DISCOURSE XLIII. CHARLES H. SPURGEON. THE appearance of no man since the days of Wesley and Whitefield, has produced a deeper sensation in Great Britain than has that of this young clergyman. He is now but about twenty-three years of age, having been born at Kelvedon, Essex, June the 19th, 1834. His father and grandfather are both Independent ministers. There is a younger brother of much promise, now in the Baptist College at Stepney. His early education was respectable. To use his own words, in answer to our inquiries, he obtained his education "nominally at divers schools, really by summer rambles, hard private studies, and close observation." He passed a year in the Agricultural College at Maidstone, in the study of natural science, then he became usher of a school, first in Newmarket, and subsequently at Cambridge. While thus employed, he began to address Sabbath-schools; and, finding that his efforts in this way proved attractive, he commenced preaching, in 1851, on Sunday evenings, in the surrounding villages. In the autumn of that year, a small Baptist church at Waterbeach (five miles north-east of Cambridge), invited him to become their pastor. Answering to their call, he entered earnestly upon the labors of the ministry, preaching as many as three hundred and sixty-five sermons in a year—not only in his own chapel, but as an evangelist in surrounding villages. His fervid and engaging manner, his extreme youth, and the wonderful activity which he manifested, attracted public attention, and, in January, 1854, he was invited to the pastoral care of the Baptist church in New Park-street, London, where he now preaches. The church, which was then small, now numbers nearly a thousand communicants. Mr. Spurgeon never appears on the platform, but only in the pulpit, and he preaches some ten times a week, often traveling miles to accomplish it. One hundred persons who have united with his church, date their conversion, under God, to the sermons he preached in Exeter Hall, while his house was being enlarged, and fifteen of them to one sermon. A thousand people are said to be present, sometimes, at the prayer-meeting. Mr. Spurgeon is said to be of the middle size, thick set in figure, with a deep, capacious chest, and a throat, and tongue, and lip, all formed for oratory. His hair is black, over a tolerably wide forehead; his eyes dark, and deeply set. His manner in the pulpit is energy from first to last, impelled by a vehement purpose, and a determination to arouse from the beginning. A frequent hearer gives the following description: "When he is fairly engaged with his subject, his countenance is full of earnestness, and he speaks with a force and impetuosity, an intensity and nimbleness, which at once engages and rivets the attention of his audience. The force of his diction is absolutely overwhelming. He plunges at once into his subject, illustrates it with the noblest and grandest images which the imagination is capable of conceiving, until he conducts the listener to a climax at once startling from its novelty, and striking from its appositeness. His readiness and command of language, strong, idiomatic, and varied, is quite astonishing in so young a man; and he pours forth a torrent of eloquence with a vigor and velocity which is only equaled by the skill and consummate ability with which it is sustained to the end of his discourse." His sermons are wholly unwritten, but are usually taken down in short-hand by the reporters, at whose request he is understood frequently to revise them before publication. Immense numbers of them are printed, and circulated all through Great Britain. Two volumes have been published in this country, of the first of which more than twenty thousand copies were called for in less than a year, and of the second (lately published), some ten thousand or over are understood to have been sold. pulpit, or the platform, They invite criticism, to In one thing, how It has been remarked, that great orators, whether of the or the senate-chamber, make many friends and many foes. say the least; and of this Mr. Spurgeon has had his full share. ever, we believe there is unanimity of opinion: that he is not open to the censure of Quintilian: "His greatest excellence is, that he has no fault; and his greatest fault is, that he has no excellence." By common consent, too, he has pulpit power. There must be something more than vehement declamation to hold an audience, of several thousands of hearers, spell-bound for a full hour, and be compelled, even at the expiration of a period of two years or more, to use tickets of admission, and hang out placards that the house was filled, in order to prevent suffocation in the largest places of public gathering. A still more striking evidence of his ministerial ability, is the approval of the Spirit, in the piety and edification of his flock, and the large and almost constant accession of converts to the faith of the gospel. No man could accomplish what Mr. Spurgeon has done and is doing, especially with his lack of the culture of the schools, unless remarkably endowed by the great Head of the church. It is, moreover, universally admitted, we believe, that he is a man of prayer, and of deep and unaffected piety. If the grace of humility continues to be vouchsafed, his career may become one of most extended usefulness. As to the character of Mr. Spurgeon's sermons, while they contain things exceptionable, and would not in all cases suit a fastidious taste, they may yet be read with profit. They would be of special service in cases where a preacher is "dull by rule," and his pulpit is "dying of dignity." Their more marked peculiarities, are, a happy choice of texts and subjects, simple and natural arrangement of the several parts, almost always textual; an entire absence of learned criticism, and thorough exposition; a happy weaving in of Scripture phraseology, the evangelical element being their warp and woof; a lucid, simple, colloquial style of utterance; sprightliness, and originality of conception; frequent and graphic narrative; apt poetical quotations, and striking figures and illustrations, sometimes homely, but always telling; high-toned doctrinal sentiment, and fervid, faithful home appeals to the heart and conscience of saint and unbeliever. The sermon which we have selected is a favorable specimen. Some of Mr. Spurgeon's most marked felicities of conception and style are here perceivable. The subject affords room for the play of his wonderful fancy, and his seemingly instinctive ingenuity in bringing forward just the points which are most telling and attractive. SONGS IN THE NIGHT. "But none saith, Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night?"—JOB, XXXV. 10. ELIHU was a wise man, exceeding wise, though not as wise as the allwise Jehovah, who sees light in the clouds, and finds order in confusion; hence Elihu, being much puzzled at beholding Job thus afflicted, cast about him to find the cause of it, and he very wisely hit upon one of the most likely reasons, although it did not happen to be the right one in Job's case. He said within himself" Surely, if men be tried and troubled exceedingly, it is because, while they think about their troubles and distress themselves about their fears, they do not say, 'Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night?". Elihu's reason was very right in the majority of cases. The great cause of the Christian's distress, the reason of the depths of sorrow into which many believers are plunged, is simply this-that while they are looking about, on the right hand and on the left, to see how they may escape their troubles, they forget to look to the hills whence all real help cometh; they do not say, "Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night ?" We shall, however, leave that inquiry, and dwell upon those sweet words, "God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night." one. The world hath its night. It seemeth necessary that it should have The sun shineth by day, and men go forth to their labors; but they grow weary, and nightfall cometh on, like a sweet boon from heaven. The darkness draweth the curtains, and shutteth out the light, which might prevent our eyes from slumber; while the sweet, calm stillness of the night permits us to rest upon the lap of ease, and there forget awhile our cares, until the morning sun appeareth, and an angel puts his hand upon the curtain, and undraws it once again, touches our eyelids, and bids us rise, and proceed to the labors of the day. Night is one of the greatest blessings men enjoy; we have many reasons to thank God for it. Yet night is to many a gloomy season. There is "the pestilence that walketlf in darkness;" there is "the terror by night ;" there is the dread of robbers and of fell disease, with all those fears that the timorous know, when they have no light wherewith they can discern objects. It is then they fancy that spiritual creatures walk the earth; though, if they knew rightly, they would find it to be true, that "Millions of spiritual creatures walk this earth, and that at all times they are round about us-not more by night than by day. Night is the season of terror and alarm to most men. Yet even night hath its songs. Have you never stood by the seaside at night, and heard the pebbles sing, and the waves chant God's glories? Or have you never risen from your couch, and thrown up the window of your chamber, and listened there? Listened to what? Silence-save now and then a murmuring sound, which seems sweet music then. And have you not fancied that you heard the harp of God playing in heaven? Did you not conceive, that yon stars, that those eyes of God, looking down on you, were also mouths of song-that every star was singing God's glory, singing, as it shone, its mighty Maker, and his lawful, welldeserved praise? Night hath its songs. We need not much poetry in our spirit, to catch the song of night, and hear the spheres as they chant praises which are loud to the heart, though they be silent to the ear— the praises of the mighty God, who bears up the unpillared arch of heaven, and moves the stars in their courses. Man, too, like the great world in which he lives, must have his night. For it is true that man is like the world around him; he is a little world; he resembles the world in almost every thing; and if the world hath its night, so hath man. And many a night do we have-nights of sorrow, nights of persecution, nights of doubt, nights of bewilderment, nights of anxiety, nights of oppression, nights of ignorance-nights of all kinds, which press upon our spirits and terrify our souls. But, blessed be God, the Christian man can say, "My God giveth me songs in the night." It is not necessary, I take it, to prove to you that Christian men have nights; for if you are Christians, you will find that you have them, and you will not want any proof, for nights will come quite often enough. I will, therefore, proceed at once to the subject; and I will speak this evening upon songs in the night, their source-God giveth them; songs in the night, their matter—what do we sing about in the night? songs in the night, their excellence-they are hearty songs, and they are sweet ones; songs in the night, their uses-their benefits to ourselves and others. "God," I. First, songs in the night-WHO IS THE AUTHOR OF THEM? says the text, our "Maker:" he "giveth songs in the night." Any fool can sing in the day. When the cup is full, man draws inspiration from it; when wealth rolls in abundance around him, any man can sing to the praise of a God who gives a plenteous harvest, or sends home a loaded argosy. It is easy enough for an Æolian harp to whisper music when the winds blow; the difficulty is for music to come when no wind bloweth. It is easy to sing when we can read the notes by daylight; but the skillful singer is he who can sing when there is not a ray of light to read by-who sings from his heart, and not from a book that he can see, because he has no means of reading, save from that inward book of his own living spirit, whence notes of gratitude pour out in songs of praise. No man can make a song in the night himself; he may attempt it, but he will feel how difficult it is. Let all things go as I please -I will weave songs, weave them wherever I go, with the flowers that grow upon my path; but put me in a desert, where no flowers are, and wherewith shall I weave a chorus of praise to God? How shall I make a crown for him? Let this voice be free, and this body be full of health, and I can sing God's praise; but stop this tongue, lay me upon the bed of languishing, and it is not so easy to sing from the bed, and chant high praises in the fires. Give me the bliss of spiritual liberty, and let me mount up to my God, get near the throne, and I will sing, ay, sing as sweet as seraphs; but confine me, fetter my spirit, clip my wings, make me exceeding sad, so that I become old like the eagle-ah! then it is hard to sing. It is not in man's power to sing, when all is adverse. It is not natural to sing in trouble-"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name:" for that is a daylight song. But it was a divine song which Habakkuk sang, when in the night he said— "Though the fig-tree shall not blossom," and so on, "yet will I trust in the Lord, and stay myself in the God of Jacob." Methinks in the Red Sea any man could have made a song like that of Moses-"The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea;" the difficulty would have been, to compose a song before the Red Sea had been divided, and to sing it before Pharaoh's hosts had been drowned, while yet the darkness of doubt and fear was resting on Israel's hosts. Songs in the night come only from God; they are not in the power of man. But what does the text mean, when it asserts that God giveth songs in the night? We think we find two answers to the question. The first is, that usually in the night of a Christian's experience God is his only song. If it be daylight in my heart, I can sing songs touching my graces -songs touching my sweet experience-songs touching my dutiessongs touching my labors; but let the night come-my graces appear to have withered; my evidences, though they are there, are hidden; I can not "read my title clear To mansions in the skies;" and now I have nothing left to sing of but my God. It is strange, that when God gives his children mercies, they generally set their hearts more on the mercies than on the Giver of them; but when the night comes, and he sweeps all the mercies away, then at once they say, “Now, my God, I have nothing to sing of but thee; I must come to thee; and to thee only. I had cisterns once; they were full of water; I drank from them then; but now the created streams are dry; sweet Lord, I quaff no stream but thine own self, I drink from no fount but from thee." Ay, child of God, thou knowest what I say; or if thou dost not understand it yet, thou wilt do so by-and-by. It is in the night we sing of God, and of God alone. Every string is tuned, and every power hath its attribute to sing, while we praise God, and nothing else. We can sacrifice to ourselves in daylight-we only sacrifice to God by night; we can sing high praises to our dear selves when all is joyful, but we can |