seems not inappropriate to the times in which we live, or the occasion that calls us together.
Christ says, his Word shall never pass away. Yet, at
first, sight, nothing seems more fleeting than a word. It
is an evanescent impulse of the most fickle element. It
leaves no track where it went through the air. Yet to
this, and this only, did Jesus intrust the truth wherewith he
came laden to the earth; truth for the salvation of the world.
It took no pains to perpetuate his thoughts: they were
poured forth where occasion found him an audience—by
the side of the lake, or a well; in a cottage, or the temple;
in a fisher's boat, or the synagogue of the Jews. He
founds no institution as a monument of his words. He
appoints no order of men to preserve his bright and glad
relations. He only bids his friends give freely the truth
they had freely received. He did not even write his words
in a book. With a noble confidence, the result of his
abiding faith, he scattered them broadcast on the world,
leaving the seed to its own vitality. He knew that what
is of God cannot fail, for God keeps his own. He sowed
his seed in the heart, and left it there, to be watered and
warmed by the dew and the sun which heaven sends. He
felt his words were for eternity. So he trusted them to the
uncertain air; and for eighteen hundred years that faithful
element has held them good—distinct as when first warm
from his lips. Now they are translated into every human
speech, and murmured in all earth's thousand tongues,
from the pine forests of the North to the palm groves of
eastern Ind. They mingle, as it were, with the roar of a
populous city, and join the chime of the desert sea.
Of a Sabbath morn they are repeated from church to
church, from isle to isle, and land to land, till their music
goes round the world. These words have become the
breath of the good, the hope of the wise, the joy of the
pious, and that for many millions of hearts. They are the
prayers of our churches; our better devotion by fireside
and fieldside; the enchantment of our hearts. It is these
words that still work wonders, to which the first recorded
miracles were nothing in grandeur and utility. It is these
which build our temples and beautify our homes. They
raise our thoughts of sublimity; they purify our ideal of
