Hebrews 10:19-22
Great Texts of the Bible
The Way of Access

Having therefore, brethren, boldness to enter into the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by the way which he dedicated for us, a new and living way, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh; and having a great priest over the house of God; let us draw near with a true heart in fulness of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our body washed with pure water.—Hebrews 10:19-22.

Christianity is the religion of unrestricted fellowship with God. Such is the leading idea of the doctrinal part of this Epistle. In this connexion the exhortation contained in the text claims special attention. It rests on and is expressed in terms of the central truth, “Christ has made it possible to have perfect fellowship with God; that is the objective significance of the Christian era. Therefore draw near, realize your privilege subjectively.” Draw near! that is the appropriate application of the whole foregoing argument, the goal to which the long train of thought has been leading up. Readers who have felt the force of the theoretical statement can do nothing else than come into the presence of God with filial trust and holy joy. They do not merely hope for free access as a future good. They consciously enjoy it now as a present possession. For that is implied in the exhortation, “Let us draw near.” The thing is to be done now, the privilege can be enjoyed at once; if it be not, it is our own fault. There is thus a noteworthy advance at this point on the teaching in the 6th chapter of the same Epistle, where the summum bonum, nearness to God, appears as a boon in store for us in the future—Christ has gone within the veil as our Forerunner, and we shall follow Him by and by; but meantime we only cast into that sacred region the anchor of our hope. Now, not hope, but full assurance of faith, making the future present, is the watchword. The increased boldness of tone befits the close of the argument intended to show that Christianity is the perfect religion.

If we would measure the height of our privileges in comparison with those of the Jews, we may do so by simply asking the question, What would a pious and devout Jew have thought, to say nothing of a congregation of pious and devout Jews, if one from among them, standing before the veil, had presumed to address them in the language of the text, saying: “Brethren, let us boldly enter into the holiest through the veil”? That which would have been in their ears the direst blasphemy, to be immediately punished by death, is to us but an exhortation to exercise the gospel privilege bestowed upon every Christian child. Without the ceremonies, without the outward washings, without the endless preparations which characterized the annual entrance within the veil of the high priest alone, we now exhort one another, with boldness to enter within the veil, and draw near to God in full assurance of faith.1 [Note: W. Pulsford, Trinity Church Sermons, 75.]


Unhindered Approach

1. Prior to the time of our Lord’s earthly manifestation man had attempted in vain to approach to God. Altars, sacrifices, cleansings, gifts, were in themselves all unavailing, for man could not merit God’s favour or enter by his own efforts into fellowship with the Most High. The futility and hopelessness of all mere human attempts to come back to God were proved again and again in history, among both Jews and Gentiles, and man’s return to his Father in heaven was made possible only when “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son.” The Lord Jesus Christ, God’s Son and our Saviour, became the Way, the Truth, and the Life; and now because of what happened on that first Good Friday, a new and living way has been consecrated for us by the blood of Jesus. Now there is unhindered approach to God, the way is made clear, all obstacles are removed, and the soul is free to traverse that way until it reaches the very heart of God.

The high priest, whoever he might be, must always have dreaded that solemn day of atonement, when he had to pass into the silent and secluded place. There is a tradition among the Jews, that a rope was fastened to the high priest’s foot that they might draw out his corpse in case he died before the Lord. It may be that Jewish superstition devised such a thing, for it is an awful position for a man to enter into the secret dwelling of Jehovah. But we cannot die in the holy place now, since Jesus has died for us. The death of Jesus is the guarantee of the eternal life of all for whom He died. We have boldness to enter, for we shall not perish. A burglar may enter a house, but he does not enter with boldness; he is always afraid lest he should be surprised. We might enter a stranger’s house without an invitation, but we should feel no boldness there. We do not enter the holiest as housebreakers or as strangers; we come in obedience to a call, to fulfil our office. When once we accept the sacrifice of Christ, we are at home with God. Where should a child be bold but in his father’s house?1 [Note: C. H. Spurgeon.]

2. Before Christ, access to the mercy-seat was restricted to one nation—to one tribe of that nation—to one family of that tribe—to one man of that family, and to him, once in the year; but every believer now is his own high priest, and may enter the holiest as often as his desires lead him to the throne of grace. The nearest access to the Divine presence is permitted to every true worshipper. All prohibitions have been withdrawn, all obstacles removed, and the least in the Kingdom of Heaven may enter the audience-chamber of the King of kings. Here, in the secret of His tabernacle, He waits to be gracious. His ear is open to the prayer of His people, and should not reserve be thrown off in the presence of One who so understands our case, who enters into it with such perfect sympathy, and who is so able to do for us exceeding abundantly above all that we can ask or think? Here let penitence kneel; for there is mercy with Him that He may be feared. Here let sorrow bow; for He is the God of all comfort. Here let weakness prostrate itself; for He giveth power to the faint. Here light is poured into the darkened mind; riches are lavished on the poor in spirit. The wounded conscience is healed, the troubled heart is soothed, the hungry soul is filled with goodness.

In the tabernacle were three different degrees of access to God: the outer court (the access of the people); the holy place (the access of the priest); and the holiest of all (the access of the high priest)—the nearest approach of any. A writer on this Epistle has illustrated these three different degrees of nearness to God, as existing in the “worldly sanctuary,” by the three distinct relationships to the master of a house, of a servant, a friend, and a son. At table, the servant stands and waits his master’s commands; the guest, who has a nearer approach, sits and holds converse as a friend. Suddenly the child of the family opens the door, rushes in, finds his way to the father’s knee and puts his arms around his father’s neck. This is the nearest approach of all.1 [Note: J. W. Bardsley.]


A New and Living Way

1. How boldly the writer of the Epistle puts in the forefront just those features of the Christian religion which a timid prudence would take care to conceal! To the conservative mind of Hebrew readers, enamoured of the ancient Levitical system, the novelty of the way might seem the reverse of a recommendation. Nevertheless, the teacher hesitates not to proclaim with emphasis the fact that the way is new. And his boldness was never more completely justified. For in this case the contrast is not between a new, unfrequented path and an old one, familiar and well-trodden; but rather between a new way and no way at all. While the veil existed, dividing the tabernacle into a Holy Place and an inaccessible Most Holy Place, the way into God’s presence was not opened up. Men were kept at a distance in fear, not daring to go beyond the door of the tent, or at farthest, in the case of ordinary priests, the screen which separated the outer from the inner compartment. To call the way new was simply to pronounce on Leviticalism a verdict of incompetence.

The way is called a “new way”; it might also be translated an accessible way; but as almost all the ancient translations have taken the other signification of the word, it seems far more advisable to rest contented with it. And this is called a new way, no doubt with reference to the way which was made old—to the abrogation of the former way. For when Christ was come, a High Priest of better things, then that which was old vanished away. It is “a new way”—the way of Jehovah’s devising, the way which Jehovah, who creates new things and supernatural things, has provided, and as being a way that ever remains.2 [Note: John Duncan, The Pulpit and Communion Table, 385.]

(1) This way of access is not the original way of man’s primitive nature, but a way newly opened up in view of the necessities of the state and circumstances into which man’s sin and sinfulness had brought him, a way for sinners into the Holy of Holies, the presence of God. Without irreverence, we may say that it is a way that was new for God as well as for man; for only by the solution of the problem, how God could become a “guest with sinners,” is the question answered, how sinners may find access to God. But as God has found His way to man in his sinfulness, we may hope that there is a way for sinners to God in His holiness. The way of His descent to us may become the way of our ascent to Him.

(2) A “new” way also means a way which is always fresh. The original Greek suggests the idea of “newly slain.” Jesus died long ago, but His death is the same now as at the moment of its occurrence. We come to God by a way which is always effectual with God. It never loses one whit of its power and freshness.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood

Shall never lose its power.

The way is not worn away by long traffic: it is always new. If Jesus Christ had died yesterday, should we not feel that we could plead His merit to-day? But we can plead that merit after these nineteen centuries with as much confidence as at the first hour. The way to God is always newly laid. The cross is as glorious as though He were still upon it. So far as the freshness, vigour, and force of the atoning death are concerned, we come by a new way. Let it be always new to our hearts.

Much may remain dark to us; but the purposes of life receive a clear and powerful direction the moment we believe that the one supreme Way of life is Jesus Christ, God’s Son, our Lord. No other single way, capable of uniting the whole nature and life of man, has yet been discovered or devised which does not tend to draw us down rather than lift us up. But if in Him is shown at once the Way of God, so far as it can be intelligible to man, and the Way of man according to God’s purpose, then many a plausible and applauded way stands condemned at once as of necessity leading nowhither; and many a way which promises little except to conscience is glorified with Him, and has the assurance of His victory. Yet, when the primary choice has once been made, the labour is not ended. The Way is no uniform external rule. It traverses the changes of all things that God has made and is ever making, that we may help to subdue all to His use; and so it has to be sought out again and again with growing fitnesses of wisdom and devotion. Thus the outward form of our own ways is in great part determined for us from without, while their inward coherence is committed to our own keeping; and the infinite life of the Son of man can transmute them all into ways of God.1 [Note: F. J. A. Hort, The Way, the Truth, the Life, 38.]

2. It is called a living way not because it leads to life, nor because it gives life, nor because it vitally renews itself, nor because its use is restricted to the living—though in all these senses there is much truth—but because it is a way set up in Him who is the Life. Christ is the way to Christ, as the light is the way to the sun, and the seed-life of the flower the way to the flower. He is the life-fountain, and also the stream which conducts to it. And because it is a way set up in Him, it is a “living way,” and fills with animation those who walk in it. Every other way wearies the traveller, but in this way the farther and longer he journeys, the more he is refreshed, energized and inspirited, so that he who at first has need to be carried receives strength to walk, and he who walks learns to run, and the runner to fly, hastening with ever-increasing swiftness of flight to challenge his destiny as one called in Christ to seek in the heights, “glory, honour, and eternal life.”

A “living way,” “living stones”: such expressions of New Testament writers bear witness to the inadequacy of ordinary language to convey the truth concerning the good that came to the world by Jesus Christ. Bible writers laboured in expression, throwing out words and phrases with a certain sublime helplessness at an object passing human comprehension. And yet the meaning here is plain enough. The epithet “living” implies that God’s presence is not now, as of old, restricted to any particular place. To be near Him we do not need to pass locally from one point in space to another. We draw nigh to God by right thoughts of His character, and by loving, trustful affections. When we think of Him as revealed to us in Christ, when we trust Him implicitly, as one who for Christ’s sake forgiveth our sin, we are in His very presence. The way is living because it is spiritual, a way which we tread, not by the feet, but by the mind and the heart, as is hinted in Hebrews 10:22, where it is said, “Let us draw near with true heart and with full assurance of faith.” The way is Christ Himself, the Revealer and the Reconciler, and we come to God through Him when we trust Him in both capacities.1 [Note: A. B. Bruce, The Epistle to the Hebrews, 395.]


The Veil of His Flesh

1. This new and living way has been consecrated for us by Jesus through the veil by being first trodden by Him. Under the Levitical system there was a veil which barred the way, so that beyond it no man but the high priest might go. Under the new economy there is no bar—the way lies right through the veil to the very presence of God. There is no veil for us, but there was a veil for our great High Priest. He opened up the way for us through the veil, pushing it aside, never again to be drawn across the entrance. What this means is explained in the words, “that is to say, his flesh.” The thought of the writer seems to be that the veil through which Jesus had to pass, by the pushing aside of which He opened up an entrance into the Divine presence, was His mortal flesh. That is to say, in unfigurative terms, the truth taught is, that we owe our liberty Godwards to the fact that Christ took a body and passed with it into glory through a course of humiliation and suffering. There was a veil for Him, inasmuch as it beloved Him to suffer in the flesh, and so pass into glory; there is no veil for us because the Just One suffered for the unjust, that He might bring them nigh to God.

By the expression, “the veil of his flesh,” the writer gathers up in unity of significance the whole incarnate relations of the Son of Man, in His representative character on our behalf, and represents them as a veil of separation between Him and the house of His glory which He had with the Father before the world was, and says, “Only through that can there be a way for man to God.” And this was true for Christ Himself as well as for us. Only by the rending of the veil of His flesh could He who “came out from God” return to Him. Standing in our nature, and as our Forerunner, He must needs die to enter into life. By dying, the veil of His flesh was rent, and a way opened up through death to eternal life.

This conception of Christ’s flesh as a veil is beautiful as a passing, poetic thought, but care must be taken not to press it too far. It cannot, of course, be made part of a consistent and complete typology. It is not meant for this. But as the veil stood locally before the holiest in the Mosaic tabernacle, the way into which lay through it, so Christ’s life in the flesh stood between Him and His entrance before God, and His flesh had to be rent ere He could enter. The truth to be laid to heart is, that our liberty of access cost Christ much. The making of the new way was no light matter for Him.1 [Note: A. B. Bruce, The Epistle to the Hebrews, 397.]

2. When, by the sacrifice of Himself, the Son of God came down from heaven, and took upon Him, not the nature of angels, but our nature, that flesh became a revealer of God; in Him human nature, which He shares with us—and which we must therefore regard as our human nature—we can see God. Veiled in flesh we can the Godhead see. For nearly forty years He lived our life, and made it a way to God, as He grew in wisdom and in stature under all the limitations of the human being from infancy to manhood. Human nature—our flesh—His flesh is the way to the very presence of God. In that human nature, Jesus Christ entered into the holiest by virtue of the subjection of His own will to the will of the Father. He who came down from heaven went back thither clothed in our nature, having therein been ascending ever upwards in the spiritual plane as He learned obedience and was perfected by the things that He suffered; and He points out the way to us, how we may likewise ascend to God in and by that human nature which He consecrated for us.

How do scientific investigators of natural phenomena obtain their knowledge of the sun with regard to one of its manifestations? The reply is, “Through the veil.” It is only when veiled that accurate measurements of the corona of the sun can be taken. We read of expeditions of scientific men bent on studying and measuring the corona of the sun—now to Russia, now to the West Indies; they are fulfilling the prophecy inscribed on the portal of science, “Seek and ye shall find.” But why do they proceed to these distant spots? Because it has become known to astronomers that there would be visible at these spots, at a definite time, a total eclipse; and whilst the glory and dazzling effulgence of the sun are veiled, they are enabled to make their observations, to determine doubtful points, to measure the flame of the corona, to become generally acquainted with the character of the luminary, “through the veil, that is to say, his eclipse.” It would be hardly unscientific to say, “No man hath seen the corona of the sun at any time, but the eclipse—that doth reveal it.” “The Lord our God is a sun.” And the adorable mystery of the Incarnation, the Cross and Passion, the precious death and burial are, as it were, an eclipse of His glory, and so a most revealing experience.1 [Note: Basil Wilberforce.]


A Privilege and Its Conditions

A way into the holiest of all has thus been consecrated for us through the veil, that is to say, the flesh, the broken and bruised humanity of Christ. Through His atoning sacrifice we have an unchallengeable right of entrance into the holiest of all, and within that holiest of all have a high priest over the house of God. Now what is the corresponding duty? To believe, is it, that we have right of access, and there let the matter rest? that we have a high priest over the house of God, and there let the matter rest? Undoubtedly not. If the boldness, the free, unchallengeable right to enter in be our privilege, then to enter in is our duty:—“Having boldness … let us draw near.” The term “draw near” in English reads as a mere general term; but as addressed to the Hebrews it had peculiar significance. It is the term which is applied to the approach of a priest drawing near to offer sacrifice. It is called drawing near because God was to be approached by sacrifice. The nature of the service in the Temple was approach to God, and therefore, when we are called to draw near, we are reminded of the duty of worshippers—ever drawing near. The privilege is right of access unto God, the duty is that of approach unto God; and no man values the right of access who does not desire to approach.

Drawing near to God is one of the characteristic marks of Christianity. In the old days men stood afar off from Him, the way into His presence not being manifest. Sin kept man at a distance, and there was a slavish fear and dread of God that nothing could really overcome. Now, however, all this is changed, and because of what the Lord Jesus Christ has done for us on the cross we can, “we may, we must draw near.”

So near, so very near to God,

Nearer I cannot be,

For in the Person of His Son

I am as near as He.

We are to draw near with a true heart, that is, in genuine sincerity, because our hearts have been “sprinkled from an evil conscience.” The fear and dread are gone, and now the soul draws near with deepest reverence and yet with genuine gratitude. We are to draw near confidently, “in full assurance of faith.” There is nothing now to block the way, and no reason why we should linger outside the presence of God. Our Heavenly Father has done everything possible to make it simple and easy for us to come back to Him, and in drawing near with full confidence we shall find a welcome and fulness of blessing. The original language implies that we should draw near constantly as well as confidently. The Greek may be rendered, “Let us keep drawing near.” This is the secret of the Christian life—a continual approach to our God and Father.1 [Note: W. H. Griffith Thomas.]

1. We are to approach “with a true heart.” Literally translated, the words mean: “With a heart answering to the ideal”; that is to say, in the excellent words of Bishop Westcott, “a heart which fulfils the ideal office of the heart, the seat of the individual character, towards God.” The question thus comes to be, What sort of heart is that which realizes the ideal of worship, offering eloquent worship, blessing God with all that is within? An undivided, sincere heart, doubtless, but always something more. Besides sincerity there must be gladness, the gladness that is possible when men worship a God whom they can utterly trust and love. Along with this gladness begotten of faith go enthusiasm, generous self-abandonment, spontaneous service, rendered not slavishly, in mechanical compliance with rigid rules, but in the free spirit of sonship, the heart obeying no law but its own devoted impulses.

The pure in heart shall see the truth, means that—given equal data, and the same intellectual advantage—the morally better man will strike the truth more nearly, will be more happy in his guesses and ventures, since he is more in harmony with reality, more subtly responsive to its hints. Not only the mind but the whole soul is the organ of truth. He who, in his inward and outward life, puts Christ before all, even before his own life and the objects of his deepest affection, thereby admits His Godhead with a conviction more vital than any of which the bare intellect is capable. It is from the whole soul, and not from the surface of the mind alone, that we must answer the question, “What think ye of Christ? Whose son is He?”1 [Note: George Tyrrell, Oil and Wine.]

2. Further, we are to draw near “in fulness (or, as the A.V. has it, “in full assurance”) of faith,” that is, being fully assured that the way of “access to God” for sinful men has been opened up; that God has solved His own problem; and that in Christ, His representative and ours, the Son of God and Son of man, it stands a completed work, with its gate on this side the veil, for us as for Him—the cross; and, through the veil, its goal—the cross crowned in glory. Assured of this, let us draw near, none daring to make us afraid; for should any arrest our course, and demand our right to enter within “the holiest,” we can point them to the way, and to our hearts, sprinkled with the blood of Him who in our nature and in our name is set over the house of God. “For both he that sanctifieth and they that are sanctified are all of one: for which cause he is not ashamed to call them brethren.” Without, on this side the veil, we carry the same right of entrance as that by which He reigns within.

By the words “full assurance of faith” we are not to understand a full assurance of our possessing faith, an assurance of our being already in a gracious state—although that is attainable just in this way of approach, and maintainable in the due, humble believing use of the means which God hath appointed for the attaining and maintaining of it—but the full assurance or the plenitude of faith that we have a right of access. If we would wish the full assurance that we have faith I know no better way, I know no other way, of obtaining it than by the full assurance that lies in direct believing what God testifies—direct believing, accepting, and resting on what God gives and lays before us as a ground of sure hope. Let us beware of all suspicions, evil surmisings, and doubtings. Not but that there are saints coming in with many such incongruities; but let believers know that whilst they complain of it as their calamity—and no doubt it is, and we ought to sympathize with them—yet it is their sin. God has a right to a full, an undoubting, unhesitating faith.1 [Note: John Duncan, The Pulpit and Communion Table, 401.]

3. Then we are to come with “our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience,” which is synonymous with the conscience purged from dead works (Hebrews 9:14). The state described is that of a heart or a conscience which has experienced the full effect of Christ’s sacrifice, taken in all the latitude assigned to it in a previous chapter, as embracing the pardon of sin, moral renewal, and deliverance from the dominion of a legal spirit. It is not so easy to decide what precisely is signified by the body “washed with pure water.” The meaning is plain in reference to the Levitical type, but what is the corresponding fact in the spiritual sphere? The common reply to the question is, Christian baptism. The suggestion is tempting, and even not altogether destitute of probability; and yet one cannot help feeling that, if baptism had been in the writer’s mind, it would have been easy and natural for him to have indicated his thought by the addition of a word. It is doubtful if this final specification serves any purpose beyond expressing the thoroughness of the cleansing process undergone by a Christian man who surrenders himself completely to the redeeming influence of Christ. The whole man, body, soul, and spirit, becomes purified, consecrated, transfigured, a veritable king and priest of God.

In the outer court of the Temple there stood a large bath, or brazen sea, in which the high priest was required to wash before he entered the most holy place. This washing was repeated in the course of the day, at a more advanced stage in the services; and the intention of the ceremonial, no doubt, was to impress him, and through him the people, with the need of personal purity as a condition of acceptable communion with God.2 [Note: W. Ramage, Sermons, 360.]

Readers of such a book as the late James Adam’s Religious Teachers of Greece know what a splendid succession there was of men who thought deeply about God, and taught lessons that were permanent additions to the spiritual wealth of mankind. I am tempted to add a reference to a less familiar source for the study of Greek religion, which is very instructive. A black marble column of the age of Hadrian, found near Lindus, in Rhodes, gives the conditions on which men may enter the temple before which it stood. “First and foremost, being pure and healthy in hands and mind, and with no consciousness of wrong-doing.” How much the first combination resembles Hebrews 10:22! Cleanliness was even in Christian worship a worthy emblem of godliness—what else did baptism originally mean?1 [Note: J. H. Moulton, Religions and Religion, 62.]

The sacred writer regards sin as a pollution of the conscience, which keeps a man away from the presence and the worship of God. The object of sacrifice is to remove this pollution of the conscience. The power which can alone cleanse the conscience is the forgiving love and acceptance of God Himself brought home to the heart. The one necessity for man, and the highest privilege to which he can aspire, is to be peace and in communion with God. When this communion is broken, as it is broken, by sin, which in its essence is departure from God, the man is unclean, and, so far as his conscience is alive and awake, he is conscious of defilement. Sin, or departure from God, is in the nature of things, a pollution; and it is impossible for a sinner to think of the true God at all, and to have the faintest desire of being at peace with Him, without the sense of sin, which is the sense of not being pure enough for the presence of God, being stirred within him. Thus the sacred writer holds: Man’s true evil is sin, or departure from the living God; because his true glory is fellowship with the living God. The sinner desirous of returning to God becomes conscious of defilement; the great work of Christ’s sacrifice is to remove the defilement, and to lead back the sorrowing but trusting sinner into peace with the Father. The sacrifice of Christ does this because He is the Son whom the Father sent to redeem the world; because when He came into the world He bore and He still bears our sins; because sharing in the flesh and blood of sinful humanity, and having learnt sympathy and become perfect through temptation, He has been received as the Son of man into the holiest, which is the Father’s love and confidence, and sits down for ever pleading our cause at the Father’s right hand.2 [Note: J. Ll. Davies, The Work of Christ, 67.]

4. Such, then, is the ideal state and standing of the Christian worshipper, the manner of approach to God possible and real for one who understands and appreciates his position as living in the era of the better hope through which we draw nigh to God. He can and does come into the Divine presence with gladness and sincerity, with heart and with the whole heart, having no doubt at all of his welcome, and untroubled by the thought of his sin, being assured of forgiveness and conscious of Christ’s renovating power; he comes in the evangelic, filial spirit of thankfulness, not in the legal spirit of a slave; asking not, How may I satisfy the exacting demands of an austere Deity? but, “What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits?” This is the type of Christian piety which prevails at all times when the intuition of God’s grace in Christ is restored. It was pre-eminently the prevailing type in the apostolic age among all who understood the epoch-making significance of Christ’s work, and the extent to which He made all things new.

The confidence of Fox in the real presence of God was the root of his power in the ministry. He had other gifts, such as a firm grip on the essentials of his own position, and “an extraordinary gift in opening the Scriptures.” But this conviction of being guided of God was fundamental. Penn tells us that the abruptness and brokenness of his sentences, the uncouthness of some of his expressions, which were “unfashionable to nice ears,” showed beyond all contradiction that God sent him. But the truest mark of his nearness to God, Penn rightly discerned in the character of his prayers. “Above all,” he says (Journal, 1:47), “he excelled in prayer. The inwardness and weight of his spirit, the reverence and solemnity of his address and behaviour, and the fewness and fulness of his words, have often struck even strangers with admiration, as they used to reach others with consolation. The most awful, living, reverent frame I felt or beheld, I must say, was his in prayer. And truly it was a testimony, he knew and lived nearer to the Lord than other men; for they that know Him most will see most reason to approach Him with reverence and fear.”1 [Note: H. G. Wood, George Fox, 102.]

The bird let loose in Eastern skies

When hastening fondly home,

Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots, through air and light,

Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight

Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God, from every care

And stain of passion free,

Aloft, through Virtue’s purer air,

To hold my course to Thee!

No sin to cloud, no lure to stay

My soul, as home she springs,

Thy sunshine on her joyful way,

Thy freedom in her wings!1 [Note: Thomas Moore.]

The Way of Acces


Bardsley (J. W.), Illustrated Texts, 83.

Bruce (A. B.), The Epistle to the Hebrews, 393.

Davies (J. Ll.), The Work of Christ, 53.

Duncan (J.), The Pulpit and Communion Table, 377, 394.

Faithfull (R. C.), My Place in the World, 10.

Goudge (H. L.), The Holy Eucharist, 45.

Hoare (E.), Great Principles of Divine Truth, 173.

Pulsford (W.), Trinity Church Sermons, 68.

Ramage (W.), Sermons, 346.

Robertson (P. W.), The Sacrament Sabbath, 47.

Spurgeon (C. H.), Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, xxxiv. (1888), No. 2015.

Thomas (W. H. G.), in Sermons for the People, New Ser., iii. 241.

Walker (A. H.), Thinking About It, 158.

Wordsworth (E.), Onward Steps, 199.

Christian World Pulpit, xi. 266 (H. W. Beecher); xlix. 148 (B. Wilberforce); liv. 337 (J. G. Greenhough).

Clergyman’s Magazine, New Ser., vii. 224 (H. C. G. Moule).

The Great Texts of the Bible - James Hastings

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