JOY FOR THE SORROWFUL;

OR,

COMFORT IN SICKNESS, CALAMITY, AND
BEREAVEMENT.

With Passages, Introduced and Introductory,

BY THE

REV. J. MCCONNEL HUSSEY, B.A.,

(OXON,)

AFTERNOON PREACHER AT THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL, AND INCUMBENT OF
CHRIST CHURCH, NORTH BRIXTON.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

WHAT changes are ever evident around us—in man, in nature, in circumstance! Nothing here is stable and unvarying. In man we find the helplessness of infancy exchanged for the buoyancy of youth; the buoyancy of youth for the energy and activity of manhood; the energy of manhood for the decrepitude and infirmity of age. The stream of time rolls on, and on its waves the human being is borne along till the great and final change arrives. In nature we discover the same varying characteristics. The flower that, in all-blooming beauty, unshrouds its varied hues and emits its delightful perfumes, smitten by the blast and broken by the furious wind, droops, withers, and dies. The calm and waveless lake, mirroring on its placid surface the blue expanse of heaven, is aroused from its sleep by the howling blast, and, whitened by the shattered billows, which exhaust themselves in foam, pours its waters on its rugged shores, beneath a blackened sky. The streamlet, which in summer threaded its almost noiseless way amid the disordered rocks which easily impeded its course, is changed by the rains and snows of winter into the roaring and destructive torrent. The propitious gale, which with friendly aid urged forward our speeding bark, and seemed to whisper in the ear,

in softest accents, that all was fair and promising—that no anxiety need occupy the mariner's mind, no dark foreboding cast its gloom upon his brow-increases in its tones, till the loud howling rouses all to activity and watchfulness, and proclaims the dread reality, that the tempest is gathering round our vessel. In circumstances also we read the same great truth. In social station, in domestic happiness, in political popularity, in mercantile position, all undergo their variations. The noble are degraded, the rich are impoverished, the family is bereaved, the politician is distracted. The one flattered to-day is rejected to-morrow; the wealthy of this year becomes the ruined of the next; the happy home, full of merriment and mutual love, is invaded by death, and the night of sorrow settles in deep darkness upon the weeping survivors. In such a season, friendship is precious. Its voice is sweet; its words are notes of consoling music. They may partake of melancholy, yet they are the accents of sincerity; they lighten up the dreary solitude, and tell us we are not forlorn and forgotten. These "songs in the night" sound, too, the more pleasantly, if, in addition to the present sweetness, they tell of the prospect of a brighter future, and assure us that the night is not without its star of hope-that the morning cometh.

As a friendly visitor to you in the midst of your anguish and your sorrow, we desire this book to come. It pretends to nothing; it simply desires to speak a word of consolation to your wounded spirit. To find the balm, it has dug deep into the rich mines of men whose hearts were moved by the Spirit of God, and who, as the sons of God, had themselves experienced the trial of afflic

tion, and found the only solace to yield comfort in these seasons of grief. When you are alone, my readers, this book desires to be with you, that ye may enjoy the companionship of men who have sought to do men good, and some of whom, though dead, yet speak. They have gathered their consolations from the unchanging word of God, and would woo you to that word, to glean sweet passages for yourselves. The air is sent from heaven; and men have composed their variations to that air, still retaining as the substance of them the heaven-sprung melody. Like our Lord and Master, then, we hear the sad intelligence that Lazarus is dead, and would hasten like him to the home of Martha and Mary, and with them mingle the tributary tears of sorrow.

We desire, in this our book, to bring Jesus to the mourner's home, and there to leave him sitting by the mourner's side; that the poor sorrower may listen to his voice of compassion and of mercy, and may learn from his lips the sweet assurance-"I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." Tempest-tossed and in fear, we would have you hear in the midst of your trials the voice of a loving Saviour-"It is I; be not afraid.' I have sent, believer, this bereavement; I have cast the cloud before your pathway; I have roused the billows, so that they almost overflow you: but I am he also that, when my purpose is achieved, will say, 'Peace; be still."" Oh what a calm will yours then be! Your safety is secured. "Ye have suffered with me here, ye shall reign with me hereafter."