SWEET COMFORT FOR FEEBLE SAINTS

whose glory it trumpets forth, and whose honor it extols above the

heavens. Some are her favorites, and their names are carved on marble, and

heard in every land, and every clime. Fame is not an impartial judge; she

has her favorites. Some men she extols, exalts, and almost deifies; others,

whose virtues are far greater, and whose characters are more deserving of

commendation, she passes by unheeded, and puts the finger of silence on

her lips. You will generally find that those persons beloved by fame are

men made of brass or iron, and cast in a rough mould. Fame caresseth

Ceasar, because he ruled the earth with a rod of iron. Fame loves Luther,

because he boldly and manfully defied the Pope of Rome, and with knit

brow dared laugh at the thunders of the Vatican. Fame admires Knox; for

he was stern, and proved himself the bravest of the brave. Generally, you

will find her choosing out the men of fire and mettle, who stood before

their fellow-creatures fearless of them, men who were made of courage;

who were consolidated lumps of fearlessness, and never knew what

timidity might be. But you know there is another class of persons equally

virtuous, and equally to be esteemed-perhaps even more so-whom fame

entirely forgets. You do not hear her talk of the gentle-minded

Melancthon-she says but little of him-yet he did as much, perhaps, in the

Reformation, as even the mighty Luther. You do not hear fame talk much

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of the sweet and blessed Rutherford, and of the heavenly words that

distilled from his lips; or of Archbishop Leighton, of whom it was said, that

he was never out of temper in his life. She loves the rough granite peaks

that defy the storm-cloud: she does not care for the more humble stone in

the valley, on which the weary traveler resteth; she wants something bold

and prominent; something that courts popularity; something that stands out

before the world. She does not care for those who retreat in shade. Hence

it is, my brethren, that the blessed Jesus, our adorable Master, has escaped

fame. No one says much about Jesus, except his followers. We do not find

his name written amongst the great and mighty men; though, in truth, he is

the greatest, mightiest, holiest, purest, and best of men that ever lived; but

because he was “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,” and was emphatically the

man whose kingdom is not of this world, because he had nothing of the

rough about him, but was all love; because his words were softer than

butter, his utterances more gentle in their flow than oil; because never man

spake so gently as this man; therefore he is neglected and forgotten. He did

not come to be a conqueror with his sword, nor a Mohammed with his

fiery eloquence, but he came to speak with a “still small voice,” that

melteth the rocky heart, that bindeth up the broken in spirit; and that

continually saith, “Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden;”

“Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of

heart, and ye shall find rest unto you souls.” Jesus Christ was all

gentleness; and this is why he has not been extolled amongst men as

otherwise he would have been. Beloved! our text is full of gentleness; it

seems to have been steeped in love; and I hope I may be able to show you

something of the immense sympathy and the mighty tenderness of Jesus, as

I attempt to speak from it. There are three things to be noticed!: first,

mortal frailty, secondly, divine compassion; and thirdly, certain triumph-

“till he send forth judgement unto victory.”

smoking flax-two very suggestive metaphors, and very full of meaning. If it

were not too fanciful-and if it is I know you will excuse me-I should say

that the brusied reed is on emblem of a sinner in the first stage of his

conviction. The work of God’s Holy Spirit begins with bruising. In order

to be saved, the fallow ground must be ploughed up, the hard heart must

be broken, the rock must be split in sunder. An old divine says there is no

going to heaven without passing hard by the gates of hell-without a great

deal of soul-trouble and heart-exercise. I take it then that the bruised reed

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is a picture of the poor sinner when first God commences his operation

upon the soul; he is a bruised reed, almost entirely broken and consumed,

there is but little strength in him. The smoking flax I conceive to be a

backsliding Christian; one who has been a burning and a shining light in

his day, but by neglect of the means of grace, the withdrawal of God’s

Spirit, and falling into sin, his light is almost gone out-not quite-it never

can go out, for Christ saith, “I will not quench it;” but it becomes like a

lamp when ill supplied with oil-almost useless. It is not quite extinguishedit

smokes-it was a useful lamp once, but now it has become as smoking

flax. So I think these metaphors very likely describe the contrite sinner as a

bruised reed, and the backsliding Christian as smoking flax. However, I

shall not choose to make such a division as that, but I shall put both the

metaphors together, and I hope we may fetch out a few thoughts from

them.

And first, the encouragement offered in our text applies to weak ones.

What in the world is weaker than the bruised reed, or the smoking flax? A

reed that groweth in the fen or marsh, let but the wild duck light upon it,

and it snaps; let but the foot of man brush against it and it is bruised and

broken; every wind that comes howling across the river makes it shake to

and fro, and well nigh tears it up by the roots. You can conceive of nothing

more frail or brittle, or whose existence depends more upon circumstances

than a bruised reed. Then look at smoking flax-what is it? It has a spark

within it, it is true, but it is almost smothered, an infant’s breath might blow

it out, or the tears of a maiden quench it in a moment; nothing has a more

precarious existence than the little spark hidden in the smoking flax. Weak

things, you see, are here described. Well, Christ say of them, “The smoking

flax I will not quench; the bruised reed I will not break.” Let me go in

search of the weaklings. Ah! I shall not have to go far. There are many in

this house of prayer this morning who are indeed weak. Some of God’s

children, blessed be his name are made strong to do mighty works for him.

God hath his Samsons here and there who can pull up Gaza’s gates, and

carry them to the top of the hill; he hath here and there his mighty Gideons,

who can go to the camp of the Midianites, and overthrow their hosts; he

hath his mighty men, who can go into the pit in winter, and slay the lions;

but the majority of his people are a timid, weak race. They are like the

starlings that are frightened at every passerby, a little fearful flock. If

temptation comes, they fall before it; if trial comes, they are overwhelmed

by it: their frail skiff is danced up and down by every wave; and when the

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wind comes, they are drifted along like a sea-bird on the crest of the

billows; weak things, without strength, without force, without might,

without power Ah! dear friends, I know I have got hold of some of your

hands now, and your hearts too; for you are saying, “Weak! Ah that I am.

Full often I am constrained to say, I would, but cannot sing; I would, but

cannot pray; I would, but cannot believe.” You are saying that you cannot

do anything; your best resolves are weak and vain; and when you cry, “My

strength renew,” you feel weaker than before. You are weak, are you?

Bruised reeds and smoking flax? Blessed be God, this text is for you then. I

am glad you can come in under the denomination of weak ones, for here is

a promise that he will never break nor quench them, but will sustain and

hold them up. I know there are some very strong people here-I mean

strong in their own ideas. I often meet with persons who would not confess

any such weakness as this. They are strong minds. They say, “Do you think

that we go into sin, sir? Do you tell us that our hearts are corrupt? We do

not believe any such thing, we are good, and pure, and upright; we have

strength and might.” To you I am not preaching this morning; to you I am

saying nothing; but take heed-your strength is vanity, your power is a

delusion, your might is a lie-for however much you may boast in what you

can do, it shall pass away, when you come to the real contest with death,

you shall find that you have no strength to grapple with it: when one of

these days of strong temptation shall come, it will take hold of you, moral

man, and down you will go; and the glorious livery of your morality will be

so stained, that though you wash your hands in snow water, and make

yourselves never so clean, you shall be so polluted that your own clothes

shall abhor you. I think it is a blessed thing to be weak. The weak one is a

sacred thing; the Holy Ghost has made him such. Can you say, “No

strength have I?” Then this text is for you.

Secondly, the things mentioned in our text are not only weak, but

worthless, things. I have heard of a man who would pick up a pin as he

walked along the street, on the principle of economy; but I never yet heard

of a man who would stop to pick up bruised reeds. They are not worth

having. Who would care to have a bruised reed-a piece of rush lying on the

ground? We all despise it as worthless. And smoking flax, what is the

worth of that? It is an offensive and noxious thing, but the worth of it is

nothing. No one would give the snap of a finger either for the bruised reed

or smoking flax. Well, then, beloved, in our estimation there are many of us

who are worthless things. There are some here, who, if they could weigh

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themselves in the scales of the sanctuary, and put their own hearts into the

balance of conscience, would appear to be good for nothing-worthless,

useless. There was a time when you thought yourselves to be the very best

people in the world-when if any one had said that you had more than you

deserved, you would have kicked at it, and said, “I believe I am as good as

other people.” You thought yourselves something wonderful-extremely

worthy of God’s love and regard but you now feel yourselves to be

worthless Sometimes you imagine God can hardly know where you are;

you are such a despicable creature—so worthless—not worth his

consideration. You can understand how he can look upon an animalcule in

a drop of water, or upon a grain of dust in the sunbeam, or upon the insect

of the summer evening; but you can hardly tell how he can think of you,

you appear so worthless-a dead blank in the world, a useless thing. You

say, “What good am I? I am doing nothing. As for a minister of the gospel,

he is of some service, as for a deacon of the church he is of some use; as

for a Sabbath-school teacher, he is doing some good, but of what service

am I? “But you might ask the same question here. What is the use of a

bruised reed? Can a man lean upon it? Can a man strengthen himself

therewith? Shall it be a pillar in my house? Can you bind it up into the

pipes of Pan, and make music come from a bruised reed? Ah! no; it is of no

service. And of what use is smoking flax? the midnight traveler cannot be

lighted by it; the student cannot read by the flame of it. It is of no use: men

throw it into the fire and consume it. Ah! that is how you talk of

yourselves. You are good for nothing, so are these things. But Christ will

not throw you away because you are of no value. You do not know of

what use you may be, and you cannot tell how Jesus Christ values you

after all. There is a good woman there, a mother, perhaps, she says, “Well,

I do not often go out-I keep house with my children, and seem to be doing

no good.” Mother, do not say so, your position is a high, lofty, responsible

one, and in training up children for the Lord, you are doing as much for his

name as yon eloquent Apollos, who so valiantly preached the word. And

you, poor man, all you can do is to toil from morning till night, and earn

just enough to enable you to live day by day, you have nothing to give

away, and when you go to the Sabbath school, you can just read, you

cannot teach much-well, but unto him to whom little is given of him little is

required. Do you not know that there is such a thing as glorifying God by

sweeping the street crossing? If two angels were sent down to earth, one

to rule an empire, and the other to sweep a street, they would have no

choice in the matter, so long as God ordered them. So God, in his

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providence, has called you to work hard for your daily bread; do it to his

glory. “Whatsoever ye do, whether ye eat or drink, do all to his honor.”

But, ah! I know there are some of you here who seem useless to the

Church. You do all you can; but when you have done it, it is nothing; you

can neither help us with money, nor talents, nor time, and, therefore, you

think God must cast you out. You think if you were like Paul or Peter you

might be safe. Ah! beloved, talk not so; Jesus Christ saith he will not

quench the useless flax, nor break the worthless bruised reed; he has

something for the useless and for the worthless ones. But mark you, I do

not say this to excuse laziness-to excuse those that can do, but do not, that

is a very different thing. There is a whip for the ass, a scourge for idle men,

and they must have it sometimes I am speaking now of those who cannot

do it; not of Issacher, who is like a strong ass, crouching down between

two burdens, and too lazy to get up with them I say nothing for the

sluggard, who will not plough by reason of the cold; but of the men and

women who really feel that they can be of little service-who cannot do

more; and to such, the words of the text are applicable.

Now we will make another remark. The two things here mentioned are

offensive things. A bruised reed is offensive, for I believe there is an

illusion here to the pipes of Pan, which you all know are reeds put

together, along which a man moves his mouth, thus causing some kind of

music. This is the organ, I believe which Jubal invented, and which David

mentions, for it is certain that the organ we use was not then in use. The

bruised reed, then, would of course spoil the melody of all the pipes; one

unsound tube would so let the air out, as to produce a discordant sound, or

no sound at all, so that one’s impulse would be to take the pipe out and put

in a fresh one. And, as for smoking flax, the wick of a candle or anything of

that kind, I need not inform you that the smoke is offensive. To me no

odour in all the world is so abominably offensive as smoking flax. But

some say, “How can you speak in so low a style?” I have not gone lower

than I could go myself, nor lower than you can go with me; for I am sure

you are, if God the Holy Ghost has really humbled you, just as offensive to

your own souls, and just as offensive to God as a bruised reed would be

among the pipes, or as smoking flax to the eyes and nose. I often think of

dear old John Bunyan, when he said he wished God had made him a toad,

or a frog, or a snake or anything rather than a man, for he felt he was so

offensive. Oh; I can conceive a nest of vipers, and I think that they are

obnoxious; I can imagine a pool of all kinds of loathsome creatures,

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breeding corruption, but there is nothing one half so worthy of abhorrence

as the human heart. God spares from all eyes but his own that awful sight-a

human heart; and could you and I but once see our heart, we should be

driven mad, so horrible would be the sight. Do you feel like that? Do you

feel that you must be offensive in God’s sight-that you have so rebelled

against him, so turned away from his commandments, that surely you must

be obnoxious to him? If so, my text is yours.

Now, I can imagine some woman here this morning who has departed from

the paths of virtue, and, while she is standing in the throng up there, or

sitting down she feels as if she had no right to tread these hallowed courts,

and stand among God’s people. She thinks that God might almost make

the chapel break down upon her to destroy her, she is so great a sinner.

Never mind, broken reed and smoking flax! Though thou art the scorn of

man, and loathsome to thyself, yet Jesus saith to thee, “Neither do I

condemn thee, go, and sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee.”

There is some man here who hath something in his heart that I know not

of-who may have committed crimes in secret, that we will not mention in

public; his sins stick like a leech to him, and rob him of all comfort. Here

you are young man, shaking and trembling, lest your crime should be

divulged before high heaven; you are broken down, bruised like a reed,

smoking like flax. Ah! I have a word for thee too. Comfort! comfort!

comfort! Despair not; for Jesus saith he will not quench the smoking flax,

he will not break the bruised reed.

And yet, my dear friends, there is one thought before I turn away from this

point. Both of these articles, however worthless they may be, may yet be of

some service, When God puts his hand to a man, if he were worthless and

useless before, he can make him very valuable. You know the price of an

article does not depend so much upon the value of the raw material as

upon workmanship put upon it. Here is very bad raw material to begin

with-bruised reeds and smoking flax, but by Divine workmanship both

these things become of wondrous value. You tell me the bruised reed is

good for nothing; I tell you that Christ will take that bruised reed and mend

it up, and fit it in the pipes of heaven. Then when the grand orchestra shall

send forth its music, when the organs of the skies shall peal forth their

deep-toned sounds, we shall ask, “What was that sweet note heard there,

mingling with the rest?” And some one shall say “It was a bruised reed.”

Ah! Mary Magdalene’s voice in heaven, I imagine, sounds more sweet and

liquid than any other; and the voice of that poor thief, who said “Lord,

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remember me,” if it is a deep bass voice, is more mellow and more sweet

than the voice of any other, because he loved much, for he had much

forgiven him. This reed may yet be of use. Do not say you are good for

nothing; you shall sing up in heaven yet. Do not say your are worthless; at

last you shall stand before the throne among the blood-washed company,

and shall sing God’s praise Ay! and the smoking flax too, what good can

that be? I will soon tell you. There is a spark in that flax somewhere; it is

nearly out, but still a spark remaineth. Behold the prairie on fire! See you

the flames come rolling on? See you stream after stream of hot fire

deluging the plain till all the continent is burnt and scorched-till heaven is

reddened with the flame. Old night’s black face is scarred with the burning,

and the stars appear affrighted at the conflagration. How was that mass

ignited? By a piece of smoking flax dropped by some traveler, fanned by

the soft wind, till the whole prairie caught the flame. So one poor man one

ignorant man, one weak man, even one backsliding man, may be the means

of the conversion of a whole nation. Who knows but that you who are

nothing now may be of more use than those of us who appear to stand

better before God, because we have more gifts and talents? God can make

a spark set a world on fire-he can light up a whole nation with the spark of

one poor praying soul. You may be useful yet; therefore be of good cheer.

Moss groweth upon gravestones; the ivy clingeth to the mouldering pile,

the mistletoe groweth on the dead branch, and even so shall grace, and

piety, and virtue, and holiness, and goodness, come from smoking flax and

bruised reeds.

whom this text is meant, and I have shown you somewhat of mortal frailty;

will not break, the smoking flax he will not quench.”

Notice what is first of all stated, and then let me tell you that Jesus Christ

means a great deal more than he says. First of all, what does he say? He

says plainly enough that he will not break the bruised reed. There is a

bruised reed before me- a poor child of God under a deep sense of sin. It

seems as if the whip of the law would never stop. It keeps on, lash, lash,

lash; and though you say, “Lord, stop it and give me a little respite,” still

comes down the cruel thong, lash, lash, lash. You feel your sins. Ah! I

know what you are saying this morning: “If God continues this a little

longer my heart will break: I shall perish in despair, I am almost distracted

by my sin; if I lie down at night I cannot sleep; it appears as if ghosts were

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in the room-ghosts of my sins-and when I awake at midnight, I see the

black form of death staring at me, and saying, “Thou art my prey, I shall

have thee;” while hell behind seems to burn. Ah! poor bruised reed, he will

not break you, conviction shall be too strong, it shall be great enough to

melt thee, and to make thee go to Jesu’s feet; but it shall not be strong

enough to break thy heart altogether, so that thou shouldst die. Thou shalt

never be driven to despair; but thou shalt be delivered; thou shalt come out

of the fire, poor bruised reed, and shalt not be broken.

So there is a backslider here this morning, he is like the smoking flax.

Years gone by you found such happiness in the ways of the Lord, and such

delight in his service, that you said, “There I would for ever stay.

You are smoking, and you think God will put you out. If I were an

Arminian, I should tell you that he would, but being a believer in the Bible,

and nothing else, I tell you that he will not quench you. Though you are

smoking, you shall not die. Whatever your crime has been, the Lord says,

“Return ye backsliding children of men, for I will have mercy upon you.”

He will not cast thee away, poor Ephriam; only come back to him-he will

not despise thee, though thou hast plunged thyself in the mire and dirt,

though thou art covered from head to foot with filthiness; come back, poor

prodigal, come back, come back! Thy father calls thee. Hearken poor

backslider! Come at once to him whose arms are ready to receive thee.

It says he will not quench-he will not break. But there is more under cover

than we see at first sight. When Jesus says he will not break, he means

more than that he means, “I will take that poor bruised reed; I will plant it

hard by the rivers of waters, and (miracle of miracles) I will make it grow

into a tree whose leaf shall not wither, I will water it every moment, I will

watch it; there shall be heavenly fruits upon it, I will keep the birds of prey

from it, but the birds of heaven, the sweet songsters of paradise shall make

their dwellings in the branches.” When he says that he will not break the

bruised reed, he means more; he means that he will nourish, that he will

help, and strengthen, and support, and glorify-that he will execute his

commission on it, and make it glorious for ever. And when he says to the

blackslider that he will not quench him, he means more than that-he means

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that he will fan him up to a flame. Some of you, I dare say, have gone

home from chapel and found that your fire had gone nearly out; I know

how you deal with it, you blow gently at the single spark, if there is one,

and least you should blow too hard, you hold your fingers before it, and if

you were alone and had but one match, or one spark in the tinder, how

gently would you blow it. So, backslider, Jesus Christ deals with thee, he

does not put thee out, he blows gently; he says, “I will not quench thee,”

he means, “I will be very tender very cautious, very careful;” he will put on

dry material, so that by-and-by a little spark shall come to a flame and blaze

up towards heaven, and great shall be the fire thereof.

Now I want to say one or two things to Little-Faiths this morning. The

little children of God who are here mentioned as being bruised reeds or

smoking flax are just as safe as the great saints of God. I wish for a

moment to expand this thought, and then I will finish with the other head.

These saints of God who are called bruised reeds and smoking flax are just

as safe as those who are mighty for their Master and great in strength, for

several reasons. First of all, the little saint is just as much God’s elect as

the great saint. When God chose his people, he chose them all at once and

altogether, and he elected one just as much as the other. If I choose a

certain number of things, one may be less than the rest, but one is as much

chosen as the other, and so Mrs. Fearing and Miss Despondency are just as

much elected as Great-Heart, or Old Father Honest. Again: the little ones

are redeemed equally with the great ones! the feeble saints cost Christ as

much suffering as the strong ones, the tiniest child of God could not have

been purchased with less than Jesus’ precious blood, and the greatest child

of God did not cost him more. Paul did not cost any more than Benjamin-I

am sure he did not-for I read in the Bible that “there is no difference.”

Besides, when of old they came to pay their redemption-money, every

person brought a shekel. The poor shall bring no less, and the rich shall

bring no more than just a shekel. The same price was paid for the one as

the other. Now then little child of God, take that thought to thy soul. You

see some men very prominent in Christ’s cause-and it is very good that

they should be-but they did not cost Jesus a farthing more than you did; he

paid the same price for you that he paid for them. Recollect again, you are

just as much a child of God as the greatest saint. Some of you have five or

six children. There is one child of yours, perhaps who is very tall and

handsome, and has, moreover, gifts of mind; and you have another child

who is the smallest of the family, perhaps has but little intellect and

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understanding. But which is the most your child? “The most!” you say;

“both alike are my children, certainly, one as much as the other. “And so,

dear friends, you may have very little learning, you may be very dark about

divine things, you may but “see men as trees walking,” but you are as much

the children of God as those who have grown to the stature of men in

Christ Jesus. Then remember, poor tried saint that you are just as much

justified as any other child of God. I know that I am completely justified.

I want no other garments, save Jesus’ doings, and his imputed

righteousness.

The boldest child of God want no more; and I who am “less than the least

of all saints,” can be content with no less, and I shall have no less, O

Ready-to-Halt, thou art as much justified as Paul, Peter, John the Baptist,

or the loftiest saint in heaven. There is no difference in that matter. Oh I

take courage and rejoice.

Then one thing more. If you were lost, God’s honor would be as much

tarnished as if the greatest one were lost. A queer thing I once read in an

old book about God’s children and people being a part of Christ and in

union with him. The writer says — “A father sitteth in his room, and there

cometh in a stranger, the stranger taketh up a child on his knee, and the

child hath a sore finger so he saith; My child, you have a sore finger;”

“Yes!” Well, let me take it off, and give thee a golden one! The child

looketh at him and saith, “I will not go to that man any more, for he talks

of taking off my finger; I love my own finger, and I will not have a golden

one instead of it.”’ So the saint saith, “I am one of the members of Christ,

but I am like a sore finger, and he will take me off and put a golden one

on.” “No,’’ said Christ, “no, no; -I cannot have any of my members taken

away; if the finger be a sore one, I will bind it up, I will strengthen it.”

Christ cannot allow a word about cutting his members off. If Christ lose

one of his people, he would not be a whole Christ any longer. If the

meanest of his children could be cast away Christ would lack a part of his

fullness, yea, Christ would be incomplete without his Church. If one of his

children must be lost, it would be better that it should be a great one, than

a little one. If a little one were lost, Satan would say “Ah! you save the

great ones, because they had strength and could help themselves; but the

little one that has no strength, you could not save him.” You know what

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Satan would say, but God would shut Satan’s mouth, by proclaiming

“They are all here, Satan, in spite of thy malice, they are all here; every one

is safe; now lie down in thy den for ever, and be bound eternally in chains,

and smoke in fire!” So shall he suffer eternal torment, but not one child of

God ever shall.

One thought more and I shall have done with this head. The salvation of

great saints often depends upon the salvation of little ones, Do you

understand that; You know that my salvation, or the salvation of any child

of God, looking at second causes, very much depends upon the conversion

of some one else. Suppose your mother is the means of your conversion,

you would, speaking after the manner of men, say, that your conversion

depended upon hers, for her being converted, made her the instrument of

bringing you in. Suppose such-and-such a minister to be the means of your

calling; then your conversion, in some sense, though not absolutely,

depends upon his. So it often happens, that the salvation of God’s

mightiest servants depends upon the conversion of little ones. There is a

poor mother; no one ever knows anything about her, she goes to the house

of God, her name is not in the newspapers, or anywhere else, she teaches

her child and brings him up in the fear of God; she prays for that boy; she

wrestles with God, and her tears and prayers mingle together. The boys

grows up. What is he? A missionary-a William Knibb-a Moffat-a Williams.

But you do not hear anything about the mother Ah! but if the mother had

not been saved, where would the boy have been? Let this cheer the little

ones, and may you rejoice that he will nourish and cherish you, though you

are like bruised reeds and smoking flax.

judgment unto victory.”

Victory! There is something beautiful in that word. The death of Sir John

Moore, in the Peninsular war, was very touching, he fell in the arms of

triumph and sad as was his fate, I doubt not that his eye was lit up with

lustre by the shout of victory. So also, I suppose, that Wolfe spoke a truth

when he said, “I die happy,” having just before heard the shout, “they run,

they run.” I know victory even in that bad sense-for I look not upon earthly

victories as of any value-must have cheered the warrior. But oh! how

cheered the saint when he knows that victory is his! I shall fight during all

my life, but I shall write “vici” on my shield. I shall be “more than

conqueror through him that loved me.” Each feeble saint shall win the day;

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each man upon his crutches: each lame one each one full of infirmity,

sorrow, sickness, and weakness, shall gain the victory. “They shall come

with singing unto Zion, as well the blind, and lame, and halt, and the

woman with child together.” So saith the Scripture. Not one shall be left

out; but he shall “send forth judgment unto victory.” Victory! victory!

victory! This is the lot of each Christian; he shall triumph through his dear

Redeemer’s name.

Now a word about this victory. I speak first to aged men and women. Dear

brethren and sisters, you are often, I know, like the bruised reed. Coming

events cast their shadows before them; and death casts the shadow of old

age on you. You feel the grasshopper to be a burden, you feel full of

weakness and decay, your frame can hardly hold together. Ah! you have

here a special promise. “The bruised reed I will not break.” “I will

strengthen thee.” “When thy heart and thy flesh faileth, I will be the

strength of thy heart and thy portion for ever.”

Tottering on thy staff, leaning, feeble, weak, and wan; fear not the last

hour; that last hour shall be thy best; thy last day shall be a consummation

devoutly to be wished. Weak as thou art, God will temper the trial to thy

weakness; he will make thy pain less, if thy strength be less; but thou shalt

sing in heaven, “Victory! victory! victory! “There are some of us who

could wish to change places with you, to be so near heaven-to be so near

home. With all your infirmities, your grey hairs are a crown of glory to

you; for you are near the end, as well as in the way of righteousness.

A word with you middle-aged men, battling in this life’s rough storm. You

are often bruised reeds, your religion is so encumbered by your worldly

callings, so covered up by the daily din of business, business, business, that

you seem like smoking flax, it is as much as you can do to serve your God,

and you cannot say that you are “fervent in spirit” as well as “diligent in

business.” Man of business, toiling and striving in this world, he will not

quench thee when thou art like smoking flax; he will not break thee when

thou art like the bruised reed, but will deliver thee from thy troubles, thou

shalt swim across the sea of life, and shalt stand on the happy shore of

heaven, and shalt sing, “Victory “through him that loved thee.”

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Ye youths and maidens! I speak to you, and have a right to do so. You and

I ofttimes know what the bruised reed is, when the hand of God blights our

fair hopes. We are full of giddiness and waywardness, it is only the rod of

affliction that can bring folly out of us, for we have much of it in us.

Slippery paths are the paths of youths, and dangerous ways are the ways of

the young, but God will not break or destroy us. Men, by their over

caution, bid us never tread a step lest we fall; but God bids us go, and

makes our feet like hind’s feet, that we may tread upon high places. Serve

God in early days; give your hearts to him, and then he will never cast you

out, but will nourish and cherish you.

Let me not finish without saving a word to little children. You who have

heard of Jesus, he says to you “The bruised reed I will not break, the

smoking flax I will not quench.” I believe there is many a little prattler, not

six years old, who knows the Savior. I never despise infantile piety; I love

it. I have heard little children talk of mysteries that gray-headed men knew

not. Ah! little children who have been brought up in Sabbath-schools, and

love the Savior’s name, if others say you are too forward, do not fear, love

Christ still.

He will not cast thee away; for smoking flax he will not quench, and the

bruised reed he will not break.