thee well, loved thee eternally.  I tell thee, believer, if thou canst go back to the years of eternity; if thou canst in thy mind run back to that period, or ere the everlasting hills were fashioned, or the fountains of the great deep scooped out, and if thou canst see thy God inscribing thy name in His eternal book; if thou canst see in His loving heart eternal thoughts of love to thee, thou wilt find this a charming means of giving thee songs in the night.  No songs like those which come from electing love; no sonnets like those that are dictated by meditations on discriminating mercy.  Some, indeed, cannot sing of election:  the Lord open their mouths a little wider!  Some there are that are afraid of the very term; but we only despise men who are afraid of what they believe, afraid of what God has taught them in His Bible.  No, in our darker hours it is our joy to sing: 

  “Sons we are through God’s election,
    Who in Jesus Christ believe;
  By eternal destination,
    Sovereign grace we now receive. 
  Lord, thy favor,
    Shall both grace and glory give.”

Think, Christian, of the yesterday, I say, and thou wilt get a song in the night.  But if thou hast not a voice tuned to so high a key as that, let me suggest some other mercies thou mayest sing of; and they are the mercies thou hast experienced.  What! man, canst thou not sing a little of that blest hour when Jesus met thee; when, a blind slave, thou wast sporting with death, and He saw thee, and said:  “Come, poor slave, come with me”?  Canst thou not sing of that rapturous moment when He snapt thy fetters, dashed thy chains to the earth, and said:  “I am the Breaker; I came to break thy chains, and set thee free”?  What tho thou art ever so gloomy now, canst thou forget that happy morning, when in the house of God thy voice was loud, almost as a seraph’s voice, in praise? for thou couldst sing:  “I am forgiven; I am forgiven”: 

  “A monument of grace,
  A sinner saved by blood.”

Go back, man; sing of that moment, and then thou wilt have a song in the night?  Or if thou hast almost forgotten that, then sure thou hast some precious milestone along the road of life that is not quite grown over with moss, on which thou canst read some happy inspiration of His mercy toward thee!  What! didst thou never have a sickness like that which thou art suffering now, and did He not raise thee up from that?  Wast thou never poor before, and did He not supply thy wants?  Wast thou never in straits before, and did He not deliver thee?  Come, man!  I beseech thee, go to the river of thine experience, and pull up a few bulrushes, and weave them into an ark, wherein thy infant faith may float safely on the stream.  I bid thee not forget what God hath done.  What! hast thou buried thine own diary?  I beseech thee, man, turn over the book of thy remembrance.  Canst thou not see some sweet hill Mizar?  Canst thou not think of some blest hour when the Lord met