold huntsman's horn nor aught that stirs
The spirit to its bent might drive away;
The blood beat not as wont within his veins ;
Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth
Fettered his limbs like palsy, and his pate
With all its loftiness seemed struck with eld:
Even his voice was changed-a languid moan
Locking the place of the clear silver key;
And brain and sense grew faint as if the light
And very air were steeped in sluggishness:
He strove with it awhile, as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrow veered-like an aspen shook.
Day after day he lay as if in sleep;
His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales
Circled with livid purple, covered him.
And then his nails grew black and fell away
From the dull flesh about them, and the lines
Deepened beneath the dark, unmoistened scales,
And from their edges grew the rank white hair.
-And Helon was a leper!
Day was breaking
When at the altar of the Temple stood
The holy priest of God. The incense lamp
Burned with a struggling light, and the low chant
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof,
Like an articulate wail; and there alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt.
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up,
Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off
His costly raiment for the leper's garb,
And with the sackcloth round him and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still,
Waiting to hear his doom.
Depart! depart O child!
Of Israel, from the temple of thy God,
For he hath smote thee with his chastening rod,
And to the desert wild,
From all thou lovest, away thy feet must flee.
That from thy plague, his people may be free.
Depart and come not near
The busy mart, the crowded city more,
Nor set thy feet on human threshold o'er;
And stay thou not to hear
Voices that call thee in the way, and fly
From all who in the wilderness pass by.
Wet not thy burning lip,
In streams that to a human dwelling glide,
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide,
Nor kneel thee down to dip;
The water where the pilgrim bends to drink,
By desert well or river's grassy brink.
And pass not thou between
The weary traveller and the cooling breeze;
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees
Where human tracks are seen;
Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain,
Nor pluck the standing corn or yellow grain.
And now depart! and when
Thine heart is heavy and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thine eyes beseechingly to Him,
Who from the tribes of men
Selected thee to feel the chastening rod;
Depart, O leper! and forget not God.
And he went forth alone-not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibres of his heart
Breaking within him-now to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way,
Sick and heart-broken, and alone to die;
For God hath cursed the leper!
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his parched lips,
Praying that he might be so blessed to die;
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee,
He drew his covering closer on his lip,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrinking up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name,
"Helon," the voice was like the master tone
Of a rich instrument-so strangely sweet,
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot,
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill,
"Helon, arise," and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before him.
Love and awe
Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye,
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad; nor on His brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at His back, nor in His hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear. Yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and if He smiled,
A kingly condescension graced his lips.
The lion would have crouched to in his lair;
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His stature modelled with a perfect grace;
His countenance the impress of a God,
Touched with the open innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest moon; His hair unshorn
Fell on his shoulders; and his beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Helon earnestly awhile,
As if His heart was moved, and stooping down
He took a little water in His hand
And laid it on His brow and said,
"Be cleansed,"
And, lo! the scales fell from him and his blood
Coursed with delicious fulness through his veins,
And his dry paleness grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant stole
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipped him.
Correspondence.
A COROLLARY.*
MR. EDITOR,-While reading the ingenious article of J. B. R. in Feb. number it occurred to me, seeing that he had put it in the form of a proposition, that it might be of some service to truth to add to it, in order to develope more fully its teaching, the following Corollaries, viz. :—
Cor. 1. A principle of action being that which gives rise to actions has an existence antecedent to and independent of such actions. Gratitude, to take J. B. R.'s illustration, must exist before it can give rise to "thanks," "obedience," &c. It is noways dependent, as to its existence, on these. It is as truly and really gratitude before as after they are tendered. They are simply manifestations to finite minds of its existence, but they have no effect whatever as to that existence itself-they neither give nor take it away. Gratitude is a cause, these effects. But cause always implies pre-existence and independence in relation to effects; if not, the effects could not be produced. So of gratitude. If it had not an existence antecedent to and independent of "thanks," "obedience," &c., these could not be produced.
Cor. 2. As the principle of action itself, so also that of which it is the condition, i.e., as the principle of action has an existence antecedent to and independent of the actions to which it gives rise, so also has that of which it is the condition an existence antecedent to and independent of such actions. Suppose, for example, gratitude were a condition of health; health would be enjoyed antecedently to and independently of" thanks,' obedience," &c. In this case health, as it regards its existence, depends alone on gratitude, and no more on "thanks," "obedience," &c. than on pills or poison.
+ I may say for the benefit of some of your readers that a corollary is a proposition implied, though not expressly stated, in a foregoing one.
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