IX.-THE ANGEL'S ERRAND. "Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?.... Ye are of more value than many sparrows."-LUKE xii. 6, 7. A SMALL island cannot have large rivers. In order to have a great river, the rains must fall, and the snows must melt a long way off from the ocean; and as the river begins to run, there must be hundreds, and even thousands, of little ponds and great lakes, which first receive the waters, and then give them out to feed the river. Thus the stream, which sets out small, receives water from every pond and lake till it reaches the ocean. When it first starts, you might almost empty the spring with a little cup. From the very nature of things, a wide country and great rivers go together. Probably there are at least ten thousand of these reservoirs to make the one river St. Lawrence. And where there are great rivers, there are great plains, and great mountains, and tall trees, and everything seems to correspond, and to be made on a great scale. When the first settlers came to America, they left their homes in the beautiful island of Great Britain. There they had wild birds, which they had known from infancy. When they reached their new home, the birds were different, and usually larger. The robin of England was not there, nor was the lark nor the sparrow; and so they gave the name of robin to a larger bird than their old acquaintance at home. So of the lark and the sparrow. The American sparrow is larger than the English, and so is the American lark larger than the British. In England, the sparrow lives in the cities; in America, in the country. In England, it builds its nest on the house-tops, or under the eaves; in America, in the grass, or in the low bush. In England, sparrows fly in flocks, and frequent the cities, and flutter on the pavements; the American sparrow is, for the most part, a solitary bird, and never goes near the city. The robin of America perches on the tops of trees, and pours out a loud song; that of Britain sings more on the wing, and in far less loud and solemn notes. The American lark gets on the very top of the tree before he really sings; the English lark begins at the ground, and sings as he rises up towards the sky, in notes more and more joyous, till he is lost in the vault of heaven. The sparrow of the Scriptures is probably the same as that of the English,-dwelling in multitudes in cities, and in such numbers that they really have no value in the estimation of men. Five of them are worth only two farthings! Five birds for two farthings! And yet, Christ assures us, "not one of them is forgotten before God!" Why should a sparrow be thought of so little consequence, while a human being is so much esteemed? A sparrow may be found killed in the street, but no one picks it up, or even stops to look at it. Let a little child be found killed, and the whole community would be moved, and the officers of justice would at once search and scour the region to find out who did it. The little sparrow might lose its parents and cry for food, and no one would heed it. But let the motherless and fatherless child cry for food, and how quickly the hand is stretched out to feed it! Let a cold storm beat upon a thousand sparrows and kill them all, and it would be hardly noticed; but let two little children be found frozen to death, locked in each other's arms, and the story will electrify the whole people of the land! And yet God remembers every such little bird, sees it the fledgling in the nest, watches it when it first tries its wing, and creates every seed that it eats and every crumb that it picks up! The little creature may have no value in the estimation of men, but he is God's workmanship. He is one of God's creatures, and "His tender mercies are over all His works." And yet, though God never lets one of these go out of His memory or His care, He deems one human soul of more value than many sparrows. Yes, you might gather together all the fowls of heaven that ever sang a note, or uttered a twitter of joy,—you might bring into one field all the animals that ever lived, and into one sea all the fish that ever swam,- -and one human soul would be of more worth than all these! Man is created, on a higher scale, a nobler being. He was made in the image and likeness of God, so that in his measure he can think as God thinks, reason as God reasons, love as God loves, and feel as God feels. The little sparrow can utter a few notes of a song, a kind of joyous twitter, like a half-suppressed laugh, without meaning or tune. She can fly to the house-top and poise herself on the ridge, and, it may be, rise up like a little ship and sail high into the air. She can come down, and alight, and rest on the smallest twig, or touch the ground at the very spot she wishes. She can build her nest, and rear her young, as her parents did before her. But she cannot contrive, or plan, or reason. If the worm is not created and made ready, if the seed of the plant is not laid up in its pod, she must go hungry. She makes no improvement in building her nest, or in defending it. She lays no plans for the future; and is not aware to-day, that night or storm or winter will ever return. If she has what we call thought, how narrow its range! The clear morning may come; the landscape, soft as down, and bright as if painted by angels, may be spread out before her; the mountains and hills may rejoice, and the trees clap their hands for joy, and yet the little sparrow has no such interest in all this as to call out admiration. Sometimes the traveller among the lofty mountains, that shoot up in the wintry sky like pinnacles of silver, finds himself and the moun tains covered with a veil of mist, which curls and winds and spreads over all that the eye can see. But this veil does not extend all the way up the mountains, for there is soon a rent, through which the eye pierces as through a window, and then, far, far up the blue sky, he sees the turrets of silver throwing down the bright beams of the sun that is cloudless there. It is so dark and shadowy where the traveller stands, and the light is so intense away up through the opening, that it seems as if the mountain-tops reached into heaven. He stands among dark shadows of wreathing clouds, but there is an unearthly brightness up there. The mists shift and twist themselves into new shapes, but do not shut up the opening. It seems as if he could almost see into the "house of our Father above, The place of angels and of God!" The mountain turrets become pillars of light, and look like cylinders of light made solid. It carries the mind but a little way further, to that city whose gates are pearl, whose walls are jasper, whose streets are gold, and whose lofty turrets reflect afar off the glory of God and of the Lamb! That city,-the New Jerusalem,"Immovably founded in grace, She stands as she ever hath stood, Ah, all the sparrows ever created, cannot have such visions, or lift up such thoughts to God! |