We have prayed about that house, we have thanked God that the crumbling walls of our little houses lean against the foundations and the walls of God's dwelling-place. Do we catch the music, do we see the vision of the house of God? Do the words balance well? "House" is a familiar word, "God" is the most awful of all words; yet here we find them together in sublime unity and relation. What is the house of God? "A church." "A chapel, a sanctuary, a tabernacle, a temple." Not necessarily. You may have a cathedral without a house of God, and you may find in some little thatched cottage or chapel on the hillside all the cathedrals out of heaven. Hence it is that we must not look at magnitudes, sizes, revenues, apparatus, but at the ideal. "I never go to the house of God." How do you know that? Have you ever been really out of it? Let us go to Jacob for an answer. What said he when he awoke after the delight and yet the torment of the dream? He said, "This is none other than the house of God." There are those who only know houses by architecture, by wails, stones, bricks. Well, now, what was Jacob's environment at that time? Churches, chapels, institutions? Not one. Yet he was in a walled place, walled in with light, and ministered to by ascending and descending angels. We must get the house of God and many other things back from little definitions and narrow and petty locelisations, and regard the universe as God's house. Of course Jacob, having seen all these things, could have said, "Nightmare!" That is all the answer some men can return to the universe. Let us so live as to make the house, even though a little one, grand, tender in all its ministries, a nest in the heart of God. Let us be careful how we divide things into outward and inward. The time will come when we shell get rid of even Scriptural uses of outward, alien, strange, foreign. All these words are doomed to go. "I saw no temple therein," said John. Why did he not see a temple in heaven? Because heaven was all temple. He who lives in light does not even see the sun; he who lives in God has no moon, for he has no night. But men are crafty and expert almost at making little definitions, parties, separations, and the like. Some men divide music into sacred and profane. I never heard any profane music; I do not believe there is any. I have heard sacred music, and I have heard music profaned, perverted, taken away to bad uses, made a seduction on the road to hell. But we must get back to real definitions and proper qualities, and see things as God meant them to be seen. I have also heard of profane history and sacred history. There is no profane history. History truly written, and true to human experience, is an aspect of Providence, an elucidation of that marvellous mystery which penetrates all life, and that whispers to us in many a moment of unexpectedness, "The very hairs of your head are all numbered." Who is it that rises up amongst us and splits up history into sacred and profane? What right has such a man to define and separate and classify? I would follow the historian who sees God m everything, in the defeat as well as in the success of the battle. And there are persons who have carried their defining powers, if powers they be, into what are called ecclesiastical matters, so that now we have "the temporalities" and "the spiritualities." What man devised so insane a distinction? There is a sense, but a very poor, narrow sense not worth considering, in which the work of the Church may be divided into the temporal and the spiritual, but, properly regarded, in the spirit of Christ and in the spirit of the Cross, the gift of the poor man's penny may be as true an act of worship as the singing of the anthem. There is nothing secular, or if there is anything that we call secular it is only for momentary convenience. He that made ell things is God; He built the wall of the Church, and He will take care of the roof; it is His place.

(J. Parker, D. D.).