he has but in part conquered himself; that his repentance is incomplete, is evidenced by the incompleteness of its fruit.

But if we are so easily beguiled in our efforts to repent, if we can so easily be self-deceived, and through impatience stop short in that which we have well begun, what must we do? We must pray to God to give us a true sense of sin, to give us true repentance, and His Holy Spirit, to assist us in this great and difficult work, to enable us boldly to go through with it, to give us a more tender conscience, a greater willingness to submit to godly sorrow, to check our impatience for consolation, our forwardness in seizing on religious joy. Then after deep humiliation, and due discipline of the soul, we shall at last be able to rejoice in the Lord, and to have our heart filled with peace through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Peace will indeed at last be given, and joy in the Holy Ghost; devout consolations will at last be poured into the soul, and the spirit that perseveres in penitence will be refreshed at last. Is it likely that the clouds should be instantly rolled away from the soul that has sinned against the Lord? Is it likely that all heaviness should be instantly dispersed? We may thankfully bear heaviness

for a season, thankfully humble ourselves before God, thankfully sit even for many days in dust and ashes, if we have hope of forgiveness and reconciliation and peace at last. Blessed be God for the hope of forgiveness which the sinner has in Christ Jesus our Lord.

JOHN HENRY PARKER, OXFORD AND LONDON.

Sermons for the Christian Seasons.

ST. PETER'S DAY.

GOOD RESOLUTIONS.

ST. MATT. xxvi. 35. Peter said unto Him, Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee.

ST. PETER was ready, as he thought, even to die for his Lord. And on our Saviour sorrowfully declaring that when the Shepherd should be smitten the sheep would be scattered abroad, that all His disciples would take flight, St. Peter was deeply grieved that he should be included in the reproachful prophecy, that he should be suspected of flying from his Master in time of need. Whatever the rest might do, he felt sure that he at any rate would not suffer his Lord to bear the storm alone, and he gave vent to his conviction in those warm and resolute words, "Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee."

Now we know that St. Peter meant all he said; he was quite sincere; his love of Christ was strong and deep; there was a great deal of

genuine warmth and earnestness in his character; he was not a mere boastful talker about love; nor did his expression of attachment in the least degree exceed or outrun what was passing in his heart. He really felt himself at the time prepared even to die if need be for his Lord; he was convinced that he could reckon upon himself; he had no misgivings as to his own stedfastness; he was pained and distressed at the bare suspicion of his proving faint-hearted in the day of trial. You will remember that when St. Peter was called that very night to a trial which fell far short of dying for his Lord, our Saviour's prophecy concerning him was exactly fulfilled. Thrice he denied that he knew Him, and the last time even with an oath. And when the cock crew our Lord turned and looked upon St. Peter, and "he went out and wept bitterly." What a melancholy instance does this give us of the unstedfastness and weakness of the strongest human love! What seems to have the strength of iron is tried and leant upon, and behold, it is brittle as a reed, breaking and splintering in the hand.

But let us now proceed to apply this history to ourselves. We have all had, I suppose, our seasons of religious ardour, when we have made

great resolutions of serving God, when we have felt as if nothing could henceforth dim our desires for heaven, nothing weaken our resolutions, nothing draw us back to our former ways, nothing separate us from Christ, nothing deaden our sense of the tremendous importance of preparing ourselves for Christ's coming. When the religious feelings have been excited and we have been brought to know with any degree of depth the value of our souls, we have thought that the stream of awakened zeal and religious desire could be always kept up to the same height; we have been unwilling to allow the possibility of any sinking down or ebbing of the tide. We have imagined that whatever we may have been in former days, that the time was past for being again fascinated and led captive by the world, that the sense of religion was then something too strong to be shaken by any common winds, that we had taken a fixed and determined stand, and had so completely seen through the world, had such a clear insight and consciousness of its hollowness, such experience of the unsatisfying character of its pursuits, as to be past its power.

How can we again, so we speak to ourselves, turn back from so satisfying a life to feed on husks? We have now tasted of worldly things