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Expositor's Bible Commentary Job 7:1 Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? are not his days also like the days of an hireling? VIII. MEN FALSE: GOD OVERBEARING Job 6:1-30 ; Job 7:1-21 Job SPEAKS WORST to endure of all things is the grief that preys on a man’s own heart because no channel outside self is provided for the hot stream of thought. Now that Eliphaz has spoken, Job has something to arouse him, at least to resentment. The strength of his mind revives as he finds himself called to a battle of words. And how energetic he is! The long address of Eliphaz we saw to be incoherent, without the backbone of any clear conviction, turning hither and thither in the hope of making some way or other a happy hit. But as soon as Job begins to speak there is coherency, strong thought running through the variety of expression, the anxiety for instruction, the sense of bewilderment and trouble. We feel at once that we are in contact with a mind no half-truths can satisfy, that will go with whatever difficulty to the very bottom of the matter. Supreme mark of a healthy nature, this. People are apt to praise a mind at peace, moving composedly from thought to thought, content "to enjoy the things which others understand," not distressed by moral questions. But minds enjoying such peace are only to be praised if the philosophy of life has been searched out and tried, and the great trust in God which resolves all doubt has been found. While life and providence, one’s own history and the history of the world present what appear to be contradictions, problems that baffle and disturb the soul, how can a healthy mind be at rest? Our intellectual powers are not given simply that we may enjoy; they are given that we may understand. A mind hungers for knowledge, as a body for food, and cannot be satisfied unless the reason and the truth of things are seen. You may object that some are not capable of understanding, that indeed Divine providence, the great purposes of God, lie so far and so high beyond the ordinary human range as to be incomprehensible to most of us. Of what use, then, is revelation? Is it given merely to bewilder us, to lead us on in a quest which at the last must leave many of the searchers unsatisfied, without light or hope? If so, the Bible mocks us, the prophets were deceivers, even Christ Himself is found no Light of the world, but a dreamer who spoke of that which can never be realised. Not thus do I begin in doubt, and end in doubt. There are things beyond me; but exact or final knowledge of these is not necessary. Within my range and reach through nature and religion, through the Bible and the Son of God, are the principles I need to satisfy my soul’s hunger. And in every healthy mind there will be desire for truth which, often baffled, will continue till understanding comes. And here we join issue with the agnostic, who denies this vital demand of the soul. Our thought dwelling on life and all its varied experience-sorrow and fear, misery and hope, love threatened by death yet unquenchable, the exultation of duty, the baffling of ambition, unforeseen peril and unexpected deliverance-our thought, I say, "dealing with these elements of life, will not rest in the notion that all is due to chance or to blind forces, that evolution can never be intelligently followed." The modern atheist or agnostic falls into the very error for which he used to reprove faith when he contemptuously bids us get rid of the hope of understanding the world and the Power directing it, when he invites us to remember our limitations and occupy ourselves with things within our range. Religion used to be taunted with crippling man’s faculties and denying full play to his mental activity. Scientific unbelief does so now. It restricts us to the seen and temporal, and, if consistent, ought to refuse all ideals and all desires for a "perfect" state. The modern sage, intent on the study of material things and their changes, confining himself to what can be seen, heard, touched, or by instruments analysed, may have nothing but scorn or, say, pity for one who cries out of trouble- "Have I sinned? Yet, what have I done unto Thee, O Thou Watcher of men? Why hast Thou set me as Thy stumbling block, So that I am a burden to myself? And why wilt Thou not pardon my transgression, And cause my sin to pass away?" But the man whose soul is eager in the search for reality must endeavour to wrest from Heaven itself the secret of his dissatisfaction with the real, his conflict with the real, and why he must so often suffer from the very forces that sustain his life. Yes, the passion of the soul continues. It protests against darkness, and therefore against materialism. Conscious mind presses toward an origin of thought. Soul must find a Divine Eternal Soul. Where nature opens ascending ways to the reason in its quest; where prophets and sages have cut paths here and there through the forest of mystery; where the brave and true testify of a light they have seen and invite us to follow; where One stands high and radiant above the cross on which He suffered and declares Himself the Resurrection and the Life, -there men will advance, feeling themselves inspired to maintain the search for that Eternal Truth without the hope of which all our life here is a wearisome pageant, a troubled dream, a bitter slavery. In his reply to Eliphaz, Job first takes hold of the charge of impatience and hasty indignation made in the opening of the fifth chapter. He is quite aware that his words were rash when he cursed his day and cried impatiently for death. In accusing him of rebellious passion, Eliphaz had shot the only arrow that went home; and now Job, conscientious here, pulls out the arrow to show it and the wound. "Oh," he cries, "that my hasty passion were duly weighed, and my misery were laid in the balance against it! For then would it, my misery, be found heavier than the sand of the seas: therefore have my words been rash." He is almost deprecatory. Yes: he will admit the impatience and vehemence with which he spoke. But then, had Eliphaz duly considered his state, the weight of his trouble causing a physical sense of indescribable oppression? Let his friends look at him again, a man prostrated with sore disease and grief, dying slowly in the leper’s exile. "The arrows of the Almighty are within me, The poison whereof my spirit drinketh up. The terrors of God beleaguer me." We need not fall into the mistake of supposing that it is only the pain of his disease which makes Job’s misery so heavy. Rather is it that his troubles have come from God; they are "the arrows of the Almighty." Mere suffering and loss, even to the extremity of death, he could have borne without a murmur. But he had thought God to be his friend. Why on a sudden have those darts been launched against him by the hand he trusted? What does the Almighty mean? The evildoer who suffers knows why he is afflicted. The martyr enduring for conscience’ sake has his support in the truth to which he bears witness, the holy cause for which he dies. Job has no explanation, no support, he cannot understand providence. The God with whom he supposed himself to be at peace suddenly becomes an angry incomprehensible Power, blighting and destroying His servant’s life. Existence poisoned, the couch of ashes encompassed with terrors, is it any wonder that passionate words break from his lips? A cry is the last power left to him. So it is with many. The seeming needlessness of their sufferings, the impossibility of tracing these to any cause in their past history, in a word, the mystery of the pain confounds the mind, and adds to anguish and desolation an unspeakable horror of darkness. Sometimes the very thing guarded against is that which happens; a man’s best intelligence appears confuted by destiny or chance. Why has he amongst the many been chosen for this? Do all things come alike to all, righteous and wicked? The problem becomes terribly acute in the case of earnest God-fearing men and women who have not yet found the real theory of suffering. Endurance for others does not always explain. All cannot be rested on that. Nor unless we speak falsely for God will it avail to say, These afflictions have fallen on us for our sins. For even if the conscience does not give the lie to that assertion, as Job’s conscience did, the question demands a clear answer why the penitent should suffer, those who believe, to whom God imputes no iniquity. If it is for our transgressions we suffer, either our own faith and religion are vain, or God does not forgive excepting in form, and the law of punishment retains its force. We have here the serious difficulty that legal fictions seem to hold their ground even in the dealings of the Most High with those who trust Him. Many are in the direst trouble still for the same reason as Job, and might use his very words. Taught to believe that: suffering is invariably connected with wrong doing and is always in proportion to it, they cannot find in their past life any great transgressions for which they should be racked with constant pain or kept in grinding penury and disappointment. Moreover, they had imagined that through the mediation of Christ their sins were expiated and their guilt blotted out. What strange error is there in the creed or in the world? Have they never believed? Has God turned against them? So they inquire in the darkness. The truth, however, as shown in a previous chapter, is that suffering has no proportion to the guilt of sin, but is related in the scheme of Divine providence to life in this world, its movement, discipline, and perfecting in the individual and the race. Afflictions, pains, and griefs are appointed to the best as well as the worst, because all need to be tried and urged on from imperfect faith and spirituality to vigour, constancy, and courage of soul. The principle is not dearly stated in the Book of Job, but underlies it, as truth must underlie all genuine criticism and every faithful picture of human life. The inspiration of the poem is so to present the facts of human experience that the real answer alone can satisfy. And in the speech we are now considering some imperfect and mistaken views are swept so completely aside that their survival is almost unaccountable. Beginning with the fifth verse we have a series of questions somewhat difficult to interpret:- "Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? Or loweth the ox over his fodder? Can that be eaten which is unsavoury, without salt? Or is there any taste in the white of an egg? My soul refuseth to touch them; They are to me as mouldy bread." By some these questions are supposed to describe sarcastically the savourless words of Eliphaz, his "solemn and impertinent prosing." This, however, would break the continuity of the thought. Another view makes the reference to be to Job’s afflictions, which he is supposed to compare to insipid and loathsome food. But it seems quite unnatural to take this as the meaning. Such pain and grief and loss as he had undergone were certainly not like the white of an egg. But he has already spoken wildly, unreasonably, and he now feels himself to be on the point of breaking out afresh in similar impatient language. Now, the wild ass does not complain when it has grass, nor the ox when it has fodder; so, if his mind were supplied with necessary explanations of the sore troubles he is enduring, he would not be impatient, he would not complain. His soul hungers to know the reason of the calamities that darken his life. Nothing that has been said helps him. Every suggestion presented to his mind is either trifling and vain, without the salt of wisdom, like the white of an egg, or offensive, disagreeable. Ruthlessly sincere, he will not pretend to be satisfied when he is not. His soul refuses to touch the offered explanations and reasons. Verily, they are like mouldy bread to him. It is his own impatience, his loud cries and inquiries, he desires to account for; he does not attack Eliphaz with sarcasm, but defends himself. At this point there is a brief halt in the speech. As if after a pause, due to a sharp sting of pain, Job exclaims: "Oh that God would please to destroy me!" He had felt the paroxysm approaching; he had endeavoured to restrain himself, but the torture drives him, as before, to cry for death. Again and again in the course of his speeches sudden turns of this kind occur, points at which the dramatic feeling of the writer comes out. He will have us remember the terrible disease and keep continually in mind the setting of the thoughts. Job had roused himself in beginning his reply, and, for a little, eagerness had overcome pain. But now he falls back, mastered by cruel sickness which appears to be unto death. Then he speaks:- "Oh that I might have my request, That God would give me the thing I long for, Even that God would be pleased to crush me, That He would loose His hand and tear me off; And I should yet have comfort, I should even exult amidst unsparing pain, For I have not denied the words of the Holy One." The longing for death which now returns on Job is not so passionate as before; but his cry is quite as urgent and unqualified. As we have already seen, no motion towards suicide is at any point of the drama attributed to him. He does not, like Shakespeare’s Hamlet, whose position is in some respects very similar, question with himself, "Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?" Nor may we say that Job is deterred from the act of self-destruction by Hamlet’s thought, "The dread of something after death that makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of." Job has the fear and faith of God still, and not even the pressure of "unsparing pain" can move him to take into his own hands the ending of that torment God bids him bear. He is too pious even to dream of it. A true Oriental, with strong belief that the will of God must be done, he could die without a murmur, in more than stoical courage; but a suicide he cannot be. And indeed the Bible, telling us for the most part of men of healthy mind, has few suicides to record. Saul, Zimri, Ahithophel, Judas, break away thus from dishonour and doom; but these are all who, in impatience and cowardice, turn against God’s decree of life. Here, then, the strong religious feeling of the writer obliges him to reject that which the poets of the world have used to give the strongest effect to their work. From the Greek dramatists, through Shakespeare to Browning, the drama is full of that quarrel with life which flies to suicide. In this great play, as we may well call it, of Semitic faith and genius, the ideas are masterly, the hold of universal truth is sublime. Perhaps the author was not fully aware of all he suggests, but he feels that suicide serves no end: it settles nothing; and his problem must be settled. Suicide is an attempt at evasion in a sphere where evasion is impossible. God and the soul have a controversy together, and the controversy must be worked out to an issue. Job has not cursed God nor denied his words. With this clear conscience he is not afraid to die; yet, to keep it, he must wait on the decision of the Almighty-that it would please God to crush him, or tear him off like a branch from the tree of life. The prospect of death, if it were granted by God, would revive him for the last moment of endurance. He would leap up to meet the stroke, God’s stroke, the pledge that God was kind to him after all. Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. According to Eliphaz there was but one way for a sufferer. If Job would bow humbly in acknowledgment of guilt, and seek God in penitence, then recovery would come; the hand that smote would heal and set him on high; all the joy and vigour of life would be renewed, and after another long course of prosperity, he should come to his grave at last as a shock of corn is carried home in its season. Recalling this glib promise, Job puts it from him as altogether incongruous with his state. He is a leper; he is dying. "What is my strength that I should wait, And what my term that I should be patient? Is my strength the strength of stones? Is my flesh brass? Is not my help within me gone, And energy quite driven from me?" Why, his condition is hopeless. What can he look for but death? Speak to him of a new term; it was adding mockery to despair. But he would die still true to God, and therefore he seeks the end of conflict. If he were to live on he could not be sure of himself, especially when, with failing strength, he had to endure the nausea and stings of disease. As yet he can face death as a chief should. The second part of the address begins at the fourteenth verse of chapter 6. ( Job 14:6 ) Here Job rouses himself anew, and this time to assail his friends. The language of their spokesman had been addressed to him from a height of assumed moral superiority, and this had stirred in Job a resentment quite natural. No doubt the three friends showed friendliness. He could not forget the long journey they had made to bring him comfort. But when he bethought him how in his prosperity he had often entertained these men, held high discourse with them on the ways of God, opened his heart and showed them all his life, he marvelled that now they could fail of the thing he most wanted-understanding. The knowledge they had of him should have made suspicion impossible, for they had the testimony of his whole life. The author is not unfair to his champions of orthodoxy. They fail where all such have a way of failing. If their victim in the poem presses on to stinging sarcasm and at last oversteps the bounds of fair criticism, one need not wonder. He is not intended as a type of the meek, self-depreciating person who lets slander pass without a protest. If they have treated him badly, he will tell them to their faces what he thinks. Their want of justice might cause a weak man to slip and lose himself. Pity from his friend is due to the despairing, Lest he forsake the fear of the Almighty: But my brethren have deceived as a torrent, Like the streams of the ravine, that pass away, That become blackish with ice, In which the snow is dissolved. What time they wax warm they vanish, When it is hot they are dried up out of their place. The caravans turn aside, They go up into the desert and are perishing. The caravans of Tema look out, The merchants of Sheba hope for them. They were ashamed because they had trusted, They came up to them and blushed. Even so, now are ye nought. The poetical genius of the writer overflows here. The allegory is beautiful, the wit keen, the knowledge abundant; yet, in a sense, we have to pardon the interposition. Job is not quite in the mood to represent his disappointment by such an elaborate picture. He would naturally seek a sharper mode of expression. Still, the passage must not be judged by our modern dramatic rules. This is the earliest example of the philosophic story, and elaborate word pictures are part of the literature of the piece. We accept the pleasure of following a description which Job must be supposed to have painted in melancholy humour. The scene is in the desert, several days’ journey from the Jauf, that valley already identified as the region in which Job lived. Beyond the Nefood to the west towers the Jebel Tobeyk, a high ridge covered in winter with deep snow, the melting of which fills the ravines with roaring streams. Caravans are coming across the desert from Tema, which lies seven days’ journey to the south of the Jauf, and from Sheba still farther in the same direction. They are on the march in early summer and, falling short of water, turn aside westward to one of the ravines where a stream is expected to be still flowing. But, alas for the vain hope! In the wadi is nothing but stones and dry sand, mocking the thirst of man and beast. Even so, says Job to his friends, ye are treacherous; ye are nothing. I looked for the refreshing waters of sympathy, but ye are empty ravines, dry sand. In my days of prosperity you gushed with friendliness. Now, when I thirst, ye have not even pity. "Ye see a terror, and are afraid." I am terribly stricken. You fear that if you sympathised with me, you might provoke the anger of God. From this point he turns upon them with reproach. Had he asked them for anything, gifts out of their herds or treasure, aid in recovering his property? They knew he had requested no such service. But again and again Eliphaz had made the suggestion that he was suffering as a wrong doer. Would they tell him then, straightforwardly, how and when he had transgressed? "How forcible are words of uprightness," words that go right to a point; but as for their reproving, what did it come to? They had caught at his complaint. Men of experience should know that the talk of a desperate man is for the wind, to be blown away and forgotten, not to be laid hold of captiously. And here from sarcasm he passes to invective. Their temper, he tells them, is so hard and unfeeling that they are fit to cast lots over the orphan and bargain over a friend. They would be guilty even of selling for a slave a poor fatherless child cast on their charity. "Be pleased to look on me," he cries; "I surely will not lie to your face. Return, let not wrong be done. Go back over my life. Let there be no unfairness. Still is my cause just." They were bound to admit that he was as able to distinguish right from wrong as they were. If that were not granted, then his whole life went for nothing, and their friendship also. In this vivid eager expostulation there is at least much of human nature. It abounds in natural touches common to all time and in shrewd ironic perception. The sarcasms of Job bear not only upon his friends, but also upon our lives. The words of men who are sorely tossed with trouble, aye even their deeds, are to be judged with full allowance for circumstances. A man driven back inch by inch in a fight with the world, irritated by defeat, thwarted in his plans, missing his calculations, how easy is it to criticise him from the standpoint of a successful career, high repute, a good balance at the banker’s! The hasty words of one who is in sore distress, due possibly to his own ignorance and carelessness, how easy to reckon them against him, find in them abundant proof that he is an unbeliever and a knave, and so pass on to offer in the temple the Pharisee’s prayer! But, easy and natural, it is base. The author of our poem does well to lay the lash of his inspired scorn upon such a temper. He who stores in memory the quick words of a sufferer and brings them up by and by to prove him deserving of all his troubles, such a man would cast lots over the orphan. It is no unfair charge. Oh for humane feeling, gentle truth, self-searching fear of falsehood! It is so easy to be hard and pious. Beginning another strophe Job turns from his friends, from would be wise assertions and innuendoes, to find, if he can, a philosophy of human life, then to reflect once more in sorrow on his state, and finally to wrestle in urgent entreaty with the Most High. The seventh chapter, in which we trace this line of thought, increases in pathos as it proceeds and rises to the climax of a most daring demand which is not blasphemous because it is entirely frank, profoundly earnest. The friends of Job have wondered at his sufferings. He himself has tried to find the reason of them. Now he seeks it again in a survey of man’s life:- "Hath not man war service on earth? And as the days of a hireling are not his?" The thought of necessity is coming over Job, that man is not his own master; that a Power he cannot resist appoints his task, whether of action or endurance, to fight in the hot battle or to suffer wearily. And there is truth in the conception; only it is a truth which is inspiring or depressing as the ultimate Power is found in noble character or mindless force. In the time of prosperity this thought of an inexorable decree would have caused no perplexity to Job, and his judgment would have been that the Irresistible is wise and kind. But now, because the shadow has fallen, all appears in gloomy colour, and man’s life a bitter servitude. As a slave, panting for the shade, longing to have his work over, Job considers man. During months of vanity and nights of weariness he waits, long nights made dreary with pain, through the slow hours of which he tosses to and fro in misery. His flesh is clothed with worms and an earthy crust, his skin hardens and breaks out. His days are flimsier than a web ( Job 7:6 ), and draw to a close without hope. The wretchedness masters him, and he cries to God. "O remember, a breath is my life Never again will mine eye see good." Does the Almighty consider how little time is left to him? Surely a gleam might break before all grows dark! Out of sight he will be soon, yea, out of the sight of God Himself, like a cloud that melts away. His place will be down in Sheol, the region of mere existence, not of life, where a man’s being dissolves in shadows and dreams. God must know this is coming to Job. Yet in anguish, ere he die, he will remonstrate with his Maker: "I will not curb my mouth, I will make my complaint in the bitterness of my soul." Striking indeed is the remonstrance that follows. A struggle against that belief in grim fate which has so injured Oriental character gives vehemence to his appeal; for God must not be lost. His mind is represented as going abroad to find in nature what is most ungovernable and may be supposed to require most surveillance and restraint. By change after change, stroke after stroke, his power has been curbed; till at last, in abject impotence, he lies, a wreck upon the wayside. Nor is he allowed the last solace of nature in extremis; he is not unconscious; he cannot sleep away his misery. By night tormenting dreams haunt him, and visions make as it were a terrible wall against him. He exists on sufferance, perpetually chafed. With all this in his consciousness, he asks, - "Am I a sea, or a sea monster, That thou keepest watch over me?" In a daring figure he imagines the Most High who sets a bound to the sea exercising the same restraint over him, or barring his way as if he were some huge monster of the deep. A certain grim humour characterises the picture. His friends have denounced his impetuosity. Is it as fierce in God’s sight? Can his rage be so wild? Strange indeed is the restraint put on one conscious of having sought to serve God and his age. In self-pity, with an inward sense of the absurdity of the notion, he fancies the Almighty fencing his squalid couch with the horrible dreams and spectres of delirium, barring his way as if he were a raging flood. "I loathe life," he cries; "I would not live always. Let me alone, for my days are a vapour." Do not pain me and hem me in with Thy terrors that allow no freedom, no hope, nothing but a weary sense of impotence. And then his expostulation becomes even bolder. "What is man," asks a psalmist, "that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man, that Thou visitest him?" With amazement God’s thought of so puny and insignificant a being is observed. But Job, marking in like manner the littleness of man, turns the question in another way:- "What is man that Thou magnifiest him, And settest Thine heart upon him? That Thou visitest him every morning, And triest him every moment?" Has the Almighty no greater thing to engage Him that He presses hard on the slight personality of man? Might he not be let alone for a little? Might the watchful eye not be turned away from him even for a moment? And finally, coming to the supposition that he may have transgressed and brought himself under the judgment of the Most High, he even dares to ask why that should be:- "Have I sinned? Yet what have I done unto Thee, O Thou Watcher of men? Why hast Thou set me as Thy butt, So that I am a burden to myself? And why will Thou not pardon my transgression, And cause my sin to pass away?" How can his sin have injured God? Far above man the Almighty dwells and reigns. No shock of human revolt can affect His throne. Strange is it that a man, even if he has committed some fault or neglected some duty, should be like a block of wood or stone before the feet of the Most High, till bruised and broken he cares no more for existence. If iniquity has been done, cannot the Great God forgive it, pass it by? That would be more like the Great God. Yes; soon Job would be down in the dust of death. The Almighty would find then that he had gone too far. "Thou shalt seek me, but I shall not be." More daring words were never put by a pious man into the mouth of one represented as pious; and the whole passage shows how daring piety may be. The inspired writer of this book knows God too well, honours Him too profoundly to be afraid. The Eternal Father does not watch keenly for the offences of the creatures He has made. May a man not be frank with God and say out what is in his heart? Surely he may. But he must be entirely earnest. No one playing with life, with duty, with truth, or with doubt may expostulate thus with his Maker. There is indeed an aspect of our little life in which sin may appear too pitiful, too impotent for God to search out. "As for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth." Only when we see that infinite Justice is involved in the minute infractions of justice, that it must redress the iniquity done by feeble hands and vindicate the ideal we crave for yet so often infringe; only when we see this and realise therewith the greatness of our being, made for justice and the ideal, for moral conflict and victory; only, in short, when we know responsibility, do we stand aghast at sin and comprehend the meaning of judgment. Job is learning here the wisdom and holiness of God which stand correlative to His grace and our responsibility. By way of trial and pain and these sore battles with doubt he is entering into the fulness of the heritage of spiritual knowledge and power. The Expositor's Bible Text Courtesy of BibleSupport.com . Used by Permission.

Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? Job 7:1 An appointed time James Parsons. I. THE NATURE OF THE FACT WHICH IS HERE AFFIRMED. 1. That the existence of man will be terminated by death. When sin was committed, the order and harmony of the universe was disturbed, and then the solemn and awful sentence was pronounced. What is the world itself, but a vast charnel house, to be filled with the ashes of innumerable dead? 2. The existence of man is confined to a narrow compass. There has been a serious abridgment of the average length of life. All the Scripture representations describe the extreme brevity of human life. We are pushed on by the hand of time, from the various objects we meet with in our course, wondering at the swiftness with which they are taken from our vision, and astonished at the destiny which winds up the scene and ratifies our doom. 3. The existence of man is, as to its precise duration, uncertain and unknown. We know not the day of our departure. There is an impervious gloom about our final departure which no man can penetrate. But all is well known to the wisdom of God. With Him all is fixed — to us, all is uncertain. 4. Our departure from this world is for the purpose of our mingling in scenes which are beyond the grave. We do not depart and sink into the dulness of annihilation. This life is but the threshold of eternity; we are placed here as probationers for eternity. II. THE FEELINGS WHICH ARISE FROM THE CONTEMPLATION OF IT. There is a universal inclination to avoid these truths; they are regarded in general as merely professional; and there is much in the world to counteract their influence. All this can only be removed by the Spirit of God. 1. We ought to make our final departure the subject of habitual contemptation. 2. We should be induced to moderate our attachment to the world, from which we shall so soon be separated. 3. You should be induced to seek an interest in that redeeming system by which you may depart in peace, with the prospect of eternal happiness. 4. We should be induced to pursue with Christian diligence those great employments which the Gospel has proposed. ( James Parsons. ) Life as a clock J. Holmes. Our brains are seventy year clocks. The angel of life winds them up at once for all, then closes the cases, and gives the key into the hand of the angel of resurrection. "Tic-tac, tic-tac!" go the wheels of thought. Our will cannot stop them, madness only makes them go faster. Death alone can break into the case, and, seizing the ever-swinging pendulum which we call the heart, silence at last the clicking of the terrible escapement we have carried so long beneath our aching foreheads. If we could only get at them as we lie on our pillows, and count the dead beats of thought after thought, and image after image, jarring through the overtired organ. Will nobody block those wheels, uncouple their pinion, cut the string which holds those weights? What a passion comes over us sometimes for silence and rest, that this dreadful mechanism, unwinding the endless tapestry of time, embroidered with spectral figures of life and death, might have but one brief holiday! ( J. Holmes. ) The hand of God in the history of a man I. THERE IS A DIVINE APPOINTMENT RULING ALL HUMAN LIFE. Not that I single out man's existence as the sole object of Divine forethought, far rather do I believe it to be but one little corner of illimitable providence. A Divine appointment arranges every event, minute or magnificent. As we look out on the world from our quiet room it appears to be a mass of confusion. Events happen which we deeply deplore — incidents which appear to bring evil, and only evil, and we wonder why they are permitted. The picture before us, to the glance of reason, looks like a medley of colour. But the affairs of this world are neither tangled, nor confused, nor perplexing to Him who seeth the end from the beginning. God is in all, and rules all. In the least as well as in the greatest, Jehovah's power is manifested. It is night, but the watchman never sleepeth, and Israel may rest in peace. The tempest rages, but it is well, for our Captain is governor of storms. Our main point is that God rules mortal life; and He does so, first, as to its term, "Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth?" He rules it, secondly, as to its warfare, for so the text might most properly be read, "Is there not an appointed warfare for man upon earth?" And, thirdly, He rules it as to its service, for the second clause of the text is, "Are not his days as the days of an hireling?" 1. First, then, God's determination governs the time of human life.(1) We shall all acknowledge this as to its commencement. Not without infinite wisdom did any infant's life commence there and then, for no man is the offspring of chance. Who would wish to have first seen the light at the era when our naked forefathers sacrificed to idols? Our presence on earth in this day of grace was a matter altogether beyond our control, and yet it involves infinite issues; therefore let us with deepest gratitude bless the Lord, who has cast our lot in such an auspicious season.(2) The continuance of life is equally determined of God. He who fixed our birth has measured the interval between the cradle and the grave, and it shall not be a day longer or a day shorter than the Divine decree.(3) So, too, has He fixed life's termination. "Is there not an appointed time for man upon earth?" a time in which the pulse must cease, the blood stagnate, and the eye be closed. Moreover, how consoling is this truth; for, if the Father of our Lord Jesus arranges all, then our friends do not die untimely deaths. The beloved of the Lord are not cut off before their time; they go into Jesus' bosom when they are ready to be received there. 2. But we must now consider the other translation of our text. It is generally given in the margin of the Bibles. "Is there not an appointed warfare to man upon earth?" which teaches us that God has appointed life to be a warfare. To all men it will be so, whether bad or good. Every man will find himself a soldier under some captain or another. Alas for those men who are battling against God and His truth, they will in the end be clothed with dishonour and defeat. No Christian is free to follow his own devices; we are all under law to Christ. A soldier surrenders his own will to that of his commander. Such is the Christian's life — a life of willing subjection to the wilt of the Lord Jesus Christ. In consequence of this we have our place fixed and our order arranged for us, and our life's relative positions are all prescribed. A soldier has to keep rank and step with the rest of the line. As we have a warfare to accomplish, we must expect hardships. A soldier must not reckon upon ease. If life be a warfare, we must look for contests and struggles. The Christian man must not expect to go to heaven without opposition. It is a warfare, for all these reasons, and yet more so because we must always be upon the watch against danger. In a battle no man is safe. Blessed be God that the text says "Is there not an 'appointed' warfare?" Then, it is not our warfare, but one that God has appointed for us, in which He does not expect us to wear out our armour, or bear our own charges, or find our own rations, or supply our own ammunition. The armour that we wear we have not to construct, and the sword we wield we have not to fabricate. 3. The Lord has also determined the service of our life. All men are servants to some master or another, neither can any of us avoid the servitude. The greatest men are only so much the more the servants of others. If we are now the servants of the Lord Jesus, this life is a set time of a labour and apprenticeship to be worked out. I am bound by solemn indentures to my Lord and Master till my term of life shall run out, and I am right glad to have it so. Now, a servant who has let himself out for a term of years has not a moment that he can call his own, nor have any of us, if we are God's people. We have not a moment, no, not a breath, nor a faculty, nor a farthing that we may honestly reserve. You must expect to toil in His service till you are ready to faint, and then His grace will renew your strength. A servant knows that his time is limited. If it is weekly service, he knows that his engagement may be closed on Saturday; if he is hired by the month, he knows how many days there are in a month, and he expects it to end; if he is engaged by the year, he knows the day of the year when his service shall be run out. As for us, we do not know when our term will be complete. The hireling expects his wages; that is one reason for his industry. We, too, expect ours — not of debt truly, but of grace, yet still a gracious reward. God does not employ servants without paying them wages, as many of our merchants now do. II. Secondly, THE INFERENCES TO BE DRAWN FROM THIS FACT. 1. First, there is Job's inference. Job's inference was that as there was only an appointed time, and he was like a servant employed by the year, he might be allowed to wish for life's speedy close, and therefore he says, "As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling looketh for the reward of his work." Job was right in a measure, but not altogether so. There is a sense in which every Christian may look forward to the end of life with joy and expectancy, and may pray for it. At the same time, there are needful modifications to this desire to depart, and a great many of them; for, first, it would be a very lazy thing for a servant to be always looking for Saturday night, and to be always sighing and groaning because the days are so long. The man who wants to be off to heaven before his life's work is done does not seem to me to be quite the man that is likely to go there at all. Besides, while our days are like those of a hireling, we serve a better master than other servants do. 2. I will tell you the devil's inference. The devil's inference is that if our time, warfare, and service are appointed, there is no need of care, and we may cast ourselves down from the pinnacle of the temple, or do any other rash thing, for we shall only work out our destiny. "Oh," say they, "we need not turn to Christ, for if we are ordained to eternal life we shall be saved." Yes, sirs, but why will you eat at meal time today? Why, sirs, nothing in the world more nerves me for work than the belief that God's purposes have appointed me to this service. Being convinced that the eternal forces of immutable wisdom and unfailing power are at my back, I put forth all my strength as becometh a "worker together with God." 3. I will now give you the sick man's inference. "Is there not an appointed time to men upon earth? Are not his days also like the days of an hireling?" The sick man, therefore, concludes that his pains will not last forever, and that every suffering is measured out by love Divine. Therefore, let him be patient, and in confidence and quietness shall be his strength. 4. Next comes the mourner's inference — one which we do not always draw quite so readily as we should. It is this: "My child has died, but not too soon. My husband is gone; ah, God, what shall I do? Where shall my widowed heart find sympathy? Still he has been taken away at the right time. The Lord has done as it pleased Him, and He has done wisely." 5. Furthermore, let us draw the healthy man's inference. I have no end of business — too much, a great deal; and I resolved "I will get, all square and trim as if I were going off, for perhaps I am." You are a healthy man, but be prepared to die. 6. Lastly, there is the sinner's inference. "My time, my warfare, and my service are appointed, but what have I done in them? I have waged a warfare against God, and have served in the pay of the devil; what will the end be?" Sinner, you will run your length, you will fulfil your day to your black master; you will fight his battle and earn your pay, but what will the wages be? ( C. H. Spurgeon . ) As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow. Job 7:2, 3 Longing for sunset W. H. Corning. The title of this sermon is the subject of a picture. The artist shows an overworked and weary slave, earnestly looking to the western sky, and longing for the evening shadow which will say his work is done. I. THE DIFFERENT FORMS OF THAT EXPERIENCE IN WHICH THE SOUL "EARNESTLY DESIRETH THE SHADOW," OR THE COMING ON OF THE NIGHT OF DEATH. The natural instinct of man is to desire to live. Yet there is a settled mood or habit of the soul in which there is longing for sunset. 1. One form of this experience arises out of painful and exhausting sickness. Months of bitterness and wearisome nights had, for Job, worn away the instinct of life. The grave seemed to him a desirable refuge from his distresses. 2. When the infirmities of old age creep on, and life continues after the loss of nearly all the friends among whom it was passed. 3. Those under the shadow of a mighty sorrow from God often long for sunset. Worldly disappointments sometimes almost craze the agonised spirit. 4. The baffled hero of the Church, after a long conflict with wickedness, often yearns for the end of his course. (Illustrate from Luther.) 5. The high, Christian experience which finds delight in working for God upon earth, yearns also for a full communion with Him in heaven. II. IS SUCH AN EXPERIENCE HEALTHY AND DESIRABLE IN ANY OF ITS FORMS? When inspired by a clear realisation of the celestial glories, it certainly is both healthy and desirable. The real Christian often needs this longing for God as the solace and hope of his work. But every form of this experience which arises from disgust of life, is both unhealthy and undesirable. It is not a normal condition of the soul of man to wish to die, simply as a relief from the cares and toils of this world. Men love activity. It is a sure sign of unhealth when the manly vigour of the soul succumbs to its sorrows, and longs for the rest of the grave. The physical system is itself broken down. Such a state of mind is also undesirable. It oppresses the soul with a heavy load, so that it can bear no burden of duty. It envelops the life in a cloud of darkness, so that it cannot see the light. It is to be prayed against, laboured against, and lived against, with the utmost tenacity of will. III. HOW FAR IS IT RIGHT OR WRONG TO HARBOUR THIS DISGUST OF LIFE? We cannot condemn this longing for death in the souls of those worn out by disease, but we cannot sanction the very common notion that it is to any extent the proof of grace in the heart. So far as the desire of the grave is concerned, it is simply the breaking down of nature, and not the incoming of grace. It is right too for the aged man to look joyfully towards the end. And if for the aged, why not for the oppressed? No one who is called to live has any right to wish to die. Every Christian is sinning against God, when he permits, himself to loathe, or to neglect the actual work to which he is clearly called. Observe, then, the supreme dignity of a joyful, earnest, working life in God. That is better far than a constant longing for sunset: God gives a higher importance to our living than to our dying. Yet, though a working life is to be desired in itself, it is not true that a Christian is always best trained in the sunshine. Some of the most precious of the graces grow best in the darkness, and the choicest disciples very often pass their lives under a cloud. But we must not forget that the shadow will be falling soon, nor neglect to prepare for death. And it is well to keep in mind the blessings which the sunset will bring to the weary saint. ( W. H. Corning. ) I am made to possess months of vanity. Job 7:3-5 The wasted weeks of sickness A. Mackennal, D. D. "Months of vanity" indicate a protracted time of uselessness, when no good cause is furthered by us, and we ourselves seem rather to be failing in piety than growing in grace; a time of suffering without Divine consolation; months which look not even like months of discipline, because no good end seems to be served by the affliction. The modes of spiritual distress are almost as varied as the modes of spiritual progress. I. THE EXPERIENCE OF "MONTHS OF VANITY." We must carefully distinguish between these and months of sin, or of punishment for sin. 1. Job's "months of vanity" were the result of disastrous circumstances. 2. Sickness was another factor of Job's distress. 3. Job suffered from the injudicious sympathy of his friends. There was no lack of tenderness in these men. They were, however, wholly mistaken in the man; they wholly misread the meaning of his affliction and the purpose of God. 4. Job was in the hand of Satan. Are there not times when every woe is aggravated, and all the sufferer's courage sapped by the consciousness that no help is being vouchsafed? There are powers of evil which make themselves felt, thoughts that come charged with doubt, despair, and death. These are the things that try a man, seeming to make his life valueless and his piety a dream. II. THE DIVINE MEANING IN THESE "MONTHS OF VANITY." All this takes place in the providence of God. The consciousness of the sufferer is no true exponent, as his past experience is no measure of the Divine purpose. 1. These "months of vanity" revealed the energy of Job's endurance. There are Christians whose mere endurance is a greater triumph of grace than the labours and successes of others. 2. See the manifest victory of Job's faith. His utterances become more and more the utterances of faith. The manifest victory of faith becomes an enlargement of faith. 3. An enlarged thought of God was another of the fruits of Job's "months of vanity." (See the last chapter.) 4. The profound compassion and awe awakened in others by the sight of the good man's sufferings. We always need to have a new flow of sympathy, to be disturbed in our self-complacency; the tragedy of life unfolds itself to us; we are awestricken to mark God's dealings with human souls. We learn in what a man's life consists; we watch with patience for the assured victory of the human spirit. Life becomes nobler and grander; homely piety takes on a new dignity as the infinite possibilities of the patient soul appear. ( A. Mackennal, D. D. ) The design and improvement of useless days and wearisome nights Job Orton. I. USELESS DAYS AND WEARISOME NIGHTS MAY BE THE PORTION OF THE BEST OF MEN. To those who, like Job, are righteous and upright in the sight of God, and have been, like him, healthy, vigorous, and useful, "months of vanity" are months void of health, activity, and usefulness. But this to an aged Christian is not so grievous as that there are months of vanity in which he is capable of doing little for the glory of God and the good of his fellow creatures. An ancient writer calls old age "a middle state between health and sickness." II. MONTHS OF VANITY AND WEARISOME NIGHTS ARE TO BE CONSIDERED AS THE APPOINTMENT OF GOD AND TO BE IMPROVED ACCORDINGLY. God intends hereby — 1. To restrain an earthly spirit, and bring His people to serious consideration and piety. In order to restrain the inordinate love of the world, God is pleased to visit men with pain and sickness. He gives them time to think and consider. 2. To exercise and strengthen their graces, especially their humility, patience, meekness, and contentment. It is very difficult habitually to practise these virtues, especially if we have long enjoyed health and ease. But when God toucheth our bone and our flesh, He calls us to and disposeth us for the exercise of them. 3. To promote the good and advantage of others. It is the observation of a lively writer "that God makes one-half of the human species a moral lesson to the other half." Thus He set forth Job as an example of enduring affliction and of patience. 4. To confirm their hopes and excite their desires of a blessed immortality. They tend to confirm their hopes of it. Reflections —(1) They whose days are useful, and their nights comfortable, have great reason to be continually thankful.(2) Learn to expect and prepare for the days of affliction.(3) Let me exhort and comfort those who are afflicted as Job was. ( Job Orton. ) On sickness S. Lavington. When any disease severely attacks us, we are ready to imagine that our trouble is almost peculiar to ourselves; attended with circumstances which have never been before experienced. So we think, but we are deceived. The same complaint has been formerly made; others have exceeded us in sufferings, as much as they have excelled us in patience and piety. There are disorders which make our beds uneasy. Some circumstances render the night particularly tedious to those who are sick. 1. Its darkness. Light is sweet. 2. Its solitariness. In the day the company and conversation of friends help to beguile the time. At night we are left alone. 3. Its confinement. In the day change of place and posture afford temporary relief. At night we are shut up, as it were, in a prison. 4. Its wakefulness. If we could get sleep we should welcome it as a very desirable blessing. It would render us, for a time, insensible to pain. Sometimes we cannot sleep. Suggest some useful reflections —(1) Be thankful for former mercies.(2) Be humbled for former sins. Observe the latter part of the text. Our disorders may be not only painful to ourselves, but offensive to those who are near us. Then be not proud of your bodies. Never boast of their strength or their complexion; for both may be destroyed by a short fit of sickness. Learn the much greater loathsomeness of sin. And rejoice in the prospect of having better bodies hereafter. ( S. Lavington. ) My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle. Job 7:6 The web of life E. Blencowe, M. A. These words fitly describe the quickness with which the days of our life glide away. The weaver at his frame swiftly throws the shuttle from side to side, backwards and forwards, and every throw leaves a thread behind it, which is woven into the piece of cloth he is making. And Job compares human life to the shuttle's motions. I. THE SWIFTNESS OF OUR DAYS. When anything is gone, and gone forever, we begin to think more of its value. "Man is like a thing of nought — his time passeth away like a shadow." II. EACH DAY HAS ADDED ANOTHER THREAD TO THE WEB OF LIFE. What is our life but a collection of days? Each day adds something to the colour and complexion of the whole life — something for good or evil. Thus each day is, as it were, a representative of the whole life. Of how great importance then is every day! III. WE WEAVE NOW WHAT WE WEAR IN ETERNITY. "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." Scriptures declare that our life will be brought into evidence to show whether we were believers in Christ or not. Then let us ask ourselves these questions — 1. On what are we resting our hope of salvation? 2. Is it our sincere desire to be conformed to the likeness of Jesus Christ? 3. Do we live in the spirit of prayer? 4. How has the day of our life been spent? What have we done for God's glory? ( E. Blencowe, M. A. ) The web of life Homiletic Review. I. THE SWIFTNESS OF OUR DAYS. We are apt not to prize them till they are gone. Each was full of mercies: did we appreciate them? Each was full of opportunities: did we use them wisely or abuse them? II. EACH DAY ADDS A THREAD TO THE WEB OF LIFE. Each day has its influence for good or evil, for sin or holiness, for God or Satan. III. WHAT WE NOW WEAVE WE SHALL WEAR IN ETERNITY. What is the web your life is weaving? Application — 1. On what are you resting your hopes of salvation? 2. Is it your sincere desire to be conformed to the likeness of Jesus? 3. Do you live in the spirit of prayer? 4. Consider at the close of each day how it has been spent. 5. What, on the whole, is the texture and colouring of the web of your life as you look upon it in the light of another dying or opening year? ( Homiletic Review. ) The web of life H. W. Beecher. A Christian man's life is laid in the loom of time to a pattern which he does not see, but God does: and his heart is a shuttle. On one side of the loom is sorrow, and on the other joy; and the shuttle, struck alternately by each, flies back and forth, carrying the thread, which is white or black as the pattern needs. And in the end, when God shall lift up the finished garment and all its changing hues shall glance out, it will then appear that the deep and dark colours were as needful to beauty as the bright and high colours. ( H. W. Beecher. ) Life's brevity T. Guthrie. How brief it is! Who stood sentinel by the gate of Shushan when the royal couriers, bearing hope to the Jews, dashed through, burying their spurs in their horses' flanks — who stood on the platform by the iron rails that stretch from Holyhead to London, when signals flashed on along the line to stop the traffic and keep all clear, an engine and carriage dashed by with tidings of peace or war from America — saw an image of life. The eagle poising herself a moment on the wing, and then rushing at her prey; the ship that throwing the spray from her bows, scuds before the gale; the shuttle flashing through the loom; the shadow of a cloud sweeping the hillside, and then gone forever; the summer flowers that vanishing, have left our gardens bare, and where were spread out the colours of the rainbow, only dull, black earth, or the rotting wreck of beauty — these with many other fleeting things, are emblems by which God through nature teaches us how frail we are, at the longest how short our days. ( T. Guthrie. ) Am I a sea, or a whale, that Thou settest a watch over me? Job 7:12 Watch and ward Good Company. These words are part of that first great cry to heaven that broke from the stricken soul of Job. He seems to expostulate with the Almighty for treating him so harshly. He, a poor, weak, frail mortal, was being handled as firmly and as severely as though he was as boisterous and encroaching as an angry sea; as savage and as dangerous as a monster of the river or the deep. His heart and his flesh cry out against this. I am not going to upbraid Job for this. It is far more the groaning of the flesh than the insurrection of the soul. God knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust. There are great lessons here, nevertheless. God exercises a direct control in the universe His hand hath made, and all things are under a law of restraint. Job himself was conscious of this restraining law. "Thou settest a watch over me." Every individual has to bend to this superior will; is held in check by this unseen hand. No man can accomplish the full gratification of his desires, can work out the full execution of his plans. He is held back by the force of public sentiment; by the power of conscience; by lack of capacity; by the force of circumstance; and by the direct interposition of the will of God. Job's words imply perplexity, doubt, question, and distress because of this restraint. You and I know his line of feeling and of thought very well, we fret and murmur within the chain that binds us, the fetters that restrain us, the ropes that hold us in. There are good reasons why man should be watched even more closely, reined in more firmly, than anything in the material universe beside. Man possesses a higher nature, and sustains a nearer relationship to God. He is the offspring of God. Man is the only being that has a capacity to break through the lawful boundaries and limits of his place and sphere. He can overleap the laws of moral being, and become a curse to himself and to his kind. He has even a tendency to deviate and rush across the true line of his being, the just and righteous limitations of his nature. Nothing but man in all nature has a tendency to get out of his place. And man is also the only creature capable of definite improvement under the control and superintendence of God. It is a grand thing then, a noble privilege, a gracious mercy that God sets a watch over us, puts us under special ward, and makes His providence so that all things shall work together for good. And our true wisdom lies in this, that we seek, and suffer, and yield ourselves to God's wise and good control. If we will, His government of us shall be the law of love, the law of life. Self-will is our peril. To take our own course is, in the most serious sense, to take our own life. "Thy will be done." That is the way of wisdom. Love holds the reins of government, and God is Guardian, Controller, Governor, and Guide. ( Good Company. ) Man marked and watched Certain men are not only plagued by conscience and dogged by fear, but the providence of God seems to have gone out against them. Just when the man had resolved to have a bout of drinking, he fell sick of a fever, and had to go to the hospital. He was going to a dance; but he became so weak that he had not a leg to stand upon. He was forced to toss to and fro on the bed, to quite another tune from that which pleases the ballroom. He had yellow fever and was long in pulling round. God watched him, and put the skid on him just as he meant to have a breakneck run downhill. The man gets better, and he says to himself, "I will have a good time now." But then he is out of berth, and perhaps he cannot get a ship for months, and he is brought down to poverty. "Dear me!" he says, "everything goes against me. I am a marked man"; and so he is. Just when he thinks that he is going to have a fair wind, a tempest comes on and drives him out of his course, and he sees rocks ahead. After a while he thinks, "Now I am all right. Jack is himself again, and piping times have come." A storm hurries up; the ship goes down, and he loses all but the clothes he has on his back. He is in a wretched plight: a shipwrecked mariner, far from home. God seems to pursue him, even as He did Jonah. He carries with him misfortune for others, and he might well cry, "Am I a sea, or a whale, that Thou settest a watch over me?" Nothing prospers. His tacklings are loosed; he cannot well strengthen his mast; his ship leaks; his sails are rent; his yards are snapped; and he cannot make it out. Other people seem to get on, though they are worse than he is. Time was when he used to be lucky too; but now he has parted company with success, and carries the black flag of distress. He is driven to and fro by contrary winds; he makes no headway; he is a miserable man, and would wish that the whole thing would go to the bottom, only he dreads a place which has no bottom, from which there is no escape, if once you sink into it. The providence of God runs hard against him, and thus he sees himself to be a watched man. ( C. H. Spurgeon . ) Man magnified in view of God's providence R. A. Hallam, D. D. This is an expression of wonder, petulance, and expostulation at the strangeness of God's dealings. They seemed to Job unsuitable and disproportionate. Viewing himself as the object of them, he was amazed and disaffected at their character and scale. He deemed such an exertion of force, such a stretch of observation, such an expense of care and agency, unmeet, and wasted on so inconsiderable and impotent an object. Surely it is unnecessary and unbecoming condescension in Thee to stoop at such an expense of care and effort, to repress his designs and chastise his faults! Contempt and derision are alone suited to the case of such a puny creature...Man is treated by God as though he were a thing of magnitude, consequence, might, and value. The providence of God magnifies man, proves him to be an object of wonderful interest, concern, and solicitude to his Maker. Herein is a mystery. Why am I thus? Wherein does the value consist? None of His stupendous and potent creatures has cost Him, and yet does cost Him so much as poor, feeble, short-lived I, who, if blotted out of creation, would make a void too small to be felt or seen. But God measures values not by material volume, or physical efficiency, but by likeness to Himself, spiritual furniture, length of being. Then, since Thou hast made me thus, I marvel not that Thou dost care for me thus. I marvel not that by so many precautions, and by such frequent checks and corrections, Thou restrainest me from ruining so precious a substance, and filling with wretchedness so durable a being. The discovery of this invisible value may serve to explain the fact of God's vigilance and jealousy over man, but it does not account for the methods in which they are exhibited. The character of God's providence over man is well described in the phrase of Job, "Thou settest a watch over me," which denotes constant distrust, observation, and vigilance, an attitude o

7:1-6 Job here excuses what he could not justify, his desire of death. Observe man's present place: he is upon earth. He is yet on earth, not in hell. Is there not a time appointed for his abode here? yes, certainly, and the appointment is made by Him who made us and sent us here. During that, man's life is a warfare, and as day-labourers, who have the work of the day to do in its day, and must make up their account at night. Job had as much reason, he thought, to wish for death, as a poor servant that is tired with his work, has to wish for the shadows of the evening, when he shall go to rest. The sleep of the labouring man is sweet; nor can any rich man take so much satisfaction in his wealth, as the hireling in his day's wages. The comparison is plain; hear his complaint: His days were useless, and had long been so; but when we are not able to work for God, if we sit still quietly for him, we shall be accepted. His nights were restless. Whatever is grievous, it is good to see it appointed for us, and as designed for some holy end. When we have comfortable nights, we must see them also appointed to us, and be thankful for them. His body was noisome. See what vile bodies we have. His life was hastening apace. While we are living, every day, like the shuttle, leaves a thread behind: many weave the spider's web, which will fail, ch. 8:14. But if, while we live, we live unto the Lord, in works of faith and labours of love, we shall have the benefit, for every man shall reap as he sowed, and wear as he wove. 7:7-16 Plain truths as to the shortness and vanity of man's life, and the certainty of death, do us good, when we think and speak of them with application to ourselves. Dying is done but once, and therefore it had need be well done. An error here is past retrieve. Other clouds arise, but the same cloud never returns: so a new generation of men is raised up, but the former generation vanishes away. Glorified saints shall return no more to the cares and sorrows of their houses; nor condemned sinners to the gaieties and pleasures of their houses. It concerns us to secure a better place when we die. From these reasons Job might have drawn a better conclusion than this, I will complain. When we have but a few breaths to draw, we should spend them in the holy, gracious breathings of faith and prayer; not in the noisome, noxious breathings of sin and corruption. We have much reason to pray, that He who keeps Israel, and neither slumbers nor sleeps, may keep us when we slumber and sleep. Job covets to rest in his grave. Doubtless, this was his infirmity; for though a good man would choose death rather than sin, yet he should be content to live as long as God pleases, because life is our opportunity of glorifying him, and preparing for heaven. 7:17-21 Job reasons with God concerning his dealings with man. But in the midst of this discourse, Job seems to have lifted up his thoughts to God with some faith and hope. Observe the concern he is in about his sins. The best men have to complain of sin; and the better they are, the more they will complain of it. God is the Preserver of our lives, and the Saviour of the souls of all that believe; but probably Job meant the Observer of men, whose eyes are upon the ways and hearts of all men. We can hide nothing from Him; let us plead guilty before his throne of grace, that we may not be condemned at his judgment-seat. Job maintained, against his friends, that he was not a hypocrite, not a wicked man, yet he owns to his God, that he had sinned. The best must so acknowledge, before the Lord. He seriously inquires how he might be at peace with God, and earnestly begs forgiveness of his sins. He means more than the removing of his outward trouble, and is earnest for the return of God's favour. Wherever the Lord removes the guilt of sin, he breaks the power of sin. To strengthen his prayer for pardon, Job pleads the prospect he had of dying quickly. If my sins be not pardoned while I live, I am lost and undone for ever. How wretched is sinful man without a knowledge of the Saviour!