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When a child is born, it is spoken of sometimes under the designation of "a little stranger!" A stranger, indeed! come from far. From the presence, and touch, and being of God! And going — into the immensities again — into, and through all the unreckonable ages of duration.

I. THE STRANGER. Such, in regard to earth, and this human life altogether here, is he who makes the confession and breathes the prayer which these words express. He does not belong to this place. He is, consciously, intentionally, and earnestly passing through. In the ordinary sense, no doubt, he is as much of the earth as any other; yet has he, truly, a higher nativity, for he is "born from above." Let him show that he is, by living as a citizen of the higher land. Let him be in spiritual life a true patriot. Let him be loyal to the kingdom that claims his soul, that has his name registered in its book of life, and that will one day — if he be really of it — call forth its mighty, shining multitudes to receive him and his brethren with acclamations of delight. Let him be "a stranger in the earth," and then it will not only be possible to believe, but it will be impossible not to believe, that he justly claims citizenship in the higher country. A principle, an instinct, a habit of reserve, will be found running through the whole of life on the earthly side of it with the stranger. As for instance:

1. Reserve in secular occupation: in what we call the business of life. Will a man find fittest preparation for calmness, and nobleness, and purity in the everlasting kingdom by giving all his actual energies, and all his time in this world, to these earthly, transient things? It must be the better part to aim high, to "look" far, to disengage ourselves not only from what would corrupt and injure, but from what would over-occupy and thus insensibly degrade and betray us, and in the serene and lofty spirit of the "stranger," to do our duties, and pass through our days.

2. Reserve in pleasure. A pleasure-loving soul never can be unselfish, magnanimous, serene, brave, pure. It is therefore one of the Christian's daily lessons to teach himself effectually how to "use this world as not abusing it"; i.e. how to extract from present things all fair and honest enjoyment, without allowing selfishness and mere appetite so to touch and transmute them in the process that the enjoyment shall have in it some admixture of baser elements, and be no longer the thing which the Divine beneficence provides for man's hunger and thirst.

3. This principle of reserve must run through the whole of life.

(1) There are many who would freely allow that it is rightly applied to business and to pleasure, but who have no idea that the application of it is as legitimate and as necessary within and through all the darker spheres of human life — those of pain, and trouble, and sorrow. But this is so. For these things, just like their opposites, are temporal and evanescent. They belong to "the fashion of this world which passeth away." Weep, then, but dry thy tears. Mourn, but be comforted. The great to-morrow will soon be here, whence you will look back, and be ashamed that you made so roach fret and moan in this little yesterday.

(2) Nor must we fail to apply the principle and cultivate the habit of reserve even in the sphere of highest duty. Underneath all outward, upward manifestation lies the steady purpose — "One thing I do." But in holding to this one purpose and secret law of our life we are subject to many changes, disappointments, reverses. Rather we are subject to a higher will, the faultless, loving will of our heavenly leader, who shapes His own perfect plan and builds it out of the toils and conflicts, the triumphs and reverses, of His servants; and to that will we ought to be always ready to bow. We ought to plan, and purpose, and will our very best, and throw all our heart and strength into our work, and yet have some reserve, and stand ready for some otter issue. The fruit may be as good as the flower is fair, or the "blossom may go up as dust." No matter. I lose nothing if my purpose is true and my will is loyal. My harvest in such case is not really loath — it is only postponed.

II. THE PRAYER, as we cannot but see, is perfectly suited to the condition which has thus been described. "A stranger" — here but for a little, and yet morally beginning the great hereafter. " Never continuing in one stay," and yet ever possessing one being, and developing and settling that being into character. Passing through a fleeting life, and yet, at every step, gathering and carrying forward what must be the elements of the endless life to come — what need there is of light, direction, sacred influence, so that the passage through this world, which must be swift, may also be prosperous, the traveller finding not merely the supply of momentary needs as they arise, but extracting nourishment out of the vanishing scenes of life as they vanish, for the life everlasting. God's "commandments" revealed and brought home to the heart will yield, plentifully, all that can be needed in the pilgrim state. In one way or other they touch all the chances and hazards of the journey, and all the requirements of the traveller, while they all combine to make one supreme influence of preparation for what will come when the earthly journey is over. And will not God hear such a prayer, offered in such circumstances, and with such consciousness? Can there he the doubt of a moment about this?

(A Raleigh, D. D.)

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KJV: I am a stranger in the earth: hide not thy commandments from me.

WEB: I am a stranger on the earth. Don't hide your commandments from me.