Acts 20:35
Great Texts of the Bible
The Beatitude of the Giver

In all things I gave you an example, how that so labouring ye ought to help the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he himself said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.—Acts 20:35.

This is a golden saying of our Lord’s, snatched for us from oblivion (for it is not found anywhere in the Gospels) by the inspired Apostle, and handed down by him for the use of the Church in every age, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Very honestly St. Paul could press it on the regard of the Ephesian elders; for his own life, his whole apostolic life, had been an exemplification of it. And it was well that it was so. For, so contrary is the saying to the practice at least—the whole spirit and practical judgments—of men, that when a public teacher declares that he is more happy in giving than in receiving, the question is apt to arise in the minds of his hearers, Does he really believe it?


The Example of St. Paul

1. The interest with which we study the text attaches chiefly to the saying of Jesus which St. Paul quotes; but we might notice first the remarkable immediate use or application of it by the Apostle. We are told elsewhere that he had learned a craft, that of tent-making, and had worked at it for his living at Corinth. But the most noticeable point in his reference to this fact is not merely that he had thus supported himself, but that he had thereby ministered to those that were with him; and he tells the elders of Ephesus that so labouring they also ought to support the weak, remembering the words of the Lord Jesus, how He said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

2. It is true that of worldly goods the Apostle had but little to give. But his very poverty was only a nobler exemplification of the saying. And as to all other kinds of giving, his whole apostolic life was spent in the spirit of those words. For example: “I will not be burdensome to you, for I seek not yours, but you; for the children ought not to lay up for the parents, but the parents for the children.” “So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were willing to have imparted unto you, not the gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because ye were dear unto us.” “Therefore watch, and remember, that by the space of three years I ceased not to warn every one night and day with tears.” Surely that was giving. “And now, brethren, I commend you to God, and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all them that are sanctified. I coveted no man’s silver, or gold, or apparel. Yea, ye yourselves know, that these hands have ministered unto my necessities, and to them that were with me. I gave you an example in all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

The Rabbinical law required that every Jew should be taught a trade. St. Paul, therefore, being able to support himself by his own labour, did not ask for material reward, and was free to turn the main stream of his energy into the channel of service. His life is our assurance that true happiness does not lie in anything outside the man. It has been the common aim of every pure religion, and of every great teacher in the world, to undermine practical materialism, and to warn us that only in the soul itself is the secret of content. It may be questioned whether we have learnt the lesson. We still catch at the imaginary delights with which life tries to cheat us; we still dream of a happiness which, if not now, can never be ours; we still find something paradoxical in St. Paul’s saying, though it is in fact as simply true as the converse saying of Socrates, that he who commits an injustice does harm only to himself. It is a simple truth, verified by common experience, and, like every fundamental truth of Christianity, rooted in a psychological law. Imagine a man, comparatively poor and friendless, inheriting or gradually winning a magnificent estate. Does he add to his pleasure in life? Alas! he adds absolutely nothing. His conservatories with their wealth of flowers will never charm him more than “the yellow primrose” which was the passion of his youth; the great library with its store of books will never give him the exquisite relish of those few tattered volumes which first stirred his intellectual thirst. He may have added to his opportunities of pleasure; he may have changed the objects of his pleasure; he may have found roads to new pleasures, once unknown; but his capacity for pleasure he cannot change. That is a constant force. It is the same, though in another sphere. What he gains here, he loses there. In everything there is compensation. He wins a high position—good; but then, with the position comes a responsibility from which he was free before. He attains great wealth; but wealth also has its responsibilities. The higher he rises, the more delicate and difficult, as a rule, his work becomes; and while he secures more honour, he rarely wins more peace.1 [Note: S. A. Alexander.]

“I wish the good old times would come again,” she said, “when we were not quite so rich. I do not mean that I want to be poor; but there was a middle state”—so she was pleased to ramble on—“in which I am sure we were a great deal happier. A purchase is but a purchase, now that you have money enough and to spare. Formerly it used to be a triumph. When we coveted a cheap luxury (and, O! how much ado I had to get you to consent in those times!) we were used to have a debate two or three days before, and to weigh the for and against, and think what we might spare it out of, and what saving we could hit upon, that should be an equivalent. A thing was worth buying then, when we felt the money that we paid for it. Do you remember the brown suit which you made to hang upon you till all your friends cried shame upon you, it grew so threadbare—and all because of that folio Beaumont and Fletcher, which you dragged home late at night from Barker’s in Covent Garden? Do you remember how we eyed it for weeks before we could make up our minds to the purchase, and had not come to a determination till it was near ten o’clock of the Saturday night, when you set off from Islington, fearing you should be too late—and when the old bookseller with some grumbling opened his shop, and by the twinkling taper (for he was setting bedwards) lighted out the relic from his dusty treasures—and when you lugged it home, wishing it were twice as cumbersome—and when you presented it to me—and when we were exploring the perfectness of it (collating you called it)—and while I was repairing some of the loose leaves with paste, which your impatience would not suffer to be left till daybreak—was there no pleasure in being a poor man?”2 [Note: Charles Lamb, The Last Essays of Elia, 170.]

There is more happiness, more satisfaction, a truer life, and more obtained from life, in the cottages of the poor than in the homes of the rich.1 [Note: Andrew Carnegie.]

I pitied one whose tattered dress

Was patched, and stained with dust and rain;

He smiled on me; I could not guess

The viewless spirit’s wide domain.

He said, “The royal robe I wear

Trails all along the fields of light:

Its silent blue and silver bear

For gems the starry dust of night.

The breath of Joy unceasingly

Waves to and fro its folds starlit,

And far beyond earth’s misery

I live and breathe the joy of it.”2 [Note: “A. E.”]


The Great Maxims of the Great Teachers

“Ye ought to remember the words of the Lord Jesus.”

1. We have all heard of the seven wise men of Greece, who laid the foundations of philosophy in some pithy maxim or phrase, such as, “Suretyship is the precursor of ruin,” “Know thy opportunity,” “Man, know thyself,” and “Nothing too much.” Of these maxims the last two were unquestionably great and fruitful thoughts. The motto, “Know thyself,” was regarded by the ancients as an inspired, heaven-sent thought, and was honoured with a place on the walls of the temple at Delphi. It turned the great mind of Socrates from natural to moral philosophy; from the investigation of nature and her laws to the investigation of man and his duty. The maxim, “Nothing too much,” easily expanded into the philosophy of Epicurus, and is echoed over and over again in the pages of Horace and countless subsequent writers. But giving the fullest value to the maxims which have secured for these sages an immortality of fame, there is not one of them that can compare for a moment with this great saying of Christ, which is the subject of the text. It is strange that it is recorded by no evangelist, and seems only saved from oblivion by a casual quotation. It is strange, because if this saying were the single remnant of the teaching and life of Christ, it would place Him far above the pioneers of Greek philosophy. It is a brilliant paradox as well as a profound truth; for, as has already been noticed, the world’s verdict is otherwise. It is more blessed to receive than to give; more blessed to win, to gain, to take, to treasure; that is, that must be, the verdict of the world—of all those whose guiding principle is selfishness, or even worldly prudence and worldly considerations.

Depend upon it, if any one of you has this principle of Christ naturally planted in his heart, he has to thank Providence for instincts of phenomenal excellence. We are born into this world in a state of helpless dependence. We are in no condition to give or to do. Nature bestows on infants no capacities beyond the power to make their wants known, and to insist on their being supplied. Love, devotion, tender solicitude, watch over our cradle, divine our wants, anticipate our wishes. What can be more natural than for the dawning intelligence of boys or girls to regard these things as their right? to consider that parents and servants were created to minister to their wishes and wants? I do not believe it ever came into the heart of any man that he was sent into this world not to be ministered unto but to minister to others—to sacrifice himself, and not other people—except through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit of God. In this maxim of Christ’s lies the key to the kingdom of heaven. This key alone can open the door to real nobility, to real heavenliness of character. The thought in it lies at the bottom of every noble life and of every noble deed.1 [Note: A. W. Potts, School Sermons, 228.]

2. It should be noticed that the personal pronoun is emphatic (the Revised Version, by inserting himself, has given the correct rendering of the original Greek): “How he himself said” implies that the fact was beyond all doubt. We may note one distinctive feature in Christian philanthropy, that it is based upon allegiance to a divine Person, and upon a reference to a divine Person, and upon a reference to His commands. The emphatic personal pronoun seems to forbid the view that the Apostle is simply giving the sense of some of our Lord’s sayings.

What can I give Him,

Poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd

I would bring a lamb,

If I were a wise man

I would do my part—

Yet what I can I give Him,

Give my heart.1 [Note: Christina G. Rossetti.]


The Words of the Lord Jesus

“It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

From what source St. Paul obtained this, the only saying of our Lord, definitely so described, outside the four Gospels, we cannot tell, but the command to “remember” shows that the words must have been familiar words, like those from St. Clement and St. Polycarp, which are very similar to the utterance of the Sermon on the Mount. From whatever source they are derived, references in the Apostolic Fathers show how deep an impression they made upon the mind of the Church.

i. It is blessed to receive

“It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Our Lord said “more blessed.” Then it is blessed to receive. Until we know the blessedness of “receiving,” we cannot appreciate the higher blessedness of “giving.” There is no antithesis here between the blessedness of giving and the non-blessedness of receiving. The comparison which our Lord made was between the greater and the less, between the higher and lower forms of blessedness. Oriental mysticism, Buddhist legends, have urged the hyperbole of self-sacrifice for its own sake, and have stumbled into this veritable pit of pessimism. The Lord Christ illumined the profoundest problems of ethics and the true secret of the religious life, when He said: “It is more blessed to give than to receive”; “freely ye have received, freely give.”

1. It is blessed simply to receive Nature’s gifts, even before we can apprehend their full complexity, their lavish abundance, their anticipation of our desires, their hidden secrets, and their boundless possibilities. All the progress of man is measured by the degree to which he has appreciated and received, discovered and utilized, the free gifts of God in nature. When man first understood what Nature had done for him in offering him the flower and fruit and seed of corn, then began the harvest of the World. When human intelligence understood what was involved in the chalk-beds and coal-fields and mineral wealth at man’s feet; when he grasped the meaning of fire and lightning, and the contents of water and air; when he thus received these treasured forces and boundless provisions of nature; when he began to “receive” and utilize the energies which had been moulding the world for untold centuries—then science took its birth. If we stubbornly refuse to receive the light of heaven, we stumble blindfold into the pitfalls at our side. Should we refuse to receive our daily bread, or put it from us with suicidal hand, we perish. Furthermore, Nature lavishes upon us, together with these elementary gifts, appeals to our higher and more subtle desires, awakens them by her magic touch, and gives us the sense of beauty, truth, and goodness. The surpassing loveliness of much of Nature’s work must be received by those who have the eyes and the ears of the spirit opened to perceive it.

All that Art has ever done to soften and beautify the career of man upon earth, has been to record the high joy, or subtle pain akin to bliss, which the perception and reception of the glory of Nature has given to a comparatively few elect souls. The great artists and poets, musicians and sculptors, have so embodied their strong emotions in abiding form and material, that others may learn from them the blessed secret of receiving the mystery of beauty, and accepting some of the truth and goodness of its eternal Source.1 [Note: H. R. Reynolds.]

Oh, give thyself to the kind grey day

That doth not bargain nor betray!

The tranquil stream

Shall hallow thy dream;

The grasses dry

Divine thy sigh;

And the withered weed

Thy need;

The silent trees

Shall give heart’s ease,

Shall dower thee with soft distances,

Vistas of soul tranquillities;

Ah, the silent trees


Thy heart shall render due reply

To the quiet of earth and the peace of sky;

Yea, the grey, mysterious depths of the day

Shall fashion thy soul, in a secret way,

To meet Infinity;

If thou wilt yield thee to the day

That doth not bargain nor betray.

2. All human love is a ministration of Divine love. Human tenderness is but the Channel cut by Providence through which the rivers of God’s pleasure flow. God lavishes His own love upon us through the hearts and by the hands of those who love. Now, it is blessed to receive human love, and the gifts of love. Self-sacrifice would be a form of selfishness, if it monopolized all the blessedness of the process. See the child with its hands full of birthday gifts, intense joy lighting its eye, almost bursting the tiny heart. If the little one had no blessedness in receiving father’s, mother’s, and sister’s tokens of love, and found no joy in its new riches, if such were thrown idly away and conveyed no thrill of bliss, the grace of giving would be doubtful. Sometimes pride of spirit refuses to be beholden to another, resenting the sense of obligation. But all beneficence would be dried at its source, all philanthropy and evangelism at home and abroad would sicken and die, if there were no blessedness in receiving the streams of living water which are always pouring forth from human hearts.

There lives a glory in these sweet June days

Such as I found not in the years gone by,

A kindlier meaning in the unclouded sky,

A tenderer whisper in the woodland ways;

And I have understanding of the lays,

The birds are singing, forasmuch as I

Have learned how love avails to satisfy

A man’s whole heart, and fills his lips with praise.

The morning air is laden with the scent

Of roses; and within my garden grows

A rosebud that shall some day be a rose,

Whose bloom and perfume never shall be spent—

The flower of love: and he who hath it knows

The endless summer of complete content.1 [Note: P. C. Ainsworth, Poems, 87.]

3. The most impressive illustration of the principle is the blessedness of receiving the grace of God. The secret of receiving from the living God what is neither earned nor merited, and, moreover, that to which we cannot lay the smallest claim; nay, further, that which we have madly, meanly, gracelessly, forfeited, is a secret which some are slow to learn. Human pride comes in and resents unmerited compassion, and disputes the necessity for mercy. Philosophy helps to minimize the peril of sin, and a shallow science throws all the blame of sin on nature or matter or on God Himself. The blessedness of receiving Christ’s supreme gift is disputed, because it involves too severe a self-scrutiny. The flesh which crucified Him once, resists the crucifying process when faith begins to drive the nails into its own quivering hands. The world must be crucified by the cross of Christ, but the world in our hearts dies hard.

Thou sayest, “Fit me, fashion me for Thee.”

Stretch forth thine empty hands, and be thou still;

O restless soul, thou dost but hinder Me

By valiant purpose and by steadfast will,

Behold the summer flowers beneath the sun,

In stillness His great glory they behold;

And sweetly thus His mighty work is done,

And resting in His gladness they unfold.

So are the sweetness and the joy divine

Thine, O beloved, and the work is Mine.2 [Note: Gerhardt Tersteegen, trans. by Frances Bevan.]

ii. It is more blessed to give

1. “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” These golden words of Christ admit and enforce all that has been said about receiving, but they authoritatively proclaim a deeper truth, and promise a blessedness which surpasses that of receiving from nature and human love their best gifts, or even that of receiving Divine grace. Can any reason be assigned for such a sweeping and comprehensive inversion of all ordinary maxims? Why should the bestowal of joy be a greater blessedness to the giver than to the receiver?

2. Our Lord does not say it is more natural or more pleasant. He lifts our thoughts into a new region. He appeals to the spiritual and the eternal. He bids us consider the issue and the permanence of conduct. And we cannot understand His words till we feel that they are of universal application. The principle is not to be limited to the material bestowal of alms, to the help of the needy and the suffering. It does indeed apply here, but in such cases we can see that the power of giving involves an obvious superiority, an abundance of resources, a freedom from distress, which tend to hide the true nature of the benediction. The blessedness of which the Lord speaks is far deeper than ease and comfort. The giving which He contemplates is not measured by any outward standard. The spirit which the giving embodies finds countless forms under which it shows itself. It reaches through the whole fabric of our lives. It is true of thought, true of feeling, true of action, that it is more blessed to give than to receive. And this blessedness is not for one, but for all. We can all be givers as we are all receivers. In the unity of the State he who gives recognizes in giving that he himself receives, and he who receives learns to give even in receiving.

(1) Few things can be more delightful than to enrich the mind with new truths; to apprehend a little more clearly than before the laws by which the world is governed; to discern a little more intelligently the marvels of beauty which lie everywhere about our feet; to rise to a larger understanding of the conditions of human progress; to feel that we have made our own that which great men have established for the ennobling and the enlightening of life. Few things can be more delightful, but our experience will teach us that at least one thing is—if ever we have been enabled to make some simple fact plainer to a learner, to bring from our treasures a thought which another has required; to expose a falsehood which a friend has unwarily admitted; to see the seed of good which we have scattered ripening to a fruitful harvest. We compare the two joys of learning and teaching, both pure, and generous, and abiding, and our judgment is beyond appeal. In thought, it is more blessed to give than to receive.

(2) No one, again, can be insensible to the deep joy which comes from feeling that others love us: that there are those who wait with watchful eagerness to render to us offices of kindly ministry; to serve the cause which we embrace; to follow where we lead; to yield their own wills to our judgment. Such tender and brave devotion enlarges the scope of our life, and multiplies the powers of our action. As a nature is generous and lofty, such devotion disciplines and purifies it. But there is something higher still. To love is better, nobler, more elevating, and more sure, than to be loved. To love is to have found that which lifts us above ourselves, which makes us capable of sacrifice, which unseals the forces of another world. He who is loved has gained the highest tribute of earth. He who loves has entered into the spirit of heaven. The love which comes to us must always be alloyed with the sad sense of our own unworthiness. The love which goes out from us is kept bright by the ideal to which it is directed. In feeling, it is more blessed to give than to receive.

(3) In the daily conduct of life we grow stronger and more courageous when we know that a host of fellow-workers are furthering the labours in which we are busy. Their force sustains us when we faint. Their energy inspires us with enthusiasm. Their example stirs us to rivalry. We need not wish to disparage the greatness of the debt which we owe to friends and fellow-citizens, or to lessen the gladness of gratitude. But what then? He who has turned aside from the march of the great army to bring help to one who has fallen, he who has yielded a foremost place that he might restore another, has felt something of the joy of his Lord, the joy of absolute self-surrender, and known that there is a priceless victory in what seems to be failure in the eyes of men. In action, it is more blessed to give than to receive.

Giving is “twice blest.” The natives of Australia have a curious weapon called a boomerang, which they are able to throw from them in such a way as to make it return to them again. Every gift is a boomerang; it returns to the giver in blessing. When Thomas Carlyle was six years of age he found this out. An old man came to the door begging. Carlyle was alone; there was no food in the house, but, asking the man to wait, the little lad got his “penny-pig” off the shelf, broke it, and gave the old man all the money it contained. “And,” said he, “I never knew before what the joy of heaven was like.”

Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold:

Who opens it, hath it twice told.1 [Note: G. Herbert.]

The Rev. S. Vincent, of Plymouth, has told of an aged man in the hospital, whose wife came to see him once a week. They were very poor, and it cost one shilling and fourpence each journey. One week she brought the copy of the Missionary Herald, and read the appeal for greater funds; and after prayer, though the weekly visit was their one ray of sunshine, and could not be often repeated because the man was near death, yet they decided to miss one week that the one shilling and fourpence might go to the missionary society.

He who bends to himself a joy

Does the winged life destroy;

But he who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in eternity’s sunrise.2 [Note: W. Blake.]

I know you are not over-fond of Moore: I hate his politics, but he is a very amusing companion.

I must tell you one of his stories, because, as Sir Walter Scott is the hero of it, I know it will not be unacceptable to you. When George IV. went to Ireland, one of the “pisintry,” delighted with his affability to the crowd on landing, said to the toll-keeper as the King passed through—

“Och, now! and His Majesty, God bless him, never paid the turnpike! an’ how’s that?”

“Oh! Kings never does: we lets ’em go free,” was the answer.

“Then there’s the dirty money for ye,” says Pat. “It shall never be said that the King came here, and found nobody to pay the turnpike for him.”

Moore, on his visit to Abbotsford, told this story to Sir Walter, when they were comparing notes as to the two royal visits.

“Now, Mr. Moore,” replied Scott, “there ye have just the advantage of us. There was no want of enthusiasm here: the Scotch folk would have done anything in the world for his Majesty, but—pay the turnpike.”1 [Note: R. H. D. Barham, The Life and Letters of the Rev. Richard Harris Barham, 207.]

“We might all of us give far more than we do, without being a bit the worse;

It was never yet loving that emptied the heart, or giving that emptied the purse,

We must be like the woman our Saviour praised, and do but the best we can.”

“Ay, that’ll be just the plan, neighbour, that’ll be just the plan.”2 [Note: Dora Greenwell.]


The Example of Jesus

We began by studying the example of St. Paul, let us end with a higher example. If you would see this saying exemplified in its perfection, you must go to his Master—to the utterer of the saying. Even St. Paul was behind Him who “was rich, and for our sakes became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich!”—behind Him who “was in the form of God, and thought it not robbery to be equal with God, but made himself of no reputation, and took on him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men, and being found in fashion as a man, humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross!” St. Paul was behind Him who, in uttering the saying without reference to Himself, might yet have written in it the motto of His life, from Bethlehem to Calvary and the grave—“It is more blessed to give than to receive!”

You have seen church windows painted with scenes from our Lord’s life, and, although they may be but imperfectly executed, they enable you to realize those divine facts better than a sermon could do. Let us stand in imagination before such a window now, and look with reverence and attention at some of the acts of the Incarnate Life, as a commentary upon the text.

(1) There, then, first is Bethlehem. Round the manger cradle only His mother and foster-father Joseph are standing, with the shepherds and the cattle, where “he made himself of no reputation and took upon him the form of a servant.” Look at the Child lying therein who is yet the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Where are the robes of majesty, His sceptre and His crown? where the Divine Glory which He had with the Father before the world was? where the legions of angels, warders, and ministers of the palace where Jehovah dwells? All for the time laid aside, left behind Him, given up. In the Heaven of Heavens the seven lamps are glowing, as for evermore the Throne is exalted, and before it are worshipping those who do, without swerving, the will of God perfectly; the Presence Chamber is ringing with the Hymn of the Seraphim and the strains of harps of gold; while the King of the Palace has come down from Heaven, has emptied Himself of His glory—“is made Man.”

(2) We pass on to the next subject, the Central Light of the Windows. What does Calvary say to us, Calvary with its Cross and Him that hangs thereon? What do we read in the Eyes so full of anguish yet of infinite love, in the Hands stretched out, the Body racked and pierced, in the purple stream of Life-blood, in the surrendered Spirit? What but this—while we were yet sinners Christ died for us, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life. And this life He surrenders as a voluntary gift. “I have power to lay down my life, and I have power to take it again, no man taketh it from me.”

(3) Our third and last picture, bright with a triumphant light, carries us forth in spirit to the Mount of Olives. From the green slopes of the hillside Christ has gone up, and the little knot of men to whom He has been more than Master, Teacher, and Brother, stand gazing wistfully up into Heaven. Do they behold the radiance gleaming from the outermost rank of the heavenly host, and catch the welcoming smile on angel faces as they receive their returning and victorious King? Do they hear the last echoes wafted down the waves of space, echoes of that mighty chorus of the ten thousand times ten thousand joyful spirits, “Lift up your heads, O ye gates”? And if they did, and if their sad hearts followed Jesus yet as He passes onward to the Throne, must it not have seemed as if a great gulf had opened between them and their Lord, and that a bereaved and weary and impoverished life alone remained with them? And what is the reassuring message sent down to them? “The same Jesus shall so come”—the same Jesus who taught, healed, and died for you, shall come. And meanwhile, as He is seated above, God of God, Light of Light, He is not unmindful of His own. Why did He ascend up, why again receive His glory, but that He might prepare a place for us, that He might send the Comforter to us, that He might “receive gifts” for us, that in a word He might write above the Great White Throne itself, “It is more blessed to give than to receive”?1 [Note: E. C. Paget.]

The Beatitude of the Giver


Alexander (S. A.), The Christianity of St. Paul, 73.

Alford (H.), Quebec Chapel Sermons, ii. 1.

Bamford (J. M.), The Burning Heart, 183.

Brown (C. J.), The Word of Life, 293.

Burrell (D. J.), The Wondrous Cross, 73.

Cox (S.), An Expositor’s Note Book, 388.

Jerdan (C.), Pastures of Tender Grass, 168.

Keble (J.), Sermons for the Christian Year (Miscellaneous), 300.

Leader (G. C.), Wanted—A Boy, 55.

Mackenzie (W. L.), Pure Religion, 127.

Neville (W. G.), Sermons, 300.

Paget (E. C.), Silence, 139.

Potts (A. W.), School Sermons, 228.

Reynolds (H. R.), Light and Peace, 55.

Westcott (B. F.), Peterborough Sermons, 383.

Christian World Pulpit, xx. 156 (M‘Cree); xxxix. 99 (Jones).

The Great Texts of the Bible - James Hastings

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