children, have said, with mingled sorrow and self-consolation:-"What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." And again it will be so. When the old restraining hand is lying powerless in the grave, when the old voice of warning vexes no more, when the grey head is brought down, perhaps, with sorrow to the grave, then the truth will come home to the restless, foolish spirit, and this" thou shalt know hereafter,"-will all come true.

So, the teacher also has to deal with his scholars.

It

is he who selects the books, who constructs a plan, who creates a method, who decides what is to be learnt, and how and when this and that are to be learnt. And the poor foolish scholar for a time hates his books, his lessons, and perhaps his teacher. He does not see the need for it all,-does not see why he cannot skip this or that, why the same old round should be ground out, day by day, why the things that he likes should not always be given him to do, why he should not be excused the dry, the crabbed, and the difficult things. But the good teacher does his best to win the scholar's trust,-smiles at his foolish rebellions, and wins his heart when he cannot win his understanding; and uses the dear old words of Jesus, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."

Then, when the first stages of home-training are over, and when the school-days are past, and the trade has to be learned, the old story is all true over again. The lad would like to hold his tool in a certain way, but he is told to hold it quite differently; and he must do a hundred

things simply because he is told. A fool will rebel and come to grief: a wise lad will open his eyes, shut his mouth, except for the asking of questions, and just enter into the heritage of the accumulated experience of all who have gone before him, while the kindly old man who has him in hand says, 'Do it so, my boy, and it will all come out right; you will see it all hereafter.'

And so on, all through life, at every stage, the same thing is true;-everywhere, hard lessons have to be learned, patience and faith have to be exercised, hope has to be cherished, unexpected surprises and explanations are enjoyed, and, at last, the pilgrim goes down into his cold and narrow bed with a whole life waiting for its revelations, its sequels, and its results.

What then shall we say? Shall we end with the grave, and conclude that, after the revelation of so many things, the sequel and the explanation of the whole shall be withheld? Shall we say of the ended life;-Go to thy grave, O weary and heavy-laden,-to thy last tomb and tabernacle, where thy great secret shall abide with thee, untold for ever? God forbid! What the mother says to her child, what the teacher says to the scholar, what the craftsman says to the learner, what we all have to say to one another, from the cradle to the grave, God, the All-Father, is saying to us every one. For we are here, not otherwise than as His servants and children, and we are hurried on from task to task, from mystery to mystery; and life, from first to last, needs a sequel, an explanation, and a result. I believe that is actually reserved for us, and that our great and good Father is

N

saying to us all-"What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."

We call God "Love" but He does not always seem to be so, any more than the parent always seem to be love in the eyes of the disappointed and thwarted child. But that very analogy may help us. Shakspeare makes Hamlet say, "I must be cruel only to be kind:" and many a good parent might say that: and the good God might say it. The high, the wise, the strong must at times seem hard and inconsiderate to those who are unable to enter into their mighty purposes and ideals. These great souls soar far beyond the weakling's ken, and see distant things as near. But what is this to the tremendous interval between God's wisdom and ours! Truly, He may say "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."

Think what the history of this world has been! The story of the struggles of mankind would make the book seen in vision by Ezekiel,-"written within and without, and full of lamentations, and mourning, and woe." And yet what a story of wonderful advances it would be !—of brave work, bravely done, of seed sown in the night, when no eye saw it, and only a few daring hearts knew of it, of passionate hope, and burning longing, and terrible heartbreak, and sweet, calm, patient well-doing in evil days, of solitary witness-bearing in the wilderness, where many dwelt but where few had eyes to see, of men and women who were true to their best thoughts and who despised not their brightest dreams, who lived in the service of God and yet died hated of men;-yes! and a story of such

fair fruits and flowers as the result of it all! And to these all, God said "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."

Think of the reformers of the world, of the reformers in religion, in politics, in social life, in science and art. Why, their story would be the story of the sweetest, saddest, sublimest experiences of the human race; it would be the story of the prophets, the saviours, the martyrs, of the men who were despised and rejected, men of sorrows and acquainted with grief, of the noblest men and the divinest women, who nevertheless had to find their way to heaven from the burning stake, the horrible dungeon, the bloody scaffold, or the felon's cross. And what were they doing all the time?—what were they doing for the world that could not find room for them,-for the people who hated and killed them,-for us who never knew them? They were redeeming the world from bondage and misery; they were emancipating the human mind; they were breaking down the barriers that shut men from the true Eden, the Paradise that lies before and not behind us; they were bringing gifts and messages from the Eternal; they were setting up in our midst the kingdom of God and proclaiming the rights of man; they were preparing paths for our feet and roofs to cover our heads; they were purchasing our freedom and paying the price for it; they were bringing to pass the counsels of the Most High. And yet they toiled as men who work at midnight and in desert places, as men who trample experimental paths through trackless jungles, as men who fight in the dark and know not how the blow will tell. And some

broke their hearts in doing it, and fell so in the desert; and some were crucified, amid the horrors of the despair that even God had forsaken them: but to all God said,— "Thou shalt know hereafter."

And what

And I for one rejoice to think they do know all now. Not only has the marvellous plan been worked out; not only have these dear sons of God all contributed to the sublime result; but we may surely cleave to the belief that they know now the value of all they did. a heaven that must be! They tell us of a heaven of isolation, pleasure, bliss, and ease, depending for these on all beauteous sights and sounds; but what could so rejoice the souls of the great reformers of the past, what could so well repay Jesus, and the mighty host that preceded and followed him as God's martyrs in the holy war, what could fire their souls and thrill their hearts like the spectacle of a world slowly but surely becoming subject to their great ideas? Jesus died on the cross, and broke his heart, a man-forsaken, and, as he for a moment thought, a God-forsaken man,-the dream of his youth dissipated, the work of his life at an end;-no wonder he cried, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" But the Father said to him, as he himself had said to his disciples "Thou shalt know hereafter." And what if he does know it now! What if, though knowing what foolish things have been said and what evil things have been done in his name, he can yet see how his thoughts have entered into the best life of the ages, how his example has been followed by millions, who thereby were saved from selfishness and sin; how, in spirit, he leads now the hope of