We cannot see the world as God means it, save in proportion as our souls are meek.  In meekness only are we its inheritors.  Meekness alone makes the spiritual retina pure to receive God’s things as they are, mingling with them neither imperfection nor impurity of its own.  A thing so beheld that it conveys to me the divine thought issuing in its form, is mine; by nothing but its mediation between God and my life, can anything be mine.  The man so dull as to insist that a thing is his because he has bought it and paid for it, had better bethink himself that not all the combined forces of law, justice, and goodwill, can keep it his; while even death cannot take the world from the man who possesses it as alone the maker of him and it cares that he should possess it.  This man leaves it, but carries it with him; that man carries with him only its loss.  He passes, unable to close hand or mouth upon any portion of it.  Its ownness to him was but the changes he could make in it, and the nearness into which he could bring it to the body he lived in.  That body the earth in its turn possesses now, and it lies very still, changing nothing, but being changed.  Is this the fine of the great buyer of land, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt?  In the soul of the meek, the earth remains an endless possession—­his because he who made it is his—­his as nothing but his maker could ever be the creature’s.  He has the earth by his divine relation to him who sent it forth from him as a tree sends out its leaves.  To inherit the earth is to grow ever more alive to the presence, in it and in all its parts, of him who is the life of men.  How far one may advance in such inheritance while yet in the body, will simply depend on the meekness he attains while yet in the body; but it may be, as Frederick Denison Maurice, the servant of God, thought while yet he was with us, that the new heavens and the new earth are the same in which we now live, righteously inhabited by the meek, with their deeper-opened eyes.  What if the meek of the dead be thus possessing it even now!  But I do not care to speculate.  It is enough that the man who refuses to assert himself, seeking no recognition by men, leaving the care of his life to the Father, and occupying himself with the will of the Father, shall find himself, by and by, at home in the Father’s house, with all the Father’s property his.

Which is more the possessor of the world—­he who has a thousand houses, or he who, without one house to call his own, has ten in which his knock at the door would rouse instant jubilation?  Which is the richer—­the man who, his large money spent, would have no refuge; or he for whose necessity a hundred would sacrifice comfort?  Which of the two possessed the earth—­king Agrippa or tent-maker Paul?