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The area of the earth is covered, we may almost say, with the ruins of extinct empires. The empires which have risen upon those ruins have no more inherent right and title to perpetuity than their predecessors had. The debris of the grandeur of Rome are around us and beneath us, even as we sit here. If the greatness of Rome collapsed and fell, why not England's? The life of a nation is a wonderful, a most complex, and a most subtle thing. First of all, there is that which is the most obvious and patent of all — its material prosperity, its command of the good things of this life. How high England stands amongst the nations in this respect we all know. There is no question as to her being the wealthiest nation of the world. Now this she might be, and yet the wealth might be so concentrated in a few hands as to add nothing to the welfare and well-being of the nation regarded as a whole. In England, however, at the present moment, this can hardly be said to be the case. The present tendency of things undoubtedly is towards a more equal distribution of the wealth of the community. The general rise of wages has had the effect of diffusing the comforts of life over a much wider area than formerly. And there is nothing as yet to indicate that this tendency has exhausted itself, or is likely in the near future to run in the contrary direction. The words from which we set out suggest a danger of a different kind — a gradual drying-up of the springs of industry through a gradual drying-up of the profits of capital, tending to a transfer of that capital to other countries and other employments. This, however, is still only a possible danger. There is nothing as yet to show that any such dangerous reaction has decisively set in. So far, then, as England's greatness depends upon her material prosperity there is nothing as yet to show that that greatness is on the decline. But then it must never be forgotten that to say this is not saying very much. "With thy wisdom and with thine understanding," writes Ezekiel of Tyre, in language which might be transferred without the alteration of a single letter to the case of England, "thou hast gotten thee riches, and hast gotten gold and silver into thy treasuries: by thy great wisdom and by thy traffic hast thou increased thy riches, and thine heart is lifted up because of thy riches." And what then? Is all this wealth in the prophet's eye any pledge of permanent greatness, any guarantee against the decline of that greatness? On the contrary, the prophet's last word, in God's name, upon Tyre is this: "Thou hast defiled thy sanctuaries by the iniquity of thy traffic; therefore will I bring forth a fire from the midst of thee; it shall devour thee," etc. Upon the whole, then, so far as England's material prosperity — its wealth, in the ordinary sense of the word — is concerned, though there may be cause for anxiety, there seems to be nothing to compel alarm. We may pass, then, now to the discussion of another element of a nation's life, which I may describe as the intellectual element. In the case of England, very little needs to be said about this; and that little has no right to be unhopeful or discouraging. The education of the masses has advanced of late years, and still continues to advance, with giant strides; and, however it may have been or may still in a measure be, it will certainly not be long before England will cease to be liable to the reproach of being backward amongst the nations in the race of intellectual culture. But what about those moral and religious elements which constitute, far above everything else, the vital forces of a nation's life? What about these — these, which are indeed that "soul," by which alone, according to the poet's most true words, "the nations" can be "great and free"? In that passage which I have already quoted from Ezekiel's Book there is a phrase which is not, I fear, without its sting for England now, as for Tyre then: "The iniquity of thy traffick." What the special iniquity of Tyre's traffic was, it is impossible at this distance of time, and indeed it is not for us, to say. But will any Englishman dare to maintain that there is not, nor has been, any iniquity in the traffic of England? For example, is not that word "business" used to cover a multitude of practices which, if carried beyond the circle of trade and commerce, would be at once stigmatised, in plain English, as false, counterfeit, hypocritical? And will it be urged that a lie is less a lie, and therefore less hurtful and demoralising to him who tells it, if told in the counting-house, or behind the counter, or in the workshop or factory, than if told in the domestic or social circle, or in the common intercourse of daily life? We are discussing, remember, the moral and religious aspects of our English life, with the object of ascertaining whether they indicate the decay of our national greatness, or not. That there are dangerous symptoms no one will deny. We trace them, unmistakably, in things so notorious as the vast dimensions of the liquor traffic — the spread of secularism and unbelief — and a mass of misery and wretchedness, due to improvidence and vice and violation of the sanctities of the home life. But as it is in the natural body, so it is also in the body politick. In both there are forces of decay and dissolution ever at work. And in both there are also forces of life and renovation ever at work until the actual moment of death supervenes. Indeed the life of the natural body has been defined, and very aptly defined, as "the sum of the forces by which we resist death." When, then, we would forecast the future, and shape an answer to the question, "Is England's greatness on the decline?" our question really amounts to this, "Which set of forces is at the present moment in the ascendant, those which tend to national decay and dissolution, or those which tend to national life, vigour, and health?" We can only say, "Thou knowest, Lord." But the difficulty, which is insuperable speculatively, yields at a touch practically. We can, at any rate, one and all, resolve that our lives shall be flung into the scale in which are the forces of national life and strength, and not into the opposite scale. First, by all means cultivate your minds; and not your minds only, but your bodies also. Next, by all means cultivate your citizen-life-your life as members of this great and noble commonwealth of England. Last of all, and above all, cultivate, with the utmost diligence and ardour, your home-life. Do everything that lies in your power for the comfort and welfare and happiness of your wives and children. And into your whole life — as men, as citizens, as husbands and fathers — let me beseech you ever to carry the thought of God, and an earnest desire and a loyal resolve to do His will.

(Canon D. J. Vaughan.)

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KJV: And cried when they saw the smoke of her burning, saying, What city is like unto this great city!

WEB: and cried out as they looked at the smoke of her burning, saying, 'What is like the great city?'