and you I will exert a Christian influBe not a nominal but

where you are,
ence widely over the world.

a real Christian, and virtue will go out of you over parallels of latitude and across meridians of longitude where your feet never stood, and your voice will never be heard. Be a Christian society in fact as well as in form, and you will do more to convert mankind, ay, even in heathen lands, than by the mere expenditure of hundreds and thousands in silver and gold. Be a Christian in your disposition and life, as well as appearance and profession; or, as the word of the Son of God shall prove true, you can have no greeting for yourself from him at last but

"I never knew you. You worshipped, in the outward form, in my Father's house. You sat at my table. You fondly thought yourself a Christian, and you passed for a Christian in the world. But I never knew you. There was never any real sympathy between your spirit and mine. Your thoughts and motives were not mine. You did not love God and man with an affection like mine. I never knew you: depart from me, all ye that work iniquity!" God, in his infinite mercy through Jesus Christ, grant us a better salutation in the hour of our great and extreme need!

DISCOURSE IV.

THE WIDOW'S MITES.

Mark xii. 43.

THIS POOR WIDOW HATH CAST MORE IN THAN ALL THEY WHICH HAVE CAST INTO THE TREASURY.

THE Treasury was a part of the Jewish Temple, devoted to the reception of gifts consecrated for religious purposes. At the time to which the text refers, the Saviour had been sitting near it, answering the cavils of the Scribes and Sadducees, till they were completely silenced. Then, the conversation ceasing, he looked up, and beheld the people casting money into the treasury; and many that were rich cast in much. "And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing."

At once the Saviour's mind, ever alive to the impression of moral beauty, was excited. He cared nothing about the greatness or smallness of outward deeds, but observed only the grandeur or meanness of the soul. Thus the humble gift moved him more than all the splendid donations; and he even called his disciples to him, that he might express to them his solemn approbation of the woman's disinterested charity.

"This poor widow hath cast more in than they all." There is a seeming paradox in this declaration; but, on considering, we may find a greater propriety in it than we might at first suppose. In some important respects, the widow had cast in "more than they all," not, indeed, in absolute amount; for her charity could even be distinguished only by the most insignificant term of value. But, it is important to be observed, the greatness of a gift cannot be determined by its absolute amount : it can be truly ascertained only by a moral standard.

The first index on this moral standard points to the ability to bestow. The widow had given more than the wealthy, in proportion to her ability; for, while they contributed of their abundance, she had given in her penury. With no rich fund on which to draw, but only the slender resources provided for the present necessity, the stay of her life removed from her side, and she left alone in the world dependent for daily food on daily labor,― still she so reverenced sacred institutions, she could not refrain from yielding her contribution to their support. And she gave the whole treasure she could at the time command; for, though it was but "two mites," we are informed it was "all her living." She was willing to go without even her plain fare, and fast for a time, trusting to Providence for future supplies, that she might help the service of the house of God.

How far, then, did the benefactions of those wealthy ones fall below her offering! All they gave, much as it was, never caused them to sit at a less

sumptuous table, or repose on a couch less costly, or wear less precious raiment. Their contributions were as much less than their living, as the widow's mites, which were "all her living," were less than their gifts of gold. And, even while they stood at the Temple, their servants were busy in their rich dwellings, preparing savory viands against their masters' return. But the widow's habitation was desolate in her absence; the fire had gone out upon her hearth; and she must return, not to a luxurious feast, but to an empty board. In such circumstances, abundant, indeed, was her contribution. To have equalled her generosity, they must have coined their fields and cattle into silver and gold, and filled the treasury to overflowing with the price of their whole estates. Truly, the poor widow gave more than they all; for the true measure of a gift is determined, not by its absolute amount, but according to a moral standard. And one index of this standard points to the ability to bestow.

But a second mark upon this standard indicates the disposition that prompts the gift. May it not be laid down as a principle, that the greatness of a gift depends, not only on the ability to bestow it, but on the feelings with which it is bestowed? There may be no generosity in the most magnificent bequest; while a soul overflowing with love may accompany the humblest present. You may remember that you have often been most grateful for the simplest tokens of regard, while the glitter of jewels and richly wrought robes has fallen coldly on your eye. In

deed, we may even say that strong love is disposed to make use of unpretending symbols. It shrinks from display. It knows that no price of pearls and gold can equal its own richness. And it would make its own richness felt, not convey a certain exchangeable value. Thus more affection has been expressed by a flower, or a lock of hair, or some simple article of household convenience, than by diamonds and rubies.

Many of those Pharisees who gave most abundantly to the treasury were doubtless moved, not by a feeling of love at all, but by a spirit of pride and ostentation. Having no reverence for sacred institutions, they thought perhaps that they were not so much discharging a debt to their Maker as conferring a favor on his servants. They would be praised for their generosity, and therefore rendered their gifts, not with modest concealment, but with conspicuous display. Oh! how often is this virtue of charity thus prostituted to base ends! Men take to themselves great merit for alms-giving, when all their benevolence abridges no personal comfort, perhaps no sensual indulgence. They may use their charities to gratify the pride of appearance, or to gain improper sway over other minds; or they may consider their generosity an atonement for their sins, as if an apparently good deed could sanctify a really bad motive. Such impulses have swayed many in all ages, degrading charity from a high virtue to a fair-seeming vice; and they may have actuated those of whom Christ spoke.