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Stones and dust! Stones that have fallen out of place and lie scattered on the ground; dust that flies on every wind and drops back again into crevice and heap. Stones that are chipped and stained with smoke and fire and blood; dust, the final form of great things, the last remainder of vanished glories. There is nothing specially interesting or attractive about these things; you would not go out of the way to view them. Yet to a certain few they are beautiful with a beauty neither nature nor art can give. They are the stones of a temple that once smoked with sacrifice and rang with resounding psalms. It is the dust of a shrine that once reared its head into the sky, and centred in itself the national pride and worship.

I. BRICKS AND STONES AND MORTAR ARE NEITHER INTERESTING NOR IMPRESSIVE MATERIALS. Scattered about over yards and fields, they have no attraction for any one except the boys of the neighbourhood. But bring them together, combine them, and their condition is at once altered, and the commonplace things become a force whose power all men must acknowledge. Weld them into the monument of some illustrious statesman, and crowds will gather round it and garland it with flowers. Build them into some cathedral of vast proportions, and the effect is overwhelming; you sink into insignificance, and feel like an ant crawling over its floor. Fashion them into some mighty sepulchre to hold the dust of some uncrowned king, and pilgrims from the far places of the earth will come to gaze upon it.

II. THE TEMPLE STONES HAVE A POWER OVER US, BUT THE SECRET OF THEIR POWER IS NOT SO MUCH IN THEM AS IN THAT WITH WHICH THEY ARE IDENTIFIED. It may be found partly in the memories which cluster about them. Round those stones of the Temple there hung for the Jew memories of his two great kings, David and Solomon — memories of the full tide of national prosperity and the zenith of their power as an empire; of the great priests and prophets who had ruled them; of the oracles and revelations in national need; of great days of festival; and of sacrifice, confession, and pardon. And our less ancient and less historic fanes are full of memories, less splendid, but equally dear. There is the memory of one long since dead, who first guided our little feet up the aisle. There is the memory of the saintly men who first taught us how sweet and strong and beautiful human character could be. There is the memory of friendships formed there and loves born there which have been woven into our lives, and are part of our lives for ever. There is the memory of that great hour when we first discovered Christ was real and living, and knew what it was to believe and be saved.

III. IT IS CUSTOMARY FOR SOME TO LOOK UPON THIS AFFECTION WITH SCARCELY VEILED CONTEMPT. They call it love for bricks and mortar, and dub it superstition and sentiment. Instead of being a superstition or sentiment, this attachment to God's house is one of the great forces which make for the building of character. Love of the temple is love of the best and highest, and its harvest is nobility of character and righteousness of life. Let us use our wisdom, our intellects, our energy, and our wealth to make the temple increasingly dear. Let us make it so beautiful, its service so attractive, its ministry so strong, its power so Christlike that the love for the stones of His house — which is one of the strongest formative and conserving forces in the lives of men and nations — may be the common and binding sentiment of all classes of men.

(C. E. Stone.)

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KJV: For thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and favour the dust thereof.

WEB: For your servants take pleasure in her stones, and have pity on her dust.