speech, what a daring pledge to a world whelmed in tyranny and wrong!  To the women of it, I imagine, it sounded the sweetest, in them woke the highest hopes.  They had scarce had a hearing when the Lord came; and thereupon things began to mend with them, and are mending still, for the Lord is at work, and will be.  He is the refuge of the oppressed.  By its very woes, as by bitterest medicine, he is setting the world free from sin and woe.  This very hour he is curing its disease, the symptoms of which are so varied and so painful; working none the less faithfully that the sick, taking the symptoms for the disease, cry out against the incompetence of their physician.  ’What power can heal the broken-hearted?’ they cry.  And indeed it takes a God to do it, but the God is here!  In yet better words than those of the prophet, spoken straight from his own heart, he cries:  ’Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’  He calls to him every heart knowing its own bitterness, speaks to the troubled consciousness of every child of the Father.  He is come to free us from everything that makes life less than bliss essential.  No other could be a gospel worthy of the God of men.

Every one will, I presume, confess to more or less misery.  Its apparent source may be this or that; its real source is, to use a poor figure, a dislocation of the juncture between the created and the creating life.  This primal evil is the parent of evils unnumbered, hence of miseries multitudinous, under the weight of which the arrogant man cries out against life, and goes on to misuse it, while the child looks around for help—­and who shall help him but his father!  The Father is with him all the time, but it may be long ere the child knows himself in his arms.  His heart may be long troubled as well as his outer life.  The dank mists of doubtful thought may close around his way, and hide from him the Light of the world! cold winds from the desert of foiled endeavour may sorely buffet and for a time baffle his hope; but every now and then the blue pledge of a great sky will break through the clouds over his head; and a faint aurora will walk his darkest East.  Gradually he grows more capable of imagining a world in which every good thing thinkable may be a fact.  Best of all, the story of him who is himself the good news, the gospel of God, becomes not only more and more believable to his heart, but more and more ministrant to his life of conflict, and his assurance of a living father who hears when his children cry.  The gospel according to this or that expounder of it, may repel him unspeakably; the gospel according to Jesus Christ, attracts him supremely, and ever holds where it has drawn him.  To the priest, the scribe, the elder, exclaiming against his self-sufficiency in refusing what they teach, he answers, ’It is life or death to me.  Your gospel I cannot take.  To believe as you would have me believe, would be to lose my God.  Your God is no God to me.  I do not desire him.  I would rather die the death than believe in such a God.  In the name of the true God, I cast your gospel from me; it is no gospel, and to believe it would be to wrong him in whom alone lies my hope.’