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the world labors, through fear of the discovery, to conceal the inscription which is written on all things here below: the true believer, on the contrary, labors to decipher its various letters, and courageously gives utterance to the universal maxim which they contain, Vanity of vanities-all is vanity!

The Psalmist possessed this spiritual courage, because he possessed the true spiritual wealth. He felt that he could afford to lose everything on earth, even life itself, because he could lay his hand on a counter-balancing, and a far higher, gain. When, therefore, he had made the admission that man is but "dust," he does not suddenly turn from the melancholy subject, and recoil from its further contemplation. On the contrary, he proceeds immediately to enlarge upon the theme; and is led to place, in juxtaposition with it, another theme so glorious in character, that it strips the former of its horror, and lightens its dark shade. Indeed, it is only as the necessary shading to his picture, that the Psalmist introduces this sad topic. The subject which he had proposed for his pencil was the goodness of the Lord. It was not his object and intention to speak of human nothingness in this Psalm. But mark how incidentally the doctrine is introduced, or rather introduces itself. He had been ruminating on the marvellous pity of the Lord, and rejoicing to regard it as that of a tender-hearted Father; and finding no way to account for the existence of that pity, he was naturally, and, as it were, necessarily led to add, "for He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust.' The greatness of God's pity leads him to assign his own in

significance as its cause. The prominency of that bright object in the fore-ground, casts this deep shadow behind it; and, as he proceeds to impart breadth and depth to that shadow, by disposing his colors in relief, behold another object stands out to view, with vividness and reality, as occupying the largest space upon his canvas-the "mercy of the Lord." Contrast gives the fairest estimate, and sets forth the fullest beauty. The Psalmist, therefore, having grouped together Special benefits, Manifold benefits, and Immeasurable benefits, having illustrated the height of God's mercy, the breadth of His forgiveness, and the depth of His pity, proceeds to depict the length of His love, in Everlasting benefits. And preparatory to introducing this bright, unfailing, and glorious subject, he strikingly displays its contrast with the nothingness of man, and the brevity of human existence, and says: "As for man, his days are as grass as a flower of the field so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear Him, and his righteousness unto children's children; to such as keep His covenant, and to those that remember His commandments to do them."

The two great topics of these verses, the everlasting "mercy" and "righteousness" of the Lord, are alike designed to be illustrated by this comparison with human weakness and vanity; they were each written for the immediate consolation of those who then feared God; and they also belonged equally as blessings to all who preceded them in ex

istence, as they do to every generation of their successors. Each of these important topics presents more matter to our thoughts than a single chapter can contain: and to the consideration, therefore, of the former, we will at present direct our attention.

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The "everlasting mercy" of the Lord is only to be described as one of the "unsearchable riches of Christ." derive, however, some aid in our contemplation of it, by the consideration of our own mortality, our own brevity of existence. Having stated in the previous verse what man himself is-"dust" the Psalmist next proceeds to describe what man's life is," As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field so he flourisheth: for the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more.'

There are here two comparisons; first "grass;" and secondly, "a flower of the field." In every climate under heaven man beholds his own frail and perishing emblems. The grass is universal;-and its decay is universal. It breaks forth in the spring, and it is cut down, or withers, in the autumn. And man himself is like the grass on which he treads. He is formed out of the same dust; he passes through the same changes; and he returns into the same dust again. Should any one, however, demand for himself a more flattering emblem than the grass, the Psalmist here presents him with another in "the flower of the field." And since the Saviour has declared that "even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these;" this comparison instituted by the Psalmist, may well be regarded as

favorable in the highest degree. But yet, though we take man thus represented at his best estate-though we contemplate him as adorned with all that wealth, and grandeur, and royalty, can supply, what is he, even then, but as a "flower of the field"? He is elevated indeed above the blades of grass in the common field of humanity; and it may be also that he is more useful, and more remarkable, in some peculiar properties, than the great majority around him; but yet is he not with them equally evanescent? "Man" in his highest earthly glory, is as a "flower" in its full bloom; yet beautiful indeed are they both in their brief season. What an attractive object on the plain, even at a distance, is a flower enamelled by the verdant grass! Tall and fair, its beauty of color, its elegance of form, draw forth our admiration. The eye rests with satisfaction on its progressive beauties. It is lovely in the unfolding bud; it is lovelier still in full-blown perfection. The sun discloses its loveliness, and the soft air diffuses its fragrance. We survey it with delight, and we return, from time to time, to gaze upon its rich and varied hues. But ere long, a wind, which we had scarcely observed, has blighted its beauty. The drooping head betrays its decay, and anon, a few withered leaves testify that it is gone. How great is our disappointment! We now look around in vain. The wind has passed away. The sun shines forth again with enlivening beams. The air is balmy and delightful as before. Shall we see our fair flower again? Ah, no. It is gone, and the place thereof knows it no more. And such is man! He may be strong and vigorous as the grass, or he may be fair and flourishing

as the flower of the field. The elegance of his manner, or the valor of his arm; the wisdom of his mind, or the sweetness of his disposition; the beauty of his example, or the fragrance of his benevolence; the integrity of his principles, or the elevation of his rank; may have made him as a "flower" among his fellows. The place of his birth, or of his residence, may have been recorded by the historian, and the grandeur of his achievements emblazoned by the heralds. of fame. "When the ear heard him, it may have blessed him; and when the eye saw him, it may have given witness to him." But a wind, a breath, an unseen, an unnoticed influence, passes over him, and he is gone; and the post in the camp, or the senate, which he filled; the position in society which he adorned; the place in the family, where he was loved, knows him no more, for ever! "All flesh is grass, and all the glory thereof as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof fadeth away."

This is a dismal consideration--a dark and uninviting picture. To those who know not God in Christ Jesus, it is dismal without relief-a dark picture without light. In this world, we behold children bereft of parents by the remorseless hand of death; we behold friend snatched away from the embrace of friend; and, suddenly, or slowly, we witness one after another sink into the tomb; their pity and their love are buried with them: in that very day their thoughts of kindness towards us, their purposes of benevolence, all perish. The long promised preferment, the anxiously expected elevation, was just about to be realized, and lo! the warm-hearted friend, or the generous patron, by whom it

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