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ments and progress. He who says, in the words of our text, "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content," says in this same letter, "Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect, but I am following on. Forgetting the things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those which are before, I press toward the mark." We may not sit down at ease while the Canaanite and the Amorite are still in the land. The work of sanctification is still incomplete, even in the best. And so in our religious experience, in our spiritual life, there is room for a blessed discontent, for a feeling of regret and dissatisfaction, for a sense of deficiency, of shortcoming, and for the earnest prayer that the Searcher of hearts may search us, and know us, and see if there be any wicked way in us, and lead us in the way everlasting.

PRAYER.

Almighty God, the Creator and Sustainer of all mankind, the Giver of every good and perfect gift, we render thee humble and hearty thanks for thy great goodness. We desire to recognize thy fatherly providence over us; and although thy thoughts are not our thoughts, nor thy ways our ways, we beseech thee to give us such a sense of thy wisdom and love, that we shall accept every dispensation not only with meekness, but with cheerful acquiescence. Help us to learn the lesson of contentment; to lay up our treasures above, rather than on earth; and when heart and flesh fail, be thou the strength of our hearts, and our portion forever. Amen.

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THE VOLUME OF LIFE.*

BY REV. W. S. POTTER, †

Pastor First Presbyterian Church, Battle Creek.

Text: "And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened; and another book was opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works." Rev. 20:12.

We are all mourners here to-day. The hearts of these dear friends before us, visited by this sad and sudden providence, are heavy ; but our hearts beat with theirs. Their sorrow is our sorrow. God's world is very fair to-day. His sky is bright above us. The earth is carpeted with green and the meadows with flowers. The birds are singing in the woodlands. I am not surprised that one should have said:

"Oh, I'd choose it were in summer,

Or the bright and joyous spring;
That no icy bands of winter

To my new-made grave may cling;
But low breezes whisper near me,

And the glad birds o'er me sing."

* A funeral sermon, June 13, 1897, on the death of Holland French, accidentally killed in Detroit and buried in Battle Creek. Mr. Potter being an extemporaneous speaker sends the above sermon as it was stenographically reported and published.

Rev. W. S. Potter was born in Oneida County, N. Y., and is a graduate of Whitestown Academy, Hamilton College and Auburn Seminary. He was pastor at Petoskey 1878-84, at Ionia 1884-88, and at Battle Creek 1888-.

But it has been truly observed that "as we walk this green earth it sounds hollow to the tread-it is so full of graves. There are no family trees from which some goodly boughs have not been lopped. There are no gardens from which some of the fairest flowers have not been taken."

"There is no flock however watched and tended,
But one dead lamb is there.

There is no fireside howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair."

On every hand, in the home, in the church, in the social circle, we see the sad devastation of death's work. But we are sure that our Heavenly Father who reveals his love in a world made so beautiful for us, who fills the night with stars, "who makes the flowers to bloom in the wilderness, and the springs to gush forth in the desert, and who paints the rainbow on the dark bosom of the cloud," will draw near to us in our sorrow. This crushing affliction, coming unannounced like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, seems mysterious and unaccountable to our short sight. But perhaps we are looking on the back of the canvas, and only God sees the picture. "We are looking on the wrong side of the - tapestry, while God sees the true and orderly design on the other side." We are perplexed by this strange providence, the sad taking off of a young life like this, full of hope and promise, stalwart in his young manhood, with bright prospects suddenly blighted, with kind parents to guide him. But he who doeth all things well" will some day make it plain. Rest assured there is a silver lining-nay, a golden lining to this cloud that overshadows us.

I have been thinking that human life is like a volume, a book which each one of us is writing. The text

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