,,beside ,,the ,,still ,,waters3  ,a    
,,sermon1  ,,preached ,,in  ,,renshaw   
,,street ,,chapel1 ,,liverpool1  ,,on   
,,sunday1 ,,february #ai1 #ahga4  ,,by  
,,charles ,,beard1 ,b4,a4  ,,printed    
,,for ,,private ,,circulation4          
,,london3 ,,printed ,,by ,c4 ,,green    
,,and ,,son1 ,,strand1 ,w4,c4     ,in   
,memory of  ,,elizabeth ,,greene ,,gair4
     ,,beside ,,the ,,still ,,waters4   
,he leadeth me beside the still waters4 
,,psalm xxiii4 #b4   ,there has been a  
period of geological speculation1 at    
which all the changes which have taken  
place upon the earth's surface1 and have
 left their unmistakable marks in       
countless relics of animal and vegetable
 life1 were attributed to the action of 
sudden and violent forces1 of which1    
to-day1 earthquake and tempest and      
volcano are only the feeble and         
transitory types4 ,those changes have   
manifestly been so great and so         
universal1 as to stand out in vivid     
contrast to the imperceptibly slow1 the 

gently gradual processes1 which are all 
that we are now able to watch and to    
record3 surely we can attribute them    
only to causes as exceptional as        
themselves4 ,we see ,niagara cutting its
 backward way through the ravine1 so    
many feet in a thousand years2 the lava 
stream descends the mountain-side like a
 black and burning glacier1 and         
destruction too plainly marks its path2 
a storm bursts upon the hills1 and for  
long miles the valleys are choked with  
barren mud1 the bridges scattered in    
ruin through the stream1 the cheerful   
husbandry of men laid hopelessly waste4 
,but we cannot watch the slow upheaval  
of a long line of coast1 where the      
fisherman hardly knows at the end of a  
lifetime whether the sea has drawn back 
or his own landmarks have been moved2 we
 are all unable to note how new         
continents are now being formed in the  
ocean's stillest depths1 from whose     
hardened and uplifted strata future ages
 may dig out the relics of so much that 

has been dear and precious to us2 we    
fail to notice how every running stream1
 from the tiniest mountain rill to muddy
 ,po and fertilizing ,nile1 is          
perpetually at work to carry down the   
hills into the plains1 and to change the
 world's familiar face4 ,but so it is1  
and so1 we have some right to conclude1 
it has been always4 ,god's chosen ways  
of working in the physical world are not
 wholly of the sudden and violent sort4 
,storm and earthquake and flood have    
undoubtedly played their part2 but not  
more than--perhaps hardly as much       
as--the perpetually dropping rain1 the  
wind that seems to blow as it listeth1  
the tides that come and go and no man   
heeds them1 the sun that shines upon    
barren rock and fertile meadow with     
serene impartiality of blessing4 ,god   
seems to work1 by preference1 slowly and
 in silence4 ,to ,him a thousand years  
are but as yesterday when it is past1   
and the dial on which ,his operations   
are recorded takes no note of human     

thoughts and expectations4  ,the same is
 true1 ,i think1 in the moral world4 ,it
 is indeed difficult to over-estimate   
the force of a great soul2 though it is 
needful to remark that not all great    
souls work in the full light of         
publicity and have their path marked by 
revolution1 and equally needful to      
remember that not all dislocating and   
disturbing spirits put forth any true   
claim to greatness4 ,we are far too apt 
to confound the occasions with the      
causes of any great change1 and to      
forget that if fire do indeed come out  
of a noble heart1 it can only kindle    
other hearts that are already prepared  
to burn4 ,many souls were hot with      
,luther's indignation1 before he burned 
the ,bull in the market-place of        
,wittenberg2 many spirits had inwardly  
rebelled against the deadness of the    
age1 before ,wesley told the ,gospel    
tale to the colliers of ,kingswood4 ,one
 indeed speaks what the many feel2 to   
him has been given a clearer insight1 a 

diviner ardour1 a more articulate       
speech2 but his word is with power      
because of the dumb aspirations stirring
 in many breasts1 and an universal      
emotion which has not yet found fit     
expression4 ,and this is even more the  
case with regard to moral operations of 
a quieter and less signal1 though hardly
 less important kind2 forces which do   
not so much suddenly change the world1  
as keep it 7in some poor and imperfect  
way7 sweet and pure1 and perhaps1 in the
 course of ages1 urge it a little nearer
 the throne of ,god4 ,is the faith of   
,christendom sustained from generation  
to generation by the succession of      
heroes and saints1 to whose achievements
 all men look up with despairing        
admiration1 and in whose acknowledged   
and recorded excellence they see the    
full embodiment of their own desire1 or 
by the thousand nameless fidelities to  
duty1 and obscure victories of          
self-devotion1 and hidden glories of    
purity1 that pass away without          

celebration8 ,if you1 my brethren1 have 
any stoutness of heart to resist mean   
temptation1 if you are conscious of any 
uplifting of desire towards better and  
more stable things than form the common 
stuff of life1 if any quiet trust in    
,god sustains you amid the world's      
chance and change1 to what do you owe   
them8 ,in the last resort1 doubtless1 to
 ,god ,himself1 and to ,god working     
through ,christ2 but immediately1 and in
 a large measure1 to hidden forces1     
unseen influences1 which you perhaps can
 track only in part1 but of which others
 know nothing4 ,a father's integrity--a 
mother's sweet goodness--the quiet air  
of a happy home--a domestic courage and 
patience1 at which you have looked very 
closely1 and whose every line and       
lineament you know--some ancestral      
saintliness1 which is a household       
tradition and no more1 but which has    
never withered in the fierce light of   
public estimate1--these things have     
inspired and nourished your nobler part4

 ,they are the refreshing dew and the   
fertilizing rain1 the restful night and 
the kindling day1 of ,god's moral world4
 ,we grow up with them1 and hardly know 
them for ,his activity2 they are among  
the necessary conditions of our         
existence2 and when we seek for tokens  
of ,him1 it is rather in the crises and 
catastrophes of life--in the sharp wound
 that pricks a sleeping conscience1 in  
the call of duty which turns the whole  
current of our energy1 in the sorrow    
which destroys for ever our trust in the
 world4 ,but ,he has been with us all   
the while in the gentler motions of ,his
 will4  ,sometimes1 ,i am inclined to   
think1 we insist too much on our own    
estimate of small and great in the moral
 world1 forgetting that any single fact 
or individual life is but one link in an
 endless chain of causes and            
consequences1 of which we ought to know 
the whole before we can rightly estimate
 a part4 ,and looking back where some   
light seems to rest upon our own or     

others' history1 it is easy to see how  
what we should call great and signal1   
stands next in the line of causation to 
what seems 7but only seems7 to be       
trivial1 and is certainly obscure4 ,let 
us take the most remarkable instance of 
all1--the ,christ1 whom no scepticism   
can dethrone from the foremost place in 
human history1--who1 whatever else he   
was1 must be admitted even by unbelief  
to have set his mark upon mankind more  
deeply than any other son of men4 ,yet  
how he emerges upon the world out of    
secrecy and silence6 ,whatever bright   
cloud of hope and prophecy had formerly 
floated about his cradle1 has long been 
scattered and forgotten2 and he comes1  
from his ,galilean hills1 one of the    
simple folk who earned their bread in   
the sweat of their brow1 unlearned save 
in the ancestral wisdom of his people1  
unheralded but by the village estimate  
of a sweet and innocent life1 to finish 
the work of a long line of prophets1 and
 to lift humanity nearer to ,god4 ,and  

we are often so eager to prove the      
singularity of his mission1 and to take 
him out of the category of other workers
 for ,god1 as to miss the great lesson  
which is to be learned of the way in    
which the ,father always trains and     
educates a faithful and victorious ,son4
 ,of his mother1 who knows anything1    
save what the few hints and statements  
of the ,evangelists disclose8 ,a        
superstition1 not without its tender and
 graceful side1 has taken her from her  
cottage home at ,nazareth1 and crowned  
her ,queen of ,heaven2 till all the     
familiar extravagances of mythology have
 obliterated even from men's imagination
 the lines of a sweet and strong human  
character4 ,and yet what a marvellous   
woman must have been this unknown mother
 of ,christ6 ,what depth of tenderness1 
what steadiness of judgment1 what a     
majestic and yet winning purity1 what a 
faculty of self-devotion 7not yet too   
hardly tried71 what a simple intensity  
of devoutness1 must have watched and    

helped the child1 as he grew and        
blossomed into man6 ,what airs from     
heaven must have blown about that lowly 
roof1 filling all who dwelt beneath it  
with a noble simplicity of content with 
their own lot1 and one1 with a nobler   
discontent with the world's innumerable 
wrongs and sufferings6 ,these were      
,god's quiet ways1 and the very record  
of them has disappeared2 they survive   
only in their result4 ,but there is no  
son in whom mother's blood does not     
flow1 and though now we know not how or 
where1 the ,mary of whom the world is   
ignorant1 lived and spoke and died in   
the ,christ1 to whom the world looks up4
  ,so no mistake can be greater than to 
suppose that all the world's best work  
is done by the eloquent tongue and the  
busy hand4 ,i will not compare what may 
be achieved by these means1 with the    
less conspicuous results of a goodness  
which propagates itself less by word and
 act than by the unconscious contagion  
of example2 for it is not given to us to

 choose the form and method of our      
obedience4 ,the call of conscience is to
 action2 ,god cannot be acceptably      
served in inglorious ease4 ,the command 
comes in many forms3 ,work while it is  
day2 the night cometh when no man can   
work1 cries one voice2 and then another1
 ,whatsoever thy hand findeth to do1 do 
it with all thy might2 and again a      
third1 ,the fields are white unto       
harvest1 but the labourers are few4 ,but
 ,god ,himself provides a diversity of  
work for ,his own purposes1 and at the  
same time a variety of example for us1  
when ,he chooses some lives1 and laying 
upon them1 what seems to be a heavy     
burthen of sickness and infirmity1 or   
filling them with a great modesty and   
retiringness of spirit1 or shutting them
 up within very narrow and              
insurmountable barriers of circumstance1
 says to them1 in a voice which it is   
impossible to misinterpret1 ,serve ,me  
in darkness and in silence2 and let it  
be enough that ,i accept the            

faithfulness which is unknown of men4   
,sometimes a command like this finds a  
ready echo in a timid and sensitive     
spirit1 to which it is a deliverance not
 to be compelled by conscience to go    
down into the throng of life2 quite as  
often it lies1 at least for awhile1 like
 a galling fetter upon the active mind  
and the eager will4 ,but ,god tempers   
,his weapons in ,his own way1 and all to
 the best effect2 and presently the     
busiest and most versatile intellect    
finds new depths and fresh possibilities
 of interest in the things that lie     
closest at home2 the widest and the     
warmest heart learns that faltering feet
 and feeble hands cannot restrain love's
 farthest and highest flight2 and as for
 ,god1 with all that is involved in the 
soul's upward strain towards communion1 
and ,his descent of help1 ,he may easily
 be nearer to the silence of an enforced
 quietness1 than to the noise and press 
of men's common life4 ,and so it often  
happens that1 under circumstances like  

these1 a character is built up which1 if
 it necessarily shine upon but a few    
lives1 shines for them with a brightness
 all the purer and more intense4 ,such  
virtue is not the beacon flame upon the 
hill-top1 wakening half the land to     
heroic courage and stern endurance1 but 
the quiet lamp which giveth light to all
 that are in the house1 for sweet       
patience1 and fine courtesy1 and the    
practice of all homely goodness4  ,such 
a life1 withdrawn as it is from common  
temptations1 is not without trials and  
difficulties peculiarly its own2 but of 
these it is not needful now to speak4   
,it is more to my purpose to point out  
that it is susceptible of a singular    
symmetry and completeness4 ,the very    
narrowness which has been imposed upon  
it by ,god1 and which we are so ready to
 regard as a privation1 is only in      
another shape the restriction upon the  
indefiniteness of duty which many       
dutiful souls so passionately desire4   
,for the claims upon an energetic nature

 are so many1 so various1 often so      
conflicting2 it is so hard to know which
 of two competing duties ought to take  
precedence1 so impossible to adjust     
effort at precisely its right intensity1
 and to hit the mean between base       
self-saving and foolish                 
self-squandering1--that ,i think it must
 be a common wish for keen consciences  
to have the boundaries of industry a    
little more plainly marked out by ,god1 
and to be relieved from the perpetual   
perplexity of choice4 ,if only one had  
but a fixed and limited place to fill6  
,if only one could always clearly       
distinguish between what one ought to   
do1 and what it would be wrong and      
foolish to attempt6 ,and therefore1 in  
this sense1 ,god's prison may be the    
soul's liberty1 and no round of duty so 
cheerfully and completely trodden as one
 which we1 who are burthened with too   
large a capacity of flight1 think sadly 
and hopelessly circumscribed4 ,then1 so 
,god has willed it1 ,quietness and ,pain

 are sister angels1 that have a singular
 privilege of access to ,him2 and the   
soul to which they minister1 through the
 weary hours of the day and in the long 
watches of the night1 may frequently    
mount upon their friendly wings into the
 sanctuary of ,his ,presence1 bringing  
with it1 upon its return earthward1 one 
knows not what glow caught from the     
infinite and eternal ,brightness4 ,the  
difficulties of a busy life are apt to  
throw mind and heart back upon          
themselves2 the necessities of a quiet  
life have in them this fine quality1    
that they directly lead mind and heart  
to ,god4 ,so ripen1 slowly as the       
seasons pass and the years come and go1 
that sweetness and roundness of         
character which we call saintliness2 and
 as we come in from our worldly work and
 struggle1 with its soil still clinging 
to us1 and the joy of achievement always
 dashed with the recollection of        
failure1 we wonder at a goodness in     
which we can hardly detect a flaw1 and  

upon which already rests a foregleam of 
the presence of ,god4  ,for one secret  
source of the influence which such a    
life may exercise1 undoubtedly lies in  
its contrast to men's common and more   
active existence4 ,i have just indicated
 one element of that contrast2 the      
completeness with which a comparatively 
narrow place may be filled1 over against
 the want of balance1 and symmetry1 and 
thoroughness1 of which all day-workers  
in the world must be conscious4 ,but    
this is not all4 ,there is a great charm
 in the difference between the heated   
air in which we fight our battles even  
for goodness1 and the still atmosphere  
which environs these quiet lives3 we    
come back to them from the struggle1 and
 find that while they too are full of   
all fine aspiration for right1 and      
thrill with a divine indignation against
 wrong1 their aspiration is without     
restlessness1 their indignation has no  
root of bitterness in it2 they are not  
unduly elated by successes which have   

turned our heads1 nor daunted by        
failures which have utterly cast us     
down2 their faith is1 as ours should be1
 far more in ,god than in any of ,his   
human instruments4 ,their characteristic
 excellences answer in many respects to 
our weaknesses1 and we admire and love  
them all the more3 we cannot wait1 and  
their existence is one long patience3   
the noise and the light of publicity are
 our life1 and ,god has hidden them in  
,his pavilion from the strife of        
tongues3 we argue1 and wrangle1 and     
fight1 while they but love and pray3    
health and energy are the very          
conditions of our activity1 and their   
life is rooted in weakness and in pain3 
we converse continually with men1 and it
 is a familiar thing with them to be    
alone with ,god4 ,and so it often       
happens that the chamber of long and    
disabling sickness1 or the sofa from    
which the invalid rarely moves1 is the  
fountain of the finest influence1 and   
the centre of the noblest activities4   

,for there the charities of life may be 
all astir1 and the quick affections     
thence make their far journeys of       
sympathy2 thither may come the workers1 
now for the refreshment of peace1 now   
for the balm of consolation1 now1 again1
 for the inspiration of a purer         
dutifulness2 while over all constantly  
broods the presence of ,god1 who gives  
and who denies the power of active      
service2 who bids this child toil and   
struggle1 while from that ,he asks only 
that she should stand and wait4 ,so in  
the weakness of one many are made       
strong2 and the activities of earth are 
bathed and freshened in the airs of     
heaven4  ,such lives are rarely counted 
happy2 the world pities1 while it       
admires them2 and there is often a note 
of commiseration even upon the lips of  
those who know them best4 ,i cannot     
think that it ought to be so2 that it is
 so1 arises from the fact1 that when we 
speak of happiness1 we use the word in  
some shallow and conventional sense     

which does not answer to our best and   
deepest knowledge4 ,for although one who
 lives so narrowed a life as ,i have    
described1 and1 like a caged lark1      
praises ,god in clear strains and out of
 a full heart1 might well desire1 were  
such a thing yet possible1 a restored   
activity and an enlarged power of       
service1 it would almost always be for  
others' sake rather than her own2 not   
that she might multiply occasions of    
pleasure1 but that she might extend the 
ministry of love4 ,the truth is1 that   
such an one has penetrated far more     
deeply than most into the true secret of
 human happiness2 learning that1 so far 
as external things go1 it stands much   
more in the limitation than in the      
satisfaction of desire2 and that for the
 things within1 to lie close to ,god1   
and to be able to do and bear all ,his  
will with a complete and ready assent1  
is the single sufficient source of a    
,peace which the world can neither give 
nor take away4 ,and then there is a     

grace of character which is one of the  
rarest gifts of healthy1 active life2   
but which1 wherever it shews itself1 is 
almost always a plant of ,god's own     
rearing and tending1--,i mean a         
willingness to live or die1 as ,he      
pleases2 and a genuine conviction1 that 
whatever ,he pleases in this respect is 
wisest1 kindest1 best4 ,how little do we
 feel this1 my brethren1 we who come    
here for an hour's repose from the      
world's turmoil6 ,our life's work1 we   
think1 is half undone2 our best hopes   
have not yet reached fruition2 our vital
 capacity is still unexhausted2 a       
thousand interests claim us4 ,if ,god   
called us now1 we should obey the call  
with sorrowful reluctance1 and          
innumerable backward glances to the work
 and love in which our hearts are       
centred4 ,not so with those who have    
long dwelt in the silence and the       
seclusion which lie between life and    
death4 ,it is the counterpoise of their 
suffering and the reward of their       

patience1 that to them there is no      
terror1 but a great deliverance1 in     
,god's last message4 ,it opens the door 
of the prison-house1 and sets the       
captive free4 ,it is the summons to     
exchange pain for peace1 and enforced   
quietness for the vigour and the joy of 
service4 ,the ,god who has straitened   
them so long is ,he who now sets their  
lives in a large place2 and from the    
twilight of faith they pass into the    
noon of sight4 ,amen4