er rejoice in the good and peace of
His children! Oh, shame upon us that we do not "rejoice in the Lord
_always_," and possess the "love which casteth out fear, for fear
hath torment." Why, then, should it seem impossible for a man to have
peace, the moment he can say with the apostle John, "We have known and
_believed_ the love that God hath to us?" Cannot that love be seen in
its own light when revealed? And if so, why should the possession of
_immediate_ peace, in a degree corresponding to faith in God, seem to
be so wonderful? Would not its absence be more so? The very _hope_,
methinks, of pardon, when first entertained by the condemned
criminal--or of deliverance and return to home, when first realised
by the shipwrecked sailor--or of life and health, when first deemed
probable even, by the hitherto despairing invalid--or of meeting his
long-injured, but still patient and loving father, by the miserable
prodigal--may well kindle sudden joy and peace. Much, no doubt, may
have been done before any hope could dawn to the captive, to the
shipwrecked, to the invalid, or the prodigal; yet the hope itself may
_suddenly_ flash on each, as the message enters the cell to assure the
criminal of his safety, or the signal is seen on the distant horizon
that promises succour to the mariner, or the smile plays on the
countenance of the physician, telling that the dread crisis is over
and that progress towards recovery has begun, or the remembrance of a
father's love is rekindled in the heart of the wanderer. And thus
a man who has been roused to see his moral guilt, as well as moral
depravity--to see his dread and terrible danger--may well find
unutterable peace _the very moment_ he believes that there is for him
deliverance from the evil, and forgiveness with God, "that He may be
feared"--or even when the _maybe_ dawns upon him that he, the hitherto
dead, careless, presumptuous sinner, has not been so shut out of his
Father's heart and home, but that there is yet grace omnipotent to
save _him_, to take away his sins, renew his whole being, and make him
and _keep_ him a child of God. When the prodigal in the far country
was planning only his return, he resolved to say to his father, "Make
me one of thy hired servants!" To be for a time a very slave in his
father's house, seemed in prospect as a very paradise when compared
with his present wretchedness; but to be received at once as a
son--_that_ he would not be so presumptuous as