Walking by Faith

For we walk by faith, not by sight.—2 Corinthians 5:7.

1. St. Paul describes the mood in which, possessed of the Christian hope, he confronts all the conditions of the present and the alternatives of the future. We are of good courage at all times, he says. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from home as far as the Lord is concerned—at a distance from Him. This does not mean that fellowship is broken, or that the soul is separated from the love of Christ; it means only that earth is not heaven, and that St. Paul is painfully conscious of the fact. This is what is proved by 2 Corinthians 5:7 : We are absent from the Lord, our true home, for in this world we are walking through the realm of faith, not through that of actual appearance. There is a world, a mode of existence, to which St. Paul looks forward, which is one of actual appearance; he will be in Christ’s presence there, and see Him face to face. But the world through which his course lies meanwhile is not that world of immediate presence and manifestation; on the contrary, it is a world of faith, which realizes that future world of manifestation only by a strong spiritual conviction; it is through a faithland that St. Paul’s journey leads him. All along the way his faith keeps him in good heart; nay, when he thinks of all that it ensures, of all that is guaranteed by the Spirit, he is willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be at home with the Lord.

For, ah! the Master is so fair

His smile so sweet on banished men,

That they who meet it unaware

Can never turn to earth again;

And they who see Him risen afar,

At God’s right hand to welcome them,

Forgetful stand of home and land,

Desiring fair Jerusalem.

St. Paul stood between two worlds; he felt the whole attraction of both; in the earnest of the Spirit he knew that he had an inheritance there as well as here. It is this consciousness of the dimensions of life that makes him so immensely interesting; he never wrote a dull word; his soul was stirred incessantly by impulses from earth and from heaven, swept by breezes from the dark and troubled sea of man’s life, touched by inspirations from the radiant heights where Christ dwelt. We do not need to be afraid of the reproach of “other-worldliness” if we seek to live in this same spirit; the reproach is as false as it is threadbare. It would be an incalculable gain if we could recover the primitive hope in something like its primitive strength. It would not make us false to our duties in the world, but it would give us the victory over the world.1 [Note: J. Denney, The Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 183.]

2. Two kinds of walking are here contrasted. “We walk not by sight.” How then? “We walk by faith.” St. Paul speaks of life not as the three score years and ten, with all its natural divisions of childhood, youth, manhood, and old age, and all its circumstantial divisions of education and profession, prosperity and adversity, happiness and bereavement, concerning which as going home a good man says, “God shall be my guide through it unto death.” He speaks of life as a succession of days, each with its morning and its evening, each with its little detail of thought and speech and feeling and action; and he says that there are two ways of living such a life. We may believe what we see, or we may see what we believe. We may walk, that is live, by faith in the unseen, or we may walk by sight, by what we see and taste and handle. We may take the next step in trust or we may refuse to take it until we see what it is.

We never know what lies before us. Sorrow may be waiting, or sore temptation, or death. We see not a step before our feet. But no matter, if God is leading; for He knows all that lies before us. A young man had almost decided to become a Christian. But one doubt held him back; he did not see how he could continue faithful all through his life. He spent an evening with his minister, and they talked long on the subject. Still his fears and his indecision remained. As he left, the pastor observed how dark it was, and getting a lantern handed it to the young man, saying, “This little light will not show at once the whole way to your home, but only one step at a time; yet take that step, and you will reach home in safety.” As the young man walked homeward he pondered, “Why can I not trust my Heavenly Father, even if I can’t see my way clear to the end, if He gives me light for one step?” Only as we go on, step by step, does God disclose to us His will and plan for our life. Thus the joys of life do not dazzle us, for our hearts have been chastened to receive them. The sorrows do not overwhelm us, because each one brings its own special comfort with it. But, if we had known in advance of the coming joys and prosperities, the exultation might have made us heedless of duty and of danger. We might have let go God’s hand and grown self-confident, thus missing the benediction that comes only to simple, trusting faith. If we had known of the struggles and trials before us, we might have become disheartened, thus failing of courage to endure. In either case we could not have borne the revealing, and it was in tenderness that the Master withheld it.1 [Note: J. R. Miller.]

I do not ask, O Lord, that Thou shouldst shed

Full radiance here:

Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread

Without a fear.

I do not ask my cross to understand,

My way to see;

Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand,

And follow Thee.2 [Note: Adelaide A. Procter.]

I

Not by Sight

1. There is a sense in which no man walks by sight.—“We walk not by sight.” The exact expression, as given in the margin, is “by means of an appearance,” that is, a shape and form visible to the senses. It is evident, though not always pondered as it should be, that no man really walks by sight. To do this would cut him off from life, the whole world of the past, the whole world of the future, and more than half the world of the present. A man who consistently carried through the endeavour to walk by sight would discard history as fable; would neither sow his field nor educate his children; would count feeling fancy and affection folly; would reduce himself to, and therefore below, the level of the beasts that perish; and long before he reached the practical goal of his theory, he would find himself the inmate of a prison or an asylum, to be a standing witness to the world which looks on, that the gospel has reason on its side, as well as religion, when it says, “Walk not by sight, walk by faith.”

There are, however, approaches to the walking by sight to which all men are liable. A man walks by sight who makes Mammon his god; lives for getting and hoarding, or else for spending and squandering; estimates worth by wealth, and will count himself a happy man if he can but die rich. A man walks by sight who cannot control appetite or passion, cannot put aside the thing good for food or pleasant to the eyes even for the sake of avoiding to-morrow’s sickness or this night’s remorse, or a life’s disgrace; finds himself again and again yielding to a temptation which he has suffered from or prayed against; weakly lives and miserably dies the slave of a sin which his better nature condemns and despises, but to which this body of flesh and blood, made his tyrant by long yielding to it, ties and binds him.

It may not be equally evident, but it is true, that another class of faults is traceable to the same cause. A man walks by sight who, under the influence of the subtle impersonal presence which we call the world, allows himself to echo the language, to court the applause, to live for the admiration of other people; losing all the independence and all the manliness of his personal being as it is lived in God’s sight here and as he must give account of it to Him hereafter. Thus, not only covetousness or self-indulgence in the lowest sense of the word, but vanity and worldliness and vulgar ambition, all have their root in the walking by sight which St. Paul here disclaims and repudiates for the Christian.

Is it not mad folly always to be craving for things which can never quiet our longings, much less satisfy them? No matter how many such things one has, he is always lusting after what he has not; never at peace, he sighs for new possessions. Discontented, he spends himself in fruitless toil, and finds only weariness in the evanescent and unreal pleasures of the world. In his greediness, he counts all that he has clutched as nothing in comparison with what is beyond his grasp, and loses all pleasure in his actual possessions by longing after what he has not, yet covets. No man can ever hope to own all things. Even the little one does possess is got only with toil, and is held in fear; since each is certain to lose what he hath when God’s day, appointed though unrevealed, shall come. But the perverted will struggles towards the ultimate good by devious ways, yearning after satisfaction, yet led astray by vanity and deceived by wickedness. Ah, if you wish to attain to the consummation of all desire, so that nothing unfulfilled will be left, why weary yourself with fruitless efforts, running hither and thither, only to die long before the goal is reached?

It is so that these impious ones wander in a circle, longing after something to gratify their yearnings, yet madly rejecting that which alone can bring them to their desired end, not by exhaustion but by attainment. And if their utmost longing were realized so that they should have all the world for their own, yet without possessing Him who is the Author of all being, then the same law of their desire would make them contemn what they had, and restlessly seek Him whom they still lacked, that is God Himself. Rest is in Him alone. Man knows no peace in the world; but he has no disturbance when he is with God. And so the soul says with confidence, “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee. God is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever.”1 [Note: St. Bernard of Clairvaux, On Loving God.]

2. There is a special sense in which the Christian walks not by sight.—St. Paul had a particular thought in his mind when he wrote these words. The statement for which the text gives the reason is this: “Whilst we are at home in the body, we are absent from the Lord; for we walk by faith, not by sight.” And this accounts for the peculiarity of the expression—not by the help of visible shape or form. The word for “sight” is rare. It is used in Scripture by St. Luke in the narrative of our Lord’s baptism: “The Holy Spirit descended in bodily shape like a dove upon him”; and once again by St. John in his fifth chapter: “Ye have neither heard the Father’s voice at any time, nor seen his shape.” It is remarkable, therefore, that to each one of the Persons of the Holy Trinity—the Father, the Son, and the Spirit—this same word is once applied in Holy Scripture; for what St. Paul says here he says of our Lord Jesus Christ: “We walk not by the help of seeing His shape or form visibly, but by the help of the spiritual sight of Him, which is the grace of faith.” He contrasts the present condition of the Christian who has to live the daily life by seeing the invisible with two other experiences—one past, one future—each of which may be called walking by sight.

The disciples walked by sight during the earthly ministry of the Saviour. They lived the daily life during those three wonderful years by the help of visible shape and form. “While I was with them in the world,” He says Himself in the great prayer, “I kept them in thy name.” The personal influence, the ascendancy of perfect goodness, the motive of reverential love, something more powerful still, mysteriously hinted in His own saying: “The Spirit dwelleth with you, and shall be in you,” secured their walk during those years at least from levity, passion, or sin, though it very imperfectly enlightened their understanding, and left them liable to the first gust of temptation the moment it was withdrawn. Still, to walk by sight, when that sight was the sight of Jesus Christ, was a wonderful privilege while it could be theirs. St. Paul himself had never known this kind of life. He was not one of the Twelve. His sight of Christ had been but for a moment, though it left an indelible impression upon his life. When he said, “We walk not by sight,” he probably had in his mind a walk not past, done with, but a walk future, and not yet possible. The passage in which the text is embedded is a passage of expectation. He is reconciling himself and his readers to a present condition of pilgrimage and homelessness by the prospect of a beautiful and magnificent change. He seems to say in the text, “We walk not yet, but we shall walk, by sight.”

To credit ordinary and visible objects is not faith, but persuasion. Some believe the better for seeing Christ’s sepulchre; and when they have seen the Red Sea doubt not of the miracle. Now contrarily, I bless myself, and am thankful, that I lived not in the days of miracles: that I never saw Christ and His disciples. I would not have been one of those Israelites that passed the Red Sea; nor one of Christ’s patients on whom He wrought His wonders: then had my faith been thrust upon me; nor should I enjoy that greater blessing being pronounced to all that believe and saw not. ’Tis an easy and necessary belief, to credit what our eye and sense hath examined. I believe He was dead, and buried, and rose again; and desire to see Him in His glory, rather than to contemplate Him in His cenotaph or sepulchre. Nor is this much to believe: as we have reason, we owe this faith unto history: they only had the advantage of a bold and noble faith who lived before His Coming, who, upon obscure prophecies and mystical types, could raise a belief, and expect apparent impossibilities.1 [Note: Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici, see. 9.]

II

By Faith

1. There, is a sense in which every man walks by faith.—As there is a sense in which no man, absolutely no man, walks or can walk by sight, so there is a sense in which every man walks and must walk by faith. In making faith everything in the Christian life, our Lord merely elevated and illuminated a natural principle into that which is above nature. Every man who is not a fool or a madman, in some sense, walks and must walk by faith. The monstrous and shameful avowal, “I believe in nothing that I do not see,” though it has been made before now on an infidel platform, is the mere babbling of idiocy. The rough seaman who once answered the saying on the instant by the question, “Don’t you believe in the wind?” caught the point of the fallacy and saved philosophy and theology the trouble of a reply. Every investment of the money hoarded, every engagement of the worldling, every project of the sensualist, is made on the faith of a to-morrow. Each one of these, in a miserable way, walks by faith. But, as before, in speaking of sight, so now again of faith, we may notice approaches and approximations, however far they may be from an attainment. A man walks by faith in proportion as he lives above sense. A man who in any degree controls appetite, keeps under his body, lives soberly and chastely, whatever the motive, so far walks by faith. A man who refuses to judge the world’s judgment, forms his own opinion and holds to it, expresses an independent mind upon things right and wrong in private or public, more or less certainly walks by faith in doing so. A man who studies deeply, who dwells much in philosophy and history, keeps company with the great minds and souls of the past, has a real sympathy with beautiful thoughts of the dead as well as of the living, walks by faith in a more definite, because a positive and not a negative, way; not leaving vacant, if that were possible, the space redeemed from the sensual and the sensible, but filling and peopling it with forms and substances having an inherent worth and virtue. Such a man is a living witness to a world out of sight, a world as real and a thousand times as permanent as the visible. So far he is on the side of Christ and the gospel, for he avows the reality of a world unseen.

Bring it down to our own common life. What supreme issues we decide in faith! The battle is risked on the testimony of a single spy. We entrust ourselves on the great pathless ocean, because we have faith in the man at the wheel and in the man who is on the outlook at the masthead. Think of life without the element of faith and trust—fathers without faith in wives and mothers; brothers and sisters without mutual faith. It would mean that there could be no such thing as love, for love always presupposes implicit faith. We actually measure the character of men by the quality of their faith. We see a man who believes in goodness, and we say: He is a good man. He suspects and doubts the goodness of his fellows; we suspect and doubt him. Is it not clear that faith is not an experience relating to religion alone? It is no strange peculiar thing superimposed on man by priests and preachers, but the very principle by which we live from day to day.

I love to see my children trustful

Of the best things from my hand;

Never doubting me, nor curious

All to know and understand.

For trust is nobler far than knowledge,

Faith than sight, a hundredfold:

One the coward shows, the other

Both for good and ill makes bold.

And so ’tis sure the Heavenly Father,

Who His children’s welfare plans

With a changeless love, and wisdom

More consummate far than man’s,

Rejoices most in those who trust Him,

Leaning simply on His love,

These His best things here discover,

And will win the best above.1 [Note: T. Crawford, Horae Serenae, 61.]

2. There is a special sense in which the Christian walks by faith.—St. Paul was not thinking of a world of poetry or history or philosophy, when he wrote the words, “We walk by faith.” St. Paul’s world out of sight was not a world of magnitude or multitude, of beauty as such, or of wonder as such, or of power or wisdom or charity in the abstract. For him the invisible was a Person, the combination and concentration of the great and good, the true and the beautiful in whom are all things, and we in Him.

The Christian’s activities and serviceableness are from one side perfectly natural, as he lives in true contact with the waking realities of human life. But from another side they are supernatural all the while, for the regenerate man is supernaturally conditioned and related. He is joined to Him who is invisible, and the union has to do with his whole being. He lives his life in the flesh by faith in the Son of God, who loved him and gave Himself for him. He perseveres as seeing Him whom yet he has not seen, but whom he shall yet see as He is. He thinks so highly of the present because of the eternal, to which it is as the seed-grain is to the summer harvest.

So the Christian walks by faith. Take out of his walk his faith, which is the very antithesis to credulity, and the difference for him will be practical indeed. Into the now formless void will disappear not only the fair idea of the things unseen, but the very substance, the very essence, of the noblest motive to the willing service of man on earth, and to a reverent jealousy over the duties of to-day. We walk by faith. And such a life is the one life fully worth living. Such a walk is the one walk that moves in true liberty along true certainty, making for a real goal.

Faith is a certitude without proofs. Being a certitude, it is an energetic principle of action. Being without proof, it is the contrary of science. Hence its two aspects and its two effects. Is its point of departure intelligence? No, thought may shake or strengthen faith; it cannot produce it. Is its origin in the will? No, good-will may favour it, ill-will may hinder it, but no one believes by will, and faith is not a duty. Faith is a sentiment, for it is a hope; it is an instinct, for it precedes all outward instruction. The need of faith never leaves us. It is the postulate of a higher truth which is to bring all things into harmony. It is the stimulus of research; it holds out to us the reward, it points us to the goal.1 [Note: Amiel’s Journal (trans. by Mrs. Humphry Ward), 192.]

That which in lifeless things ennobles them by seeming to indicate life, ennobles higher creatures by indicating the exaltation of their earthly vitality into a Divine vitality; and raising the life of sense into the life of faith: faith, whether we receive it in the sense of adherence to resolution, obedience to law, regard fulness of promise, in which from all time it has been the test, as the shield, of the true being and life of man; or in the still higher sense of trustfulness in the presence, kindness, and word of God, in which form it has been exhibited under the Christian dispensation. For whether, in one or other form,—whether the faithfulness of men whose path is chosen and portion fixed, in the following and receiving of that path and portion, as in the Thermopylæ camp; or the happier faithfulness of children in the good giving of their Father, and of subjects in the conduct of their King, as in the “Stand still and see the salvation of God” of the Red Sea shore, there is rest and peacefulness, the “standing still,” in both, the quietness of action determined, of spirit unalarmed, of expectation unimpatient: beautiful even when based only, as of old, on the self-command and self-possession, the persistent dignity or the uncalculating love, of the creature; but more beautiful yet when the rest is one of humility instead of pride, and the trust no more in the resolution we have taken, but in the hand we hold.1 [Note: Ruskin, Modern Painters, ii. (Works, iv. 116).]

III

The Superiority of Faith Over Sight

1. Walking by faith we are better able to appreciate Christ’s power.—We have a juster conception of Christ’s power, its spiritual nature, its universality, its unfailing energy, than His contemporaries could have had. To us He is no mere wonder-working magician, but the wielder of that spiritual force which still raises the dead soul to life, gives strength to the palsied will, and casts out the unclean spirit; the power which is made perfect in weakness, and which is able to use the foolish things of this world to confound the wise. Not even the disciples could, during our Lord’s lifetime on earth, have understood Christ’s power as we understand it.

A poor boy lay dying. The night I saw him was cold and gloomy without, the house within was small and poor. On that bed he had lain for months without a murmur, suffering severe bodily pain. Around him were signs of blood as if he lay wounded on a battle-field. From that pale face, lighted up only by blue eyes serene and quiet, I heard these words the night his spirit met his Saviour, and they were worthy of the greatest warrior, “I am strong in Him.” Yes, child, stronger than all the fleets and armies of Europe.1 [Note: Norman Macleod, Love the Fulfilling of the Law, 24.]

2. We are better able to appreciate Christ’s love.—His contemporaries saw that the Lord was loving; but they naturally read into His life the limitations of which they were conscious in their own, and did not realize the universality of His love. They expected it to be limited by racial antipathies. “How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria,” said the stranger to Him at the well of Sychar. They expected that He would shrink back from contact with sinners. “This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him.” His contemporaries could not so denude themselves of their ordinary conceptions of humanity as to realize that the love of Jesus transcended all human limits, embraced every member of our race, and yearned with special earnestness over the prodigal and the lost. But we, who have never known Christ after the flesh, have some glimpse of the breadth and length and depth and height of that love of Christ which passeth knowledge.

Again, as regards that supreme instance of His love, the offering of Himself for the sins of the world—what was it to those who saw it, to John and Mary, and to those who “stood afar off beholding”? What were the struggling thoughts to which that spectacle gave rise? That He was innocent, that He, the most loving of men, was suffering the cruellest of deaths, that history was repeating itself, and the Jews were slaying their greatest and best, that they themselves were losing their friend, their spiritual helper, so that henceforth life would be dark and sad to them. But how little did they realize that that crucifixion was the great crisis in the world’s history, yes, and the great crisis, too, in the history of every individual soul. How little did they realize then the meaning of His own words, “I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me.” How little did they know that that was a voluntary offering of the God-man, who gave Himself for the life of the world. Afterwards, it is true, they learnt all this; but, remember, they were taught it not by sight, but by faith, and faith alone can draw the inspiring doctrine from love, that whosoever abideth in love abideth in God and God in him.

You cannot see Christ, but you believe that He is true, loving, faithful, touched with sympathy when you suffer; that He knows all about you, and loves you with a love personal, deep, tender, strong, everlasting. You know, too, that He has all power, and that all His power is yours to support, keep, bless, deliver, protect, save you. You know that He has all wisdom—wisdom that never errs, that never counsels rashly, indiscreetly, short-sightedly—and that all this wisdom is for the guidance of your life, the ordering of your steps. As we think along these lines the unseen Christ becomes very real to us.1 [Note: J. R. Miller.]

3. We are better able to realize the abiding presence of Christ.—This was the lesson the Lord was teaching His followers during the forty days. To those who had known Him by sight, He had appeared as bound by the limits of space and time. But the forty days gave the disciples wider views. What would be the effect of His appearing suddenly, when least expected, now in Galilee, now in Jerusalem; revealing Himself to them now as they sit in the room with closed doors, now as they take their evening walk, now as they cast their nets in the Galilean lake? Must not the belief have sprung up in them that their Master might at any moment grow into sight out of the empty space—that, in fact, seen or not seen, He was always beside them, viewing their every action and hearing their every word? His Ascension has made that belief the property of all His followers. The Christian is never troubled now with the thought that Christ cannot be in two places at once. Simultaneously, it may be, to those who lie dying in some far-off battle-field, to those who cling to wrecks in lonely seas, to the mother who sits bereaved beside her dead child, the presence of the Lord is vouchsafed. They realize that He is there, and are calmed and comforted. It is only through His Ascension that the promise has been made good, “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.”

That heroic and saintly missionary, James Gilmour of Mongolia, was one of those whose sense of the abiding presence of Christ was always vivid and supporting. “No one,” he writes, “who does not go away, leaving all and going alone can feel the force of the promise ‘Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world,’ and when I begin to feel my heart threatening to go down, I betake myself to this companionship, and, thank God, I have felt the blessedness of this promise rushing over me repeatedly when I knelt down and spoke to Jesus as a present companion from whom I am sure to find sympathy.”

IV

One Day we shall Walk by Sight

Here and now, while we are at home in the body and absent from the Lord, “we walk by faith, not by sight.” Therefore, by the implication of the whole surrounding thought, when we leave home in the body and get home to the Lord, we walk by sight, and not by faith. “Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed”; yes, for they, as they step out of this life, shall see indeed. True, there will be there, and for ever, occasion enough for an immortal exercise of faith. That world, let us be abundantly assured, will have its mysteries as well as this; its calls to the blessed to confide, to rely, as they worship before the throne. But the conditions will be gloriously altered. It will be a faith exercised under sight. It will be the confidence we feel in some immeasurably wiser friend while he carries out his plans in our presence, and our eyes are all the while upon his face, as against the sometimes trying efforts of a confidence in him exercised at a distance from him, and in spite of false rumours of his death, and amidst a thousand accusations and misrepresentations of his purposes and his actions.

Death, for the believer, for the follower of Jesus Christ, will be to go to Him, to see Him. We shall walk, amidst the trees of that deathless and sinless Paradise, by sight, not by faith. The disciplinary strain, having done its work, will cease. The rest, the sabbatism, having come to its season, will begin, and grow, and bear its fruit of bliss, and knowledge, and endless readiness for the exercise of the powers of the resurrection, in the vernal sunshine of that Sight, that eidos, that most blessed and most beautifying “Object Visible.”1 [Note: Bishop H. C. G. Moule, Christ is All, 93.]

The hope of hopes, the promise of promises, the joy of joys, the crown of crowns, is being with Christ, where He is, that we may see His glory. If Christians in their daily lives, and useful activities, and frequent sorrows would but take this more to heart, how different their whole lives would be, in their level of attainment and in their interpretation of circumstances! Life is beautiful and desirable, chiefly on account of what it leads to and educates us for. But what will it be, when we see God face to face, in the sinless, tearless land? Only let Christ be King in our hearts, and our true satisfaction and consolation about everything; the Friend on whom we lean without knowing it; the Master from whom we take our orders, and who has given each of us our task to do. When that is done, He will send for us. Then surely we should have an unspeakable rest flowing into us: we should cease to fear circumstances, we should only fear to miss using and interpreting them properly. We should be always hoping, with a hope that never makes ashamed; and our joy no man would take away.2 [Note: Bishop Thorold, Questions of Faith and Duty.]

Walking by Faith

Literature

Bersier (E.), in Foreign Protestant Pulpit, i. 1.

Cuckson (J.), Faith and Fellowship, 3.

Darlow (T. H.), Via Sacra, 3.

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Norton (J. N.), Golden Truths, 377.

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Robertson (S.), The Rope of Hair, 175.

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Sturrock (J. B.), Our Present Hope and Our Future Home, 9, 15.

Wagner (C.), Courage, 33.

Westcott (B. F.), The Incarnation and Common Life, 362.

Woodrow (S. G.), Christian Verities, 1.

Christian World Pulpit, xxxv. 244 (J. LI. Davies); lii. 43 (C. Voysey); lvi. 136 (A. H. Bradford); lix. 235 (C. S. Macfarland).

Churchman’s Pulpit: Ascension Day, viii. 506 (A. M. Mackay).

Preachers’ Monthly, vii. 65 (C. J. Vaughan).