In the most literal sense our text is true.  Because He lives we live also.  He is the same for ever, therefore we are not consumed.  The foundation of our being lies beyond and beneath all the mutable things from which we are tempted to believe that we draw our lives, and is in God.  The true lesson to be drawn from the mutable phenomena of earth is—­heaven.  The many links in the chain must have a staple.  Reason requires that behind all the fleeting shall be the permanent.  There must be a basis which does not partake of change.  The lesson from all the mutable creation is the immutable God.

Since God changes not, the life of our spirits is not at the mercy of changing events.  We look back on a lifetime of changing scenes through which we have passed, and forward to a similar succession, and this mutability is sad to many of us, and in some aspects sad to all, so powerless we are to fix and arrest any of our blessings.  Which we shall keep we know not; we only know that, as certainly as buds and blossoms of spring drop, and the fervid summer darkens to November fogs and December frosts, so certainly we shall have to part with much in our passage through life.  But if we let God speak to us, the necessary changes that come to us will not be harmful but blessed, for the lesson that the mutability of the mutual is meant to impress upon us is, the permanency of the divine, and our dependence, not on them, but on Him.  We may look upon all the world of time and chance and think that He who Himself is unchanging changeth all.  The eye of the tempest is a point of rest.  The point in the heavens towards which, according to some astronomers, the whole of the solar system is drifting, is a fixed point.  If we depend on Him, then change is not all sad; it cannot take God away, but it may bring us nearer to Him.  We cannot be desolate as long as we have Him.  We know not what shall be on the morrow.  Be it so; it will be God’s to-morrow.  When the leaves drop we can see the rock on which the trees grow; and when changes strip the world for us of some of its waving beauty and leafy shade, we may discern more clearly the firm foundation on which our hopes rest.  All else changes.  Be it so; that will not kill us, nor leave us utterly forlorn as long as we hear the voice which says, ’I am the Lord; I change not; therefore ye are not consumed.’

God’s purposes and promises change not, therefore our faith may rest on Him, notwithstanding our own sins and fluctuations.  It is this aspect of the divine immutability which is the thought of our text.  God does not turn from His love, nor cancel His promises, nor alter His purposes of mercy because of our sins.  If God could have changed, the godless forgetfulness of, and departure from, Him of ‘the Sons of Jacob’ would have driven Him to abandon His purposes; but they still live—­living evidences of His long-suffering.  And in that preservation of them God would have them see the basis of hope for the