ing a world redeemed. In the rush of the winds that set the forest
in motion, like giants wrestling on the hills, I see the tossing up of
the triumphal branches that shall wave all along the line of our King
as He comes to take empire. In the stormy diapason of the ocean's
organ, and the more gentle strains that in the calm come sounding up
from the crystal and jasper keys at the beach, I hear the prophecy:
"The earth shall be filled with the knowledge of God as the waters
fill the sea."

The gospel morning will come like the natural morning. At first it
seems only like another hue of the night. Then a pallor strikes
through the sky, as though a company of ministering spirits, pale with
tedious watching through the night, had turned in their flight upward
to look back upon the earth. Then a faint glow of fire, as though on a
barren beach a wrecked mariner was kindling a flickering flame. Then
chariots and horses of fire racing up and down the heavens; then
perfect day: "Who is she that cometh forth as the morning?"

Come in, black Hottentot and snow-white Caucasian, come in, mitered
official and diseased beggar; let all the world come in. Room in
Castle Jesus! Sound it through all lands; sound it by all tongues. Let
sermons preach it, and bells chime it, and pencils sketch it, and
processions celebrate it, and bells ring it: Room in Castle Jesus!

Again, Christ is the only refuge. If you were very sick, and there was
only one medicine that would cure you, how anxious you would be to get
that medicine. If you were in a storm at sea, and you found that the
ship could not weather it, and there was only one harbor, how anxious
you would be to get into that harbor. Oh, sin-sick soul, Christ is the
only medicine; oh, storm-tossed soul, Christ is the only harbor. Need
I tell a cultured audience like this that there is no other name given
among men by which ye can be saved? That if you want the handcuffs
knocked from your wrists, and the hopples from your feet, and the icy
bands from your heart, there is just one Almighty arm in all the
universe to do everything? There are other fortresses to which you
might fly, and other ramparts behind which you might hide, but God
will cut to pieces, with the hail of His vengeance, all these refuges
of lies.

Some of you are foundering in terrible Euroclydon. Hark to the howling
of the gale, and the splintering of the spars, and the starting of the
timbers, and the breaking of the billo