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FRIENDLY VISITOR.

No. 243.]

DECEMBER, 1838.

[VOL. 20.

THOUGHTS ON TIME.

A friend of mine was lately travelling outside a coach, in the West of England, when he found sitting by the coachman a young man who was very talkative with his neighbour, and soon made it known that he was going to try his fortune in Australia. My friend in a little time recognized him as the son of General After telling his plans very freely to the coachman, he made this remark: "But what a misery it is, that life is so short: here I am taking a long farewell of my family; I am going to toil in a far distant land; and if I prosper, and get a fortune, and live to return to England, just as I am in a condition to enjoy life, and be happy, I find that life is fast ebbing: sickness, old age creeps on, and I must die at the very moment when life becomes attractive and desirable. What a bore this is! Coachee, don't you think so?” He rattled on at such a rate, that the coachman had little opportunity of giving more than a short assent to his observations, nor was he one who knew how to drop a word in season. But my friend, who heard every word that passed, could not do otherwise than long to set before him a more excellent way. By degrees he got into conversation with him. There was a candour and a frankness, which, added to his approaching emigration, excited the deepest, interest for him. I need not relate all that passed between them; suffice it to say, that my friend had the opportunity of saying every thing that he could wish, and was heard with the most anxious attention. The glorious Gospel of Christ, in its rich fulness, bringing the sinner into a state of happy reconciliation with his God in this world, and to endless glory in the next, was heard of with delight, and my friend parted from this young adventurer with a sanguine hope that the God of mercy had met

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him on the way, and opened to him springs of happiness and mines of wealth, far, far beyond all that his industry and skill in foreign lands could compass.

How this little anecdote shews the importance of always being ready to offer a word in season! We never know how much good we may be the means of doing. Many a long and weary journey, and, it may be, profitless in its object, may be more than repaid by the conversion of some soul to God. With the love of Christ and of our fellow-men really working in our hearts, we need never fear the result of a judicious effort.

But this anecdote seems to suggest to me some seasonable reflections for a closing year.

How character is brought to light by the different ways in which men regard the flight of time!

Look at the man of the world. He has no pleasant, welcome thought beyond the grave. He pays perhaps great deference to revelation, and never for a moment questions the existence of a future state; but his thoughts regarding heaven go no further than this, that it is clearly well to be happy hereafter, and to escape everlasting misery. Heaven is with him little, if at all, more than the best of two alternatives. There is no delight in God as the soul's portion; no real love for Christ as the Redeemer of ruined sinners; no experience of the Holy Spirit as a well of water in the soul springing up into everlasting life; no realizing enjoyment of perhaps a long professed article of faith "The communion of saints." But his portion is on earth. No matter what course he has chosen, his treasure is below: it may be in sin, or honour, or wealth, or pleasure; but he has not a thought beyond this world for happiness. And what is the consequence of all this? Why, that when his broken cistern fails, or gives symptoms of failing, he is alarmed. "They have taken away my gods, and what have I left?" Hence, every pain, every sickness terrifies. The loss of friends, the misfortunes of life, the creeping on of old age fills him with dismay. Time, which he would

gladly stay in its course, only seems to fly more rapidly, the longer he lives, and the more he covets its continuance. Year after year passes over his head, only to find him more and more the wretched prey of fearful, disappointed feelings. He looks back, and sees the world treacherous. He looks forward, and sees no resting-place for his anxious wishes.

Oh! is there one poor worldling led by the providence of God to glance at these pages! I would fain be your friend. May the Lord help me to be so. Is it not thus with you? Does not the flight of time mar all the blessings you enjoy? Why that heaving sigh? Why that anxious carefulness? You cling to earth; you have no better prospect. Your idols twine round your affections. You cannot bear the thought, that the stream of time should carry you from them. With all the vanity and misery mixed up with your enjoyments, you would gladly compound with the Almighty for an eternity of your present being. No distant treasure captivates; no enduring inheritance is realized, which you can put against all the world, aye, and ten thousand worlds, if you had them. Oh! poor worldling, time will not tarry for thee. Onwards, onwards, is time's motto..

How the years in quick and increasingly quick succession escape out of thy grasp. How rapidly art thou rushing to the grave, to the moment when thou shalt be stript of every thing, and leave the world as naked as thou camest into it. I wonder not at thy trembling. I only wonder that thou canst endure thy burden. Men seem to brave their sorrows, and present the heedless smile; but what hearts of lead is the world filled with! Care may be drowned for a season, but only to come again with a fearful increase. too late then, reader, rouse, and be wise. determined master, and he will be served. 'There is no struggling for the mastery. He will not wait. He will either drag thee forward, or allure; which shall it be? Shall life wear out blasted and withered in all its happiness by a clinging to that from which it is drag

Ere it be Time is a

ging thee, or be brightened and sweetened more and more by the very thought that it is fast ebbing, that the ast sand will soon be run, and time, with all its evils, merge in an eternity of bliss.

Methinks I hear you ask, is such a thing possible? Can I really be brought to view time even in the quickLess of its course, my friend? Yes, dear reader, it is possible. Even you may yet rise from the dust, and get under that hallowed influence which shall enable you to know something of a cheerful waiting, yea, perhaps of a holy restlessness for that period when time shall be no longer.

All depends upon the position of our treasure. Now, look at the real Christian. He was once like you, a poor grovelling worm of the earth, without one pleasant, lively thought beyond it. The grave chilled every feeling within him. Death was horrible in prospect. Time, swiftly passing time, cut up all his comforts. But the grace of God has made all new the grace of God has quickened him to a new life. The grace of God has begotten him again to a lively hope of an inheritance in heaven. The prospect has changed his whole system. Oh! how he has laboured to flee from the wrath to come. Oh! how beseechingly has he gone to Christ for pardon through his blood. Oh! how he has lamented and bewailed his manifold sins, and implored grace and strength to lead a new and heavenly life. And how tremblingly alive is he to the thought, that to save his soul is indeed the one thing needful. And these holy exercises of soul produce a corresponding effect. God is found of them that seek him. The good Shepherd exults over the recovery of his stray sheep. Angels fill heaven with joy. And then what a change! Time is turned from a foe into a friend. “Why is his chariot so long in coming? why tarry the wheels of his chariot?" Now, all that is truly good has yet to come. Time has to carry us forward to it; to the end of all that troubles, of all that grieves, of all that endangers. Time has to launch us into the full fruition of God; into the sight of the blessed Jesus as he is; into the com

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