The City of God For Me.

There is a city of God for me. His promises, thick as the fragments of the jasper floor, will all be redeemed. He has prepared for me a city. Kings have reared their cities. Rome sits on her seven hills, and Venice on her lagoon, the Queen of the Adriatic; Naples on her crescent bay, Paris on the Seine, and Vienna on the Blue Danube. But in the city "not made with hands," God has combined all beauty and opulences suited to a spiritual body. There will be song and worship, work and rest. The expectation of it has given a luster to many a humble life and the death-bed. It is our privilege to walk in the light of this inspiring hope. In all our study and labor, in all our joy and gloom, let this eternal, illuminating truth of the lordship of God and his public presidency over all events interpret every mystery, for ''all these come forth from the Lord of hosts, wonderful in counsel and excellent in working." by Rev. R. S. Storrs, D. D.

Whitefield's Death

Said Sir John Herschel, "I could see Sirius announcing himself," as he swept the heavens with his telescope, in search of Sirius, "till the great star rushed in and filled the whole field of vision with a sea of light." The time came for Whitefield to die. The man had been immortal till his work was done. His path had been bright, and it grew brighter to the end, like that of the just.

"You had better be in bed, Mr Whitefield." said his host, the day he preached his last sermon.

"True," said the dying evangelist, and clasping his hands, cried: "I am weary in, not of, thy work, Lord Jesus."

He preached his last sermon at Newburyport, pale and dying; he herein uttered one of the most pathetic sentences which ever came to his lips:

"I go to my everlasting rest. My sun has risen, shone, and is setting--nay, it is about to rise and shine forever. I have not lived in vain. And though I could live to preach Christ a thousand years I die to be with Him--which is far better."

The shaft was leveled. That day he said: "I am dying!" He ran to the window; lavender drops were offered, but all help was vain; his work was done. The doctor said, "He is a dead man." And so he was; and died in silence. Christ required no dying testimony from one whose life had been a constant testimony.

So passed away on September 30th, 1770, one of the greatest spirits that ever inhabited a human tabernacle. The world has ever been an innumerable gainer by his life. He had preached eighty thousand sermons, and they had but tow key-notes: 1. Man is guilty, he must be pardoned. 2. Man is immortal, he must be happy or wretched forever. Weeping filled Newburyport, flags floated at half-mast, and the ships fired minute-guns.

"Mortals cried, a man is dead;

Angels sang, a child is born."

Rev. Daniel Rodgers, remembering in his prayer that Whitefield had been his spiritual father, burst into tears, and cried: "My father! my father! the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof."

Coke sleeps in his grand sea-grave, with the everlasting music of the billows for his dirge; Robert Newton sleeps at Easingwold; Richard Watson, and John and Charles Wesley slumber in a London graveyard; and George Whitefield's dust rests in its Transatlantic abode till

"That illustrious morn shall come,"

when the "dead in Christ shall rise," and they will meet in glory, to die no more. Meantime, earth holds no mightier dust. Blessed be God that ever they lived, and left their influence to mould humanity.

by Rev. Abel Stevens, D. D.

Jesus carries the cross.

The Resurrection Illustrated.

So it is that out of these elementary particles human bodies are builded, and out of nature's storehouse God will in some way reinvest the spirit with a material organism. We can well believe that this is possible in the light of what chemistry can do. There are many things which the chemist can do which we would not believe to be possible did we not know them to be facts. I think it is Dr. Brown who quotes from Mr. Hallet the story of a gentleman who was something of a chemist, who had given a faithful servant a silver cup. The servant dropped the cup in a vessel of what he supposed to be pure water, but which in reality was aqua fortis. He let it lie there, not thinking it could receive and harm, but, returning some time after, saw the cup gradually dissolving. He was loudly bewailing his loss when he was told that his master could restore the cup for him. He could not believe it. "Do you not see," he said' "that it is dissolving before our sight?" But at last the master was brought to the spot. He called for some salt water, which he poured into the vessel, and told the servant to watch. By and by the silver cup began to gather as a white powder at the bottom. When the deposit was complete the master said to the servant, "Pour off the liquid, gather up this dust, have it melted and run together, then take it to the workman and let him hammer the cup again." You may take gold; you may file it down to a powder, mix it with other metals, throw it into the fire, do what you will with it, and the chemist will bring back with certainty the exact gold.

Thus our bodies are built up by fruits from the tropics, by grain from the prairies. The flesh that roamed the plains as cattle has become part of us. If God can build up human bodies here, can He not find and convert the dust that we put away in the grave, and bring it back to forms of life? In my judgement, God is able to preserve even the particles of the human body and restore them. So far as the power is concerned, it can be done, and will be done, as God may think best. by H. W. Thomas, D. D.

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