Tracts for the Christian Seasons. THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER. THERE can be no doubt that this is a very, very beautiful world in which we live. It is a mere affectation to say it is not so. Beautiful in the sky, beautiful in the waters, beautiful in the earth itself. How lovely are the light airy clouds which glide gently along above, with the pale blue sky behind them: how glorious the colours of gold and violet and crimson which garnish the heavens as the sun goes down, or light up his path when he first appears. Who can go forth on one of these glad spring mornings, and see the first green of the larch, the opening buds of numberless flowers and plants, the glistening dewdrops, the freshness and life of all the creation; who can feel "That rustling breeze so fresh and gay or who can hear the sweet note of the wren, or later in the day the hum of the bee, and the mixed voices of thousands of little insects, and not feel the truth that "all Thy works praise Thee, O Lord," and himself be stirred up to add, "and Thy saints give thanks unto Thee?” For truly, as regards ourselves, it is a very pleasant world. All these lovely sights and sounds, are lovely and beautiful not only in themselves, but to us. They strike us with feelings of delight. Almost without knowing it we are affected by them; and whether it be by what we see, or by what we hear, or by what we taste, or by what we feel, there are continual pulses, as we may call them, of pleasure rising and swelling through our bodies, and making life pleasant. After all, it is God's world still. The mark of that Being who has "filled all things living with plenteousness" is still upon it. The impress of His mercy and goodness remains. The judgment which the Almighty, about to rest from creation, pronounced, when He "saw every thing that He had made, and behold! it was very good," still dwells thereon. But why do I say "after all" and "still dwells?" Do you ask me? Does not, even whilst we admire and praise the manifold works of wisdom beautiful and lovely as they are, does not there arise a feeling that will not be kept down, that it is not always so, nor all so? are there not many who day by day can see the beauties of nature, and yet never feel them? to whom the freshness of the spring morning, the quiet of the summer evening, the painted sky, the singing birds, the humming joyous insects, are all a blank; seen, but not perceived; heard, but not regarded? And sadder still, are there not many of those even who can feel and love the beauty of the world we live in, who yet cannot hide from themselves that its beauty is marred, its loveliness ever and anon interrupted? Come and look at this little flower: it is now opening itself out to the day, budding and blooming in full beauty. But look again after a time; the sun has withdrawn its ray, the flower fades and droops. What a picture of our souls when our sun, the light of God's countenance, is withdrawn, and the heart which was brightening up with hope, faints and is discouraged! See again that little bird. To-day he is clapping his little wings, pecking here and there, joyous and sprightly to-morrow as you go forth, you find him perhaps in your path; his feathers puffed and disordered, his eye clouded, scarcely able to flutter out of your way. Some stronger bird has pursued and stricken him, and the thought is forced upon us that evil has been at work, and with that thought is sorrow. How much grief is wrapt up in all the beautiful works of God! The calm, sunny day changes to the gloom of the gathering thunder-storm; the clear, sparkling stream, so cheerful, becomes a dry bed of stones. Our little favourites grow up and forget us. Everywhere in all that we have admired and taken delight, some grief lies hidden. The outward world with one voice seems to say that perfect happiness does not belong to it. Even in the lower works of God we read the lesson that sorrow exists amid all that beauty; and whilst we still acknowledge with admiration the hand of the Creator, we feel the truth pressed upon us that what He made "very good" has somehow become too often evil to us. And is it not just the same with ourselves? We cannot deny that man is still a very noble part of creation. How beautiful is the tenderness of a mother to her little ones! how delightful the smiles and prattle of happy children! What a pleasing thing a sweet temper is! Nay, even in outward qualities, we cannot help admiring beauty of form, and strength and straight ness of limb, and activity of frame. We cannot help a sort of pride when we see a young man rejoicing in the youth and health which God has given him; nor can we pretend to say there is not happiness and pleasantness in the enjoyment of life, in habits of affection, and generosity, in gratitude, in cheerfulness. The materials of happiness seem to be in us still. So much that is good remains in our nature, that it almost seems a wonder that we cannot always build up perfect enjoyment, and pass a life of continual contentment and friendliness. But we know from sad experience both of ourselves and others that it is not so. In some way or other our good qualities seem to be spoilt, or mixed up with bad ones. An easy, good-natured temper is often joined with an indolent disposition. An active, handy man is vain and self-willed. Some imperfection seems always to jostle itself in, and mar what would otherwise be perfectly happy. And we come again to the same conclusion that causes of sorrow exist in every part of man's character, where yet there is so much to admire and love; in which we can still see so much of the original beauty of that image of Himself in which God created us. The outward works of God, and ourselves too, are like a garden of |