The God of the Aged

A Sermon

(No. 81)

Delivered on Sabbath Morning, May 25, 1856, by the

REV. C.H. SPURGEON

At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

The substance of which was also delivered at Stambourne, Essex, on the
commemoration of the Jubilee of his Grandfather, the REV. JAMES
SPURGEON, Tuesday 27th May. 1856.

"Even to your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you.
I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver
you."–Isaiah 46:4.

THOSE will be peculiar circumstances under which I shall stand up to
address the people next Tuesday; circumstances which perhaps seldom
occur,–possibly may never have occurred before. It might have been
more in order that the aged minister should himself address the people;
but nevertheless, as it is his own choice, so it must be; and I shall
draw my consolation from the third verse, where it is declared, that
though God be the God of the close of our life, yet he is also the God
of its beginning. He carries us from the very womb; therefore the child
may trust in God, as well as the grey head; and he who giveth special
blessings to the hoary hairs does also crown the head of the young with
his perpetual favor, if they be his children.

"Even to your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry
you."

Will you allow me to expound the doctrine of this text, and then to
show you how it is carried out, especially in the time of old age?

I. THE DOCTRINE OF THE TEXT I hold to be, the constancy of God's love,
its perpetuity, and its unchangeable nature. God declares that he is
not simply the God of the young saint; that he is not simply the God of
the middle-aged saint: but that he is the God of the saints in all
their ages from the cradle to the tomb. "Even to old age I am he;" or,
as Lowth beautifully and more properly translates it: "Even to old age
I am the same, and even to hoary hairs will I carry you."

The doctrine, then is twofold: that God himself is the same, whatever
may be our age; and that God's dealings towards us, both in providence
and in grace, his carryings and his deliverings, are alike unchanged.

As to the first part of the doctrine, that God himself is unchanged
when we come to old age, surely I have no need to prove that. Abundant
testimonies of Scripture declare God to be an immutable being, upon
whose brow there is no furrow of old age, and whose strength is not
enfeebled by the lapse of ages; but if we need proofs, we might look
even abroad on nature, and we should from nature guess that God would
not change during the short period of our mortal life. Seemeth it unto
me a hard thing, that God should be the same for seventy years, when I
find things in nature that have retained the same impress and image for
many more years? Behold the sun! The sun that led our fathers to their
daily labour, lighteth us still; and the moon by night is
unchanged,–the self-same satellite, glittering with the light of her
master, the sun. Are not the rocks the same? And are there not many
ancient trees, which remain well night the same for multitudes of
years, and outlive centuries? Is not the earth, for the most part, the
same? Have the stars lost their light? Do not the clouds still pour
their rain upon the earth? Does not the ocean still beat with its one
great pulse of ebb and flow? Do not the winds still howl, or breathe in
gentle gales upon the earth? Doth not the sun still shine? Do not
plants grow as heretofore? Hath the harvest changed? Hath God forgotten
his covenant of day and night? Hath he yet brought another flood upon
the earth? Doth it not still stand in the water and out of the water?
Surely, then, if changing nature, made to pass away in a few more
years, and to be "dissolved with fervent heat," remains the same
through the cycles of seventy years, may we not believe that God, who
is greater than nature, the creator of all worlds, would still remain
the same God, through so brief a period? Does not that suffice? Then,
we have another proof. Had we a new God, we should not have the
Scriptures: had God changed, then we should need a new Bible. But the
Bible which the infant readeth is the Bible of the grey head; the Bible
which I carried with me to my Sunday School, I shall sit in my bed to
read, when, hoary-headed, all strength shall fail save that which is
divine. The promise which cheered me in the young morning of life, when
first I consecrated myself to God, shall cheer me when my eyes are dim
with age, and when the sunlight of heaven lights them up, and I see
bright visions of far-off worlds, where I hope to dwell for ever. The
word of God is still the same; there is not one promise removed. The
doctrines are the same; the truths are the same; all God's declarations
remain unchanged for ever; and I argue, from the very fact that his
years do not change him. Look at our worship–is not that the same? Oh!
hoary heads! well can ye remember how ye were carried to God's house in
your childhood; and ye heard the self-same hymns that now ye hear. Have
they lost their savour? Have they lost their music? At times, when
prayer is offered, ye remember that your ancient pastor prayed the same
petition fifty years ago; but the petition is as good as ever. It is
still unchanged; it is the same praise, the same prayer, the same
expounding, the same preaching. All our worship is the same. And with
many it is the same house of God, where first they were dedicated to
God in baptism. Surely, my brethren, if God had changed, we should have
been obliged to make a new form of worship; if God had not been
immutable, we should have needed to have sacrificed our sacred service
to some new method; but since we find ourselves bowing like our
fathers, with the same prayers, and canting the same psalms, we rightly
believe that God himself must be immutable.

But we have better proofs than this that God is still unchanged. We
learn this from the sweet experience of all the saints. They testify
that the God of their youth is the God of their later years. They own
that Christ "hath the dew of his youth." When they saw him first, as
the bright and glorious Immanuel, they thought him "altogether lovely;"
and when they see him now, they see not one beauty faded, and not one
glory departed: he is the self-same Jesus. When they first rested
themselves on him, they thought his shoulders strong enough to carry
them; and they find those shoulders still as mighty as ever. They
thought at first his bowels did melt with love, and that his heart was
beating high with mercy; and they find it is still the same. God is
unchanged; and therefore they "are not consumed." They put their trust
in him, because they have not yet marked a single alteration in him.
His character, his essence, his being, and his deeds are all the same;
and, moreover, to crown all, we cannot suppose a God, if we cannot
suppose a God immutable. A God who changed would be no God. We could
not grasp the idea of Deity if we once allowed our minds to take in the
thought of mutability. From all these things, then, we conclude that
"even from old age he is the same, and that even to hoary hairs he will
carry us."

2. The other side of the doctrine is this, not only that God is the
same in his nature, but that he is the same in his dealings; that he
will carry us the same, that he will deliver us the same, that he will
bear us the same as he used to do. And here, also, we need scarcely to
prove to you that God's dealings towards his children are the same,
especially when I remind you that God's promises are made not to age,
but to people, to persons, and to men. It has been recently declared by
some ministers, that certain ages are more likely to be converted than
other ages. We have heard persons state, that should a man outlive
thirty years of life, if he has heard the Gospel, he is not at all
likely to be saved; but we believe a more palpable, bare-faced lie was
never uttered in the pulpit, for we have, ourselves, known multitudes
who have been saved at forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, and even bordering
on the grave at eighty. We find some promises in the Bible made to some
particular conditions; but the main, the great, the grand promises, are
made to sinners as sinners; they are made to the elect, to the chosen
ones, irrespective of their age or condition. We hold, that the man who
is old, can be justified in the same way as the way who is young; that
the robe of Christ is broad enough to cover the strong full-grown man
as well as the little child. We believe the blood of Christ avails to
wash out seventy years, as well as seventy days of sin; that "with God
there is no respect of persons," that all ages are alike to him, and
that "whosoever cometh unto Christ, he will in no wise case out," and
sure we are, that all the good things of the Bible are as good at one
time as at another. The perfect robe of righteousness that I wear, will
that change by years? The sanctification of the Spirit, will that be
destroyed by years? The promises, will they shake? The covenant, will
that be dissolved? I can suppose that the everlasting hills shall melt;
I can dream that the eternal mountains shall be dissolved, like the
snow upon their peaks; I can conceive that the ocean may be licked up
with tongues of forked flame; I can suppose the sun stopped in his
career; I can imagine the moon turned into blood; I can conceive the
stars falling from the vault of night; I can imagine "the wreck of
nature and the crash of worlds;" but I cannot conceive the change of a
single mercy, a single covenant blessing, a single promise, or a single
grace, which God bestows upon his people, for I find every one of them
in itself stamped with immutability, and I have no reason to put this
merely upon guess-work. I find, when I turn over the whole Bible that
the experience of the saints, one thousand, two thousand, three
thousand years ago, was just the same as the experience of the saints
now; and if I find God's mercy is unchanged from David's time till
mine, can I conceive that God, who lasts the same for thousands, would
change during the brief period of seventy? Nay, still we hold that he
will carry us, and he will bear us in old age as well as in our youth.
But, besides that, we have living witnesses, living testimonies. I
could fetch up from the ground floor of this place, and from the
galleries, not one or two, but twenty, yea a hundred living witnesses,
who, rising up, would tell you that God doth carry them now, as he did
of old, and that he still doth bear them. I need not appeal to my
friends, or they would stand up in their pews, and with tears trickling
down their cheeks, they would say, "Young men, young women, trust your
God! he hath not forsaken me!" I find that–

"Even down to old age, all his people do prove,

His sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;

And when hoary hairs do their temples adorn,

Like lambs they now still in his bosom are borne."

Ask yon aged friend, ask any aged Christian, whether he finds God has,
in the least forsaken him, and you will see him shake his head, and
hear him say, "O young man, if I had another seventy years to live, I
would trust him still, for I have not found him fail all the way that
the Lord God hath led me. Not one promise hath failed, but all hath
come to pass;" and I think I see him lifting up his hand in the midst
of the assembly, and saying, "I have nothing to regret but my sin. If I
had to live over again, I should only want to put myself into the hands
of the same Providence, to be led and directed by the self-same grace."
Beloved, we need not prove to you farther, for living witnesses do
testify, that God carries out his promise, "I have made and will bear;
even I will carry and deliver you."

II. But now we come to our real subject, which is, to consider THE TIME
OF OLD AGE AS A SPECIAL PERIOD, and to mark, therefore, the constancy
of divine love–that God bears and succours his servants in their later
years. I cannot imagine or dream that I need offer any apology for
preaching to aged people. If I were in sundry stupid circles where
people call themselves ladies and gentlemen, and always want to conceal
their ages, I might have some hesitation; but I have nothing to do with
that here. I call an old man, an old man, and an old woman, an old
woman; whether they think themselves old or not is nothing to me. I
guess they are, if they are getting anyway past sixty, on to seventy or
eighty. Old age is a time of peculiar memories, of peculiar hopes, of
peculiar solicitudes, of peculiar blessedness, and of peculiar duties;
yet in all this, God is the same, although man be peculiar.

(1.) First, old age is a time of peculiar memory; in fact, it is the
age of memory. We young men talk of remembering such-and-such things a
certain time ago; but what is our memory, compared to our father's? Our
father looks back on three or four times the length of time over which
we cast our eyes. What a peculiar memory the old man has! How many joys
he can remember! How many times has his heart beat high with rapture
and blessedness! How many times has his house been gladdened with
plenty! How many harvest homes has he seen! How many treadings of the
vintage! How many times has he heard the laugh run round the ingle
fire! How many times have his children shouted in his ear, and rejoiced
around him! How many times have his own eyes sparkled with delight! How
many hill Mizars has he seen! How many times has he had sweet
banquetting with the Lord! How many periods of communion with Jesus!
How many hallowed services hath he attended! How many songs of Zion
hath he sung! How many answered prayers have gladdened his spirit! How
many happy deliverances have made him laugh for joy! When he looks
back, he can string his mercies together by the thousand! and looking
upon them all, he can say, though he will think of many troubles that
he has had to pass through, "Surely, goodness and mercy have followed
me all the days of my life." God hath been with him to hoary hairs, and
even to old age he hath carried him. His joys he looks back upon as
proof of God's constancy.

And how many griefs hath he had! How many times hath that old man been
to the chamber of sickness! How many times hath that aged sister been
stretched on the bed of affliction! How many diseases can he or she
look back upon! How many hours of bitter travail and pain! How many
seasons of trouble, infirmity, and approachings to the grave? How many
times hath the old man tottered very near that bourne from which no
traveller can return? How many times hath he had the Father's rod upon
his shoulders? And yet, looking back upon all, he can say, "Even to old
age he is the same; and even to hoary hairs he hath carried me." How
frequently, took, hath that old man gone to the grave where he hath
buried many he has loved? There, perhaps, he has laid a beloved wife,
and he goes to weep there; or, the husband sleeps, while the wife is
yet alive. Sons and daughters, too, that old man can remember–snatched
away to heaven almost as soon as they were born; or, perhaps, permitted
to live until their prime, and then cut down just in their youthful
glory. How many of the old friends he hath welcomed to his fireside
hath he buried? How frequently has he been forced to exclaim, "Though
friends have departed, yet there is a Friend who sticketh closer than a
brother,' on him I still trust, and to him I still commit my soul."

And mark, moreover, how many times temptation hath shattered that
venerable saint! how many conflicts hath he had with doubts and fears!
how many wrestlings with the enemy! how often he hath been tempted to
forsake his faith! how frequently he hath had to stand in the thickest
part of the battle; but yet he has been preserved by mercy, and not
quite cut down. He has been enabled to persevere in the heavenly road.
How travel-sore are his feet! how blistered by the roughness of the
way, but he can tell you, that notwithstanding all these things, Christ
hath "kept him till this day, and will not let him go;" and his
conclusion is, "even to old age God hath been the same, and even to
hoary hairs he hath carried him."

There is one said reflection which we are obliged to mention when we
look upon the bald head of the aged saint, and that is, how many sins
he hath committed! Ah! my beloved, however pure may have been your
lives, you will be obliged to say, "Oh! how have I sinned, in youth, in
middle age, and even when infirmities have gathered around me! Would to
God I had been holy! How often have I forsaken God! how frequently have
I wandered from him! alas! how often have I provoked him! How
frequently have I doubted his promises, when I had no cause whatever to
distrust him! how frequently has my tongue sinned against my heart! how
constantly have I violated all I knew to be good and excellent! I am
forced to say now, in my grey old age,–

"Nothing in my hands I bring,

Simply to thy cross I cling."

I am still–

"A monument of grace,

A sinner saved by blood"

I have no hope now, save in the blood of Christ, and can only wonder
how it is that Christ could have preserved me so long. Truly, I can
say, "Even to old age he is the same, and even to hoary hairs he hath
carried me."

(2.) The aged man, too, hath peculiar hopes. He hath no such hopes as I
or my young friends here. He hath few hopes of the future in this
world; they are gathered up into a small space, and he can tell you, in
a few words, what constitutes all his expectation and desire. But he
has one hope, and that is the very same which he had when he first
trusted in Christ; it is a hope "undefiled, that fadeth not away,
reserved in heaven for them that are kept by the power of God through
faith unto salvation." Let me talk a little of that hope, and you will
see from it that the Christian is the same as ever he was; and even
down to hoary hairs God deals the same with him. My venerable brother,
what is the ground of thy hope? Is it not the same as that which
animated thee when thou wast first united with the Christian Church?
Thou saidst then, "My hope is in the blood of Jesus Christ." I ask
thee, brother, what is thy hope now, and I am sure thou wilt answer, "I
do not hope to be saved because of my long service, nor because of my
devotedness to God's cause."

"All my hope on Christ is staid,

All my help from him I bring:

He covers my defenceless head

With the shadow of his wing."

And, my brother, what is the reason of thy hope? If thou art asked what
reason thou hast to believe thou art a Christian, thou wilt say, "The
self-same reason I gave at the Church-meeting." When I came before it,
I said, then "I believe myself to be a child of God, because I feel
myself to be a sinner, and God has given me grace to put my trust in
Jesus." I think that is all the reason you have to believe yourself a
child of God now. At times you have some evidence, as you call it; but
there are hours when your graces and virtues are obscured, and you
cannot see them, for gloomy doubts prevail, and you will confess, I am
sure, that the only way to get rid of your doubts will be, to come and
say, again–

"A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

On Christ's kind arms I fall;

He's still my strength and righteousness,

My Saviour and my all."

And the object or end of hope, is not that the same? What was your hope
when you first went to the wicket gate? Why, your hope was that you
might arrive at the land of the blessed. And is it not the same now? Is
your hope of heaven changed? Do you wish for anything else, or for
anything better? "No," you will say, "I thought when I started I should
one day be with Jesus; that is what I expect now. I feel that my hope
is precisely the same. I want to be with Jesus, to be like him, and to
see him as he is." And is not the joy of that hope just the same? How
glad you used to be when your minister preached about heaven, and told
you of its pearly gates and streets of shining gold! and has it lost
any of its beauty in your eyes now? Do you not remember, that in your
father's house, at family prayer, one night, they sang,–

"Jerusalem, my happy home,

Name, ever dear to me!

When shall my labors have an end.

In joy, and peace, and thee"?

Cannot you sing that now? Do you want any other city besides Jerusalem?
Do you remember how they used to rise up sometimes in the house of God,
when you were children, and sing,–

"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,

And cast a wishful eye!"

Will not that hymn do for you now even better than it did for you then?
You can now sing it, as your old father used to sing it, with a firm
heart, and yet with a quivering lip. The hope that ravished you then
ravishes you now. You start at the same watchword. Heaven is your home
still.

"There your best friends, your kindred dwell,

There, God your Saviour reigns."

Does not all this prove, again, that though our hopes are somewhat more
contracted than they were, yet "God is still the same, and even to
hoary hairs he will carry us."

(3.) Again, old age is a time of peculiar solicitude. An old man is not
anxious about self. He hath not the cares of starting in business, as
he once had. He hath no children to launch out in business. He hat not
to cast his anxious eyes on his little family. But his solicitude hath
somewhat increased in another direction. He hath more solicitude about
his bodily frame than he once had. He cannot now run as he used to do;
but he must walk with more sober gait. He fears every now and then that
the pitcher will be "broken at the cistern;" for "the noise of the
grinders is low." He hath no longer that strength of desire he once
possessed; his body begins to totter, to shake, and to quiver. The old
tenement has stood these fifty years; and who expects a house to last
for ever? A bit of mortar has gone off from one place, and a lath out
of another; and when a little wind comes to shake it about, he is ready
to cry out, "The earthly house of my tabernacle is about to be
dissolved." But I told you before, this peculiar solicitude is but
another proof of divine faithfulness; for now that you have little
pleasure in the flesh, do you not find that God is just the same? and
that, though the days are come when you can say, "I have no pleasure in
them," yet the days are not come when you can say, "I have no pleasure
in him;" but, on the contrary,

"Though all created streams are dry,

His goodness is the same:

With this you still are satisfied,

And glory in his name."

If he had only been your God when you were a strong young man, you
might have thought that he loved you for what you could do for him;
but, now you have become a poor worn-out pensioner, have you any better
proof that he is an unchanging God, because he loves you when you can
do so little for him? I tell you, even your bodily pains are but proofs
of his love; for he is taking down your old tenement stick by stick,
and is building it up again in brighter worlds, never to be taken down
any more.

And remember, too, there is another solicitude–a failure of mind, as
well as of body. There are many remarkable instances of old men, who
have been as gifted in their old age as in their youth; but with the
majority the mind becomes somewhat impaired, especially the memory.
They cannot remember what was done yesterday, although it is a singular
fact that they can remember what was done fifty, sixty, or seventy
years ago. They forget much which they would wish to remember; but
still they find that their God is just the same; they find that his
goodness does not depend on their memory; that the sweetness of his
grace does not depend upon their palate. When they can remember but
little of the sermon, they still feel that it leaves as good an
impression on their heart as when they were strong in their memories;
and thus they have another proof that God, even when their mind faileth
a little, carries them down to their hoar hairs, their old age, and
that to them he is ever the same.

But the chief solicitude of old age is death. Young men may die soon.
Old men must die. Young men, if they sleep, sleep in a siege; old men,
if they sleep, sleep in an attack, when the enemy has already made a
breach, and is storming the castle. A greyheaded old sinner is a
greyheaded old fool; but an aged Christian is an aged wise man. But
even the Christian hath peculiar solicitudes about death. He knows he
cannot be a long way from his end. He feels that, even in the course of
nature, apart from what is called accidental death, there is no doubt
but in a few more years he must stand before his God. He thinks he may
be in heaven in ten or twenty years; but how short do those ten or
twenty years appear! He does not act like a man who thinks a coach is a
long way off, and he may take his time; but he is like one who is about
to go a journey, and hears the post-horn blowing down the street, and
is getting ready. His one solicitude now is, to examine himself whether
he is in the faith. He fears that if he is wrong now, it will be
terrible to have spent all his life dabbling in profession, and to find
at last that he hath got nothing for his pains, except a mere empty
name, which must be swept away by death. He feels now how solemn a
thing the Gospel is; he feels the world to be as nothing; he feels that
he is near the bar of doom. But still, beloved, mark, God's
faithfulness is the same; for if he be nearer death, he has the sweet
satisfaction that he is nearer heaven; and if he has more need to
examine himself than ever, he has also more evidence whereby to examine
himself, for he can say, "Well, I know that on such-and-such an
occasion the Lord heard my prayer; at such-and-such a time he
manifested himself to me, as he did not unto the world," and, though
examination presses more upon the old, still they have greater
materials for it. And here, again, is another proof of this grand
truth. "Even unto old age I am the same," says God; "and even to hoar
hairs will I carry you."

(4.) And now, once more, old age hath its peculiar blessedness. Some
time ago I stepped up to an old man whom I saw when preaching at an
anniversary, and I said to him, "Brother, do you know there is no man
in the whole chapel I envy so much as you!" "Envy me," he said–"why, I
am eighty-seven." I said, "I do, indeed; because you are so near your
home, and because I believe that in old age there is a peculiar joy,
which we young people do not taste at present. You have got to the
bottom of the cup, and it is not with God's wine as it is with man's.
Man's wine becomes dregs at the last, but God's wine is sweeter the
deeper you drink of it." He said, "That's very true, young man," and
shook me by the hand. I believe there is a blessedness about old age
that we young men know nothing of. I will tell you how that is. In the
first place, the old man has a good experience to talk about. The young
men are only just trying some of the promises; but the old man can turn
them over one by one, and say, "There, I have tried that, and that, and
that." We read them over and say, "I hope they are true;" but the old
man says, "I know they are true." And then he begins to tell you why.
He has got a history for everyone, like a soldier for his medals; and
he takes them out, and says, "I will tell you when the Lord revealed
that to me; just when I lost my wife: just when I buried my son; just
when I was turned out of my cottage, and did not get work for six
weeks; or, at another time, when I broke my leg." He begins telling you
the history of the promises, and says, "There, now. I know they are all
true." What blessed thing, to look upon them as paid notes; to bring
out the old cheques that have been cashed and say, "I know they are
genuine, or else they would not have been paid." Old people have not
the doubts young people have about the doctrine. Young people are apt
to doubt; but when they get old, they begin to get solid and firm in
the faith. I love to get some of my old brethren, to talk with me
concerning the good things of the kingdom. They do not hold the truth
with their two fingers, as some of the young men do; but they get right
hold of it, and nobody can take it from their grasp. Rowland Hill once
somewhat lost his way in a sermon, and he turned to this text–"Oh,
Lord, my heart is fixed." "Young men," he said, "there is nothing like
having your hearts fixed. I have been all these years seeking the Lord;
now my heart is fixed. I never have any doubts now about election, or
any other doctrine. If man brings me a new theory, I say, Away with
it!' I stand hard and fast by the truth alone." An old gentleman wrote
me a little time ago, and said I was a little too high. He said he
believed the same doctrine as I do, but he did not think so when he was
as old as I am. I told him it was just as well to begin right as to end
right, and it was better to be right at the beginning than to have to
rub off so many errors afterwards. An old countryman once came to me,
and said, "Ah! young man, you have had too deep a text; you handled it
well enough, but it is an old man's text, and I felt afraid to hear you
announce it." I said, "Is God's truth dependant on age? If the thing is
true, it is just as well to hear it from me as from any one else; and
if you can hear it better anywhere else, you have got the opportunity."
Still, he did not think that God's precious truths were suitable to
young people; but I hold they are suitable to all God's children;
therefore I love to preach them. But how blessed it is to come to a
position in life where you have good anchorage for your faith,–where
you can say,

"Should all the forms that hell devise,

Assail my faith with treacherous art."

I shall not be very polite to them–

"I'll call them vanity of lies,

And bind the Gospel to my heart."

And I think there are peculiar joys which the old Christian has, of
another sort; and that is, he has peculiar fellowship with Christ, more
than we have. At least, if I understand John Bunyan rightly, I think he
tells us that when we get very near to heaven there is a very glorious
land. "They came into the country of Beulah, whose air was very sweet
and pleasant; the way lying directly through it, they solaced
themselves there for a season. Yes, here they heard continually the
singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers appear on the earth,
and heard the voice of the turtle in the land. In this country the sun
shineth night and day; wherefore this was beyond the valley of the
Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair; neither
could they from this place so much as see Doubting-castle. Here they
were within sight of the City they were going to: also here met them
some of the inhabitants thereof: for in this land the shining ones
commonly walked, because it was upon the borders of heaven. In this
land also the contract between the Bride and the Bridegroom was
renewed; yea, here, as the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so doth
their God rejoice over them.' Here they had not want of corn and wine;
for in this place they met with abundance of what they had sought for
in all their pilgrimages. Here they heard voices from out of the City,
loud voices, saying, Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy
salvation cometh! Behold, His reward is with him!' Here all the
inhabitants of the country called them, the holy people, the redeemed
of the Lord.'" There are peculiar communings, peculiar openings of the
gates of paradise, peculiar visions of glory, just as you come near to
it. It stands to reason that the nearer you get to the bright light of
the celestial city, the clearer shall be the air. And therefore there
are peculiar blessednesses belonging to the old, for they have more of
this peculiar fellowship with Christ. But all this only proves that
Christ is the same; because, when there are fewer earthly joys, he
gives more spiritual ones. Therefore, again, it becomes the fact–"Even
to old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you."

(5.) And now, lastly, the aged saint has peculiar duties. There are
certain things which a good man can do, which nobody else ought to do,
or can do well. And that is one proof of divine faithfulness; for he
says of his aged ones, "They shall bring forth fruit in old age;" and
so they do. I will just tell you some of them.

Testimony is one of the peculiar duties of old men. Now, suppose I
should get up, and say, "I have not seen the righteous forsaken, nor
his seed begging bread," some one would reply, "Why, you are not
twenty-two yet; what do you know about it?" But if an old man gets up,
and says, "I have been young, and now am I old; yet have I not seen the
righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread," with what power that
testimony comes! Suppose I say to you, "Trust in God, with all thy
troubles and trials; I can bear witness that he will not forsake you;"
you will reply, "Oh! yes, young man, but you have not had many
troubles; you have not been a child of God above these six years; how
should you know?" But up gets an old Christian–and well do I remember
an ancient Christian rising up at the sacramental table, and saying,
"Dear brethren, we are met again around this table, and I think all an
old man can do is to bear testimony to his master. These five-and-forty
years, I have walked in his truth. Young people, hear what I have to
say. He has been my God these five-and-forty years, and I have no fault
to find with him; I have found religion's ways to be ways of
pleasantness, and her paths to be paths of peace." You know, if you
hear an old man talk, you pay greater attention to what he says, from
the fact that he is old. I remember hearing the late Mr. Jay. I fancy
that if I had heard the same sermon preached by a young man, I should
not have thought so much of it; but there appeared such a depth in it
because is came from an old man, standing on the borders of the grave;
it was like an echo of the past, coming to me, to let me hear my God's
faithfulness, that I might trust for the future. Testimony is the duty
of old men and women; they should labour whenever they can to bear
testimony to God's faithfulness, and to declare that now also, when
they are old and grey-headed, their God forsakes them not.

There is another duty which is peculiarly the work of the aged, and
that is, the work of comforting the young believer. There is no one
more qualified that I know of than a kindhearted old men to convert the
young. I know that down in some parts of the country there is a
peculiar breed of old man, who for the good of the Church I heartily
hope will soon become extinct. As soon as they see a young believer,
they look at him with suspicion, expecting him to be a hypocrite; they
go off to his house, and find everything satisfactory; but they say, "I
was not so confident as that when I was young; young man, you must be
kept back a bit." Then there are some hard questions put, and the poor
young child of God gets hardly pressed, and is looked upon with
suspicion, because he does not come up to their standard. But the men I
allude to are such as some I have here, with whom I delight to speak,
who tell you not hard things, but utter gentle words: who say, "I was
imprudent when I was a young man. I know that when I was a little child
I could not have answered these questions; I do not expect so much from
you as from one who is a little older." And when the young Christian
comes to them they say, "Do not fear; I have gone through the waters,
and they have not overflown me; and through the fire, and have not been
burned. Trust in God; for down to old age he is the same, and to hoar
hairs he will carry you.'"

Then there is another work that is the work of the old, and that is,
the work of warning. If an old man were to go out in the middle of the
road, and shout out to you to stop, you would stop sooner than you
would if a boy were to do it; for then you might say, "Out of the way,
you young rascal," and go on still. The warnings of the old have great
effect; and it is their peculiar work to guide the imprudent, and warn
the unwary.

Now I have done, except the application. And I want to speak to three
classes of persons.

What a precious thought, young men and women, is contained in this
text–"That even to old age God will be the same to you; and even down
to you hoar hairs he will not forsake you!" You want a safe investment;
well, here is an investment safe enough. A bank may break; but heaven
cannot. A rock may be dissolved, and if I build a house on that it may
be destroyed; but if I build on Christ, my happiness is secure for
ever. Young man! God's religion will last as long as you will; his
comforts you will never be able to exhaust in all your life; but you
will find that the bottle of your joys will be as full when you have
been drinking seventy years, as it was when you first began. Oh! do not
buy a thing that will not last you: "eat ye that which is good, and let
your soul delight itself in fatness." Oh! how pleasant it is to be a
young Christian! How blessed it is to begin in the early morning to
love and serve God! The best old Christians are those who were once
young Christians. Some aged Christians have but little grace, for this
reason–that they were not young Christians. Oh! I have sometimes
thought, that if there is any man who will have an abundant entrance
into heaven, it is the man who in early life was brought to know the
Lord. You know, going into heaven will be like the ships going into
harbour. There will be some tugged in almost by miracle, "saved so as
by fire;" others will be going in just with a sheet or two of
canvas–they will "scarcely be saved!" but there will be some who will
go in with all their canvas up, and unto these "an abundant entrance
shall be ministered into the kingdom of their God and Saviour." Young
people! it is the ship that is launched early in the morning that will
get an abundant entrance, and come into God's haven in full sail.

Now, you middle aged men, you are plunged in the midst of business, and
are sometimes supposing what will become of you in your old age. But is
there any promise of God to you when you suppose about to-morrows? You
say, "Suppose I should live to be as old as so-and-so, and be a burden
upon people, I should not like that." Don't get meddling with God's
business; leave his decrees to him. There is many a person who thought
he would die in a workhouse, that has died in a mansion; and many a
woman that thought she would die in the streets, has died in her bed,
happy and comfortable, singing of providential grace and everlasting
mercy. Middle aged man! listen to what David says, again, "I have been
young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor
his seed begging bread." Go on, then, unsheath thy sword once more.
"The battle is the Lord's;" leave thy declining years to him, and give
thy present years to him. Live to him now, and he will never cast you
away when you are old. Do not lay up for old age and keep back from the
cause of God; but rather trust God for the future. Be "diligent in
business;" but take care you do not hurt your spirit, by being too
diligent, by being grasping and selfish. Remember you will

"Want but little here below,

Nor want that little long."

And lastly, my dear venerable fathers in the faith, and mothers in
Israel, take these words for your joy. Do not let the young people
catch you indulging in melancholy, sitting in your chimney corner,
grumbling and growling, but go about cheerful and happy, and they will
think how blessed it is to be a Christian. If you are surly and
fretful, they will think the Lord has forsaken you; but keep a smiling
countenance, and they will think the promise is fulfilled. "And even to
your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you; I have
made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you." Do, I
beseech you, my venerable friends, try to be of a happy temperament and
cheerful spirit, for a child will run away from a surly old man; but
there is not a child in the world but loves his grand-papa if he is
cheerful and happy. You can lead us to heaven if you have got heaven's
sunlight on your face; but you will not lead us at all if you are cross
and ill-tempered, for then we shall not care about your company. Make
yourselves merry with the people of God, and try to live happily before
men; for so will you prove to us–to a demonstration, that even to old
age God is with you, and that when your strength faileth, he is still
your preservation. May God Almighty bless you, for the Saviour's sake!
Amen.

The foregoing sermon exceeding the limits of the usual Penny Number,
and it being desirous that it should be given in full, it has been
deemed advisable to make the present a double number. The two appended
Tracts have been inserted as a specimen of a series called "The New
Park Street Tracts," printed in a large type, at 1s. 4d. per 100.