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The words occur parenthetically. Sufferings precede, and sufferings follow. It seems as if the writer, glowing with devout thankfulness over the worthy deeds of these martyrs of faith, was struck suddenly with scornful indignation at the thought that all their sufferings were inflicted upon them by a world that was all unworthy of them, a world for which they were far too good, a world which affected to despise and presumed to torture them, while in reality it was in comparison with this pure gold of humanity, thus tried in the furnace of persecution, mere contemptible dross. These heroes of all time, these the salt of the world, who saved it from utter corruption, and by the very blood which their persecutors poured out sowed the seed which was to renew the face of the earth; these representatives of what man can be when he allows God to work in him mightily, were men who in their lifetime were despised as unworthy of the world, and who loved the world which was indeed unworthy of them. There is something very awful, something which brings the blush of shame and indignation to our cheeks, in the thought that the world thus spills the blood, and tries to stifle the enthusiasm, of its best and noblest children; that their best acts are often misconstrued; that the finest and purest elements in their characters are often just those which during their lives are least appreciated. There seems to be an enormous waste of human goodness, while we have at the same time so little of it that we cannot afford, if we only knew our true interests, to lose a single lifeful. But the important point for each of us to consider, is to which of the two classes he himself practically belongs; whether in the sight of God, from whom no secrets are hid, he is one of those whom God calls "the world," or one of those of whom the world is "not worthy." I know no more simple or practical way of setting this question before ourselves, than by asking what is our own estimate of those whom we believe to be trying to serve God. When you see anything, any person, superior to yourselves, does the sight give you pleasure? Do you feel proud of him? Do you try to aid him? If you ever hear of some daring act being done, do you feel disposed to give it its right name; or do you prefer to single out any ludicrous incidents in it, to extract from it and deliberately disparage all its nobleness, and make it as unlikely as you can that there should be any repetition of such a manifestation of enthusiasm. So far as you can judge, does your personal influence tend to increase or to diminish the chance of any marked display of goodness or courage being exhibited in your own society? It was said of a great English statesman — the Earl of Chatham — that no man ever left his cabinet without feeling himself a braver man than he was when he entered .... To know how to do justice to all persons; to admire what really deserves admiration in the characters of those with whom we have to do; to detect through the coverings of awkwardness, or shyness, or reserve, or even much more serious defects, the true solid metal which lies beneath — is a duty which is not learned in a day. But we have advanced far in the right direction when we have satisfied ourselves that it is a duty to do this; that we have no right to be blind to latent good in others; that God wishes us to find it out, and then to pay honour to it for His sake; and that for all hasty judgments, and for all blind judgments, and for all uncharitable judgments, and above all for all judgments which wish to find evil rather than to find good, we shall most certainly have to give account .... It would be well if you could commence life with an instinctive hatred of all persecution, and especially of all religious persecution. There always is and always will be a "world" — it may be a literary world, or a fashionable world, or a religious world — but there always will be some dominant body in every society which passes judgment without having the earnestness to care to know the merits of the case on which judgment is to be passed. This world always dislikes and is suspicious of everything new, everything which calls upon it to reconsider its principles, and, in short, to "examine itself whether it be in the faith"; whether its customs also, as well as its opinions, will bear testing. And the world finds means for making its dislike and suspicion felt, and it taxes to the uttermost the patience and courage of those who by honest and painful, if often misguided, efforts are striving to serve it. Among the chief benefactors, not of England only, but of the human race, stands William Tyndal, the man who almost alone gave us the substance of our wonderful translation of the Bible. He was a thorough student, not, so far as we know, a man of vehement action, like Luther. But he admired Luther, when to do so was dangerous. He expressed his opinion openly, and he fell into disgrace. He escaped into a foreign country. He translated part of the Bible. It was seized and destroyed by an English bishop. He continued his work. He was constantly under the shadow of martyrdom. But the student worked on; and his work was done. The Bible was given as a heritage to Englishmen; but scarcely was the long toil of life complected, when the workman was called into a higher Presence. By the treachery of an English spy he was placed in the hands of the English authorities, and as has been said, "passed away in smoke and flame to his rest."

(H. M. Butler, D. D.)

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KJV: They were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword: they wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins; being destitute, afflicted, tormented;

WEB: They were stoned. They were sawn apart. They were tempted. They were slain with the sword. They went around in sheep skins and in goat skins; being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated