the face of the born-blind?” Here also are those who have felt the fearful grasp of pain, whose nerves have been shocked, and the whole frame tortured by untold sufferings; and those who cannot walk forth on God’s earth with free elastic step, nor pursue any manly toil—­the infirm, the crippled, the helpless.  How it saddens the heart to look upon them, and hear their moans!  Yet they all have a look of hope on their faces.  The kind angel who descends to ruffle the hitherto calm waters of the lake may be near at hand.  Soon sorrow to some of these will give place to proportioned gladness.  He who can first bathe his limbs in the blessed wave, says the sacred oracle, shall find relief from every infirmity.  First:  It is a short and simple word, yet how much of meaning it contains, and in its connection here how much instruction it affords!  It is ever thus under the moral and providential government of God.  The first to ask his blessing are those who gain it.  “Those who seek Him early are the ones to find Him.”  The prompt and active are the successful competitors.  To those who with the dawning day are found offering their daily sacrifice, He vouchsafes most of his blessed presence.  “Give Him thy first thoughts then; so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in Him sleep.”

It is those who dedicate to Him the freshness of youth, that thrive most under His culture, and still bring forth fruit in old age.  Their whole lives are spent beneath the shadow of his wings, and they know not the doubts and fears of those who long wandered before they sought that sheltering spot.  They who are on the watch, who see the cloud as big as a man’s hand, are the largest recipients of the blessing when the Spirit is poured out from on high.  The lingerers, who think they need not bestir themselves, for the blessing is sure, may nevertheless fail, for though there was a sound of rain, the clouds may scatter, when but a few drops have fallen, and the first be the only ones who are refreshed.

But we are wandering.  In this porch lies one who scarce bears any resemblance to living humanity, and from his woe-worn countenance has departed the last glimmering of hope.  “Thirty and eight years” a helpless being! a burden to himself and all around him!  Alas, of what untold miseries has sin made human flesh the inheritor!  He came long since to this healing pool, with cheerful anticipations, perhaps undoubting faith, that he should soon walk forth a man among men.  But he has been grievously disappointed.  He seems friendless as well as impotent.  Listen while he answers the inquiry of one who speaks kindly to him:  “Sir, I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool; but while I am coming another steppeth down before me.”  This is indeed hopeless wretchedness.  But who is it thus asking, “Wilt thou be made whole?” Little didst thou dream, unfortunate, yet most fortunate, of sufferers, who it was thus bending tenderly over thy painful couch!  Said we that thou wert friendless; that none knew thy woes?  Blessed be God, there is ever One eye to see, One ear to hear, One heart to pity.