d
door, we may the more undistractedly enjoy the _supper of our life_
with Him, and He (the blessed, gracious One!) with us. Then naught can
prevent His Voice being heard, whilst the more sweet and clear (though
still ever faint, perhaps) may the echo to that Voice arise in melody
within the heart, where God Himself is the gracious Listener!

_Let_ fears be in the way, we know a Love than can dispel all fear and
give a new and holy boldness even in full view of all the solemn
verities of eternity; for it is grounded on the perfect accepted work
of a divine Redeemer--the faithfulness of a divine Word.

The very hoary head becomes not merely the witness of decay, and of a
life fast passing; but the "almond-tree" has another, brighter meaning
now: it is a figure of that "crown of life" which in the new-creation
scene awaits the redeemed.

If appetite fail here, the more the inward longing, and the
satisfaction that ever goes hand in hand with it, may abound; and the
inward man thus be strengthened and enlarged so as to have greater
capacity for the enjoyment of those pleasures that are "at God's right
hand for evermore."

Till at length the earthly house of this tabernacle may be dissolved.
Dust may still return to dust, and there await, what all Creation
awaits--the glorious resurrection, its redemption. Whilst the
spirit--yes, what of the spirit? To God who gave it? Ah, far better:
to God who loved and redeemed it,--to Him who has so cleansed it by His
own blood, that the very Light of God can detect no stain of sin upon
it, even though it be the chief of sinners. So amid the ruins of this
earthly tabernacle may the triumphant song ascend above the snapping of
cords, the breaking of golden bowls and pitchers, the very crash of
nature's citadel: "Oh, death, where is thy sting? Oh, grave, where is
thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the
law. But thanks be to God that giveth us the victory through our Lord
Jesus Christ."

This meets--meets fully, meets satisfactorily--the need. Now none will
deny that this need is deep,--_real_. Hence it can be no mere
sentiment, no airy speculation, no poetical imagination, no cunningly
devised fable that can meet that need. _The remedy must be as real as
the disease, or it avails nothing_. No phantom key may loosen so
hard-closed a lock as this: it must be real, and be made for it. For
suppose we find a lock of such delicate and complicate