In this world of ours
By J. C. Philpot
In this world of ours, just now so bright and
beautiful, as the golden grain falls under the reaper's sickle, the Lord
himself giving us a fruitful season to fill our hearts with joy and
gladness, nothing meets the eye but what is of time and sense. Wherever our
lot be cast, or whatever be the place of our temporary sojourn; whether the
crowded streets of the huge metropolis, or the busy northern towns, where
the untiring giant of steam ever vomits forth his pitchy clouds, and whirls
unceasingly round and round his million spindles; or the lonely seashore,
where no sound meets the ear but the murmur of the waves against the shingly
beach; or the quiet, secluded country village, where, lost amid shady lanes,
we may roam and meditate, as if we were alone in the midst of creation;
wherever our foot treads, or our eye rests, the world, and nothing but the
world, meets our view.
The men and women that we meet on every hand, whether
fluttering in the gay robes of wealth and fashion, or the sons and daughters
of toil, with poverty and care written on every feature of their face, and
stamped on every thread of their dress, all, as they come trooping onward,
however they vary in their million points of difference, resemble each other
in this, that they live as much for time, sense, and self, as the ox that
grazes in the field, or the bird that makes its nest in the bush. As far as
we can judge from their words and actions, God is no more in all their
thoughts, is no more looked up to, feared, loved, or adored by them, than he
is by the swallow that chases the gnats in the evening breeze, or the
butterfly that poises its wings over a flower in the noon-day sun. No, worse
than this, "all sheep and oxen, yes, and the beasts of the field, the fowl
of the air, and the fish of the seas," all these, though by first creation
put under man's feet, continue to glorify God, by still showing forth the
wonders of his creative hand. "They continue this day according to his
ordinances, for all are his servants." (Psalm 119:91.)
But man, their original master, man their primitive head,
has debased and degraded his nature far below theirs, for he has defiled it
to the lowest depths of infamy and shame, and sunk himself and it into a
loathsome abyss of pollution and crime, to which the brute creation present
no parallel. Listen to that thrush on the topmost bough of yon quivering
aspen tree, hailing the morning sun with his tuneful throat. He knows
neither sin nor shame; he glorifies the great Author of his being, and is
even now singing a morning anthem to his praise.
But that miserable creature of a man, who, all bloated
with gin and begrimed with filth, is staggering out of the ale-house, who
cannot speak but with a voice hoarse with oaths and strong drink; or that
wretch of a woman who, alike polluting and polluted, infests the public
street—do we say that the thrush is a nobler creature than these sons and
daughters of crime? Why, the very toad that lurks under the bush in the
garden, is not only a nobler being, but more glorifies God than this
miserable drunkard, and that wretched prostitute.
The bird of the air and the reptile of the ground are
what God has made them; in them there is no sin, for them there is no hell.
No blasphemy has defiled their mouth; no crime has sullied their feet. The
eye of God does not hate them; the hand of God will not smite them. When
they have lived their little day they will pass away, and be no more; but
the wicked will be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.
Yet under this seething world of sin and crime hidden by
the veil which time and sense cast over all external objects, there are
transactions going forward, which are divine and heavenly, daily plucking
out of this sea of confusion predestinated individuals, elect men and women,
delivering them from the power of darkness, and translating them into the
kingdom of God's dear Son. The Son of God has a kingdom given to him by his
Father before the foundation of the world, and of which he took possession
when he rose from the dead, ascended up to heaven, and sat down on the right
hand of the Majesty on high.
Of this present evil world Satan is the god and king, for
the whole "course of this world" is "according to the prince of the power of
the air, the spirit that now works in the children of disobedience." But
Jesus, King Jesus, is meanwhile administering his own kingdom of grace here
below, and as such, is continually plucking out of Satan's domain the
members of his mystical body, the objects of his eternal love, the sheep of
his pasture, and the purchase of his blood.
But this kingdom "comes not with observation," or
"outward show." (Luke 17:20.) It is a secret kingdom, a treasure hidden in a
field; and the favored subjects of this kingdom, the partakers of its grace,
and the heirs of its glory, are, like their once suffering but now glorified
Lord, despised by a world of which they are the salt, hated by a world which
is not worthy of their sojourning feet.