In his agonized yearning for sympathy and tenderness, Job further appeals to the conscience and memory of his friends, seeking to put an end to this lacerating contention, and to be reconciled to them in peace.

I. DISCLAIMERS. True friendship disclaims the right to be exacting. We have no right to lay a tax on the property, or time, or energy of those whom we desire to grapple to us as with hooks of steel. All must be spontaneous, voluntary, free, in the mutual offices of friendship. There are a few noble hearts, indeed, with whom every benefit is a reason for another. Shakespeare has drawn the sublime picture of such a one in his 'Merchant of Venice,' who stops not short at the loan of goods, but pledges his very flesh for his friend. But the counterpart is not to be found in actual life. God is he who alone invites our largest asking, wearies not of our urgency, giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not. The life laid down for us is the pledge that we cannot claim too much from him. The gospel does not fail to point us to the frailty of human nature, even in its noblest moods, in order to set in contrast the illustrious sacrifices of Christ for us. Job had not asked for gifts of substance from his friends to redeem him from durance, or for any other purpose. He had been wiser than to kill the tender plant of mutual good will by unseasonable exactions. And let us read ourselves the lesson that nothing will more surely or speedily break our happiest ties than to allow the hand we offer in affection to be put forth to buy, to traffic, to exact.

II. CLAIMS. But we have great rights and privileges in friendship. These the patriarch insists upon now. He has a right to good words, which are worth much and cost little. He has a right, so long as he is regarded as a friend, to have the truth of his own statements accepted. He has a right to confidence. In distress he is entitled to tenderness, compassion, and efficient guidance by those whose minds are calm and unimpaired by woe. And above all, perhaps, just now, the right of self-defence is most precious, which these advisers seem obstinately to deny. How often is this tragedy enacted! We condemn good men, honest hearts, unheard; we refuse them a fair hearing. They do not easily explain themselves, or we, with our preoccupations and prejudices, are slow to understand. There may be greater ability to defend one's self against the accusations of bitter foes than against the misconceptions of intimate friends. In fact, this is one of those severe trials in relation to our equals of which a recent preacher has so finely discoursed (Mozley, 'University Sermons ').

III. SELF-DEFENCE. Against what fault or sin are these monotonous and harsh reproofs directed? Is it against Job's evil deeds? But they are not specified, and Job denies that they have been done. There is no keener injustice than vague attacks on a man without specification of the exact nature of the charges. Is it the present language of Job? True, hasty words may have escaped him; he fears it; but is the language of health and joy to be tested by the same measures, weighed in the same scales, with that which pain and intense distress extort from the lips? Job knows his heart has not been unfaithful to his God, whatever cries of agony and despair have been berne upon the wind. The whole section thus contains a pathetic appeal to the human conscience for human love; and it teaches us indirectly, bur. with great feeling, the duties of friendly ministry to others in their distress. LESSONS.

1. Calm guidance, healthy suggestions for the morbid intelligence.

2. The "sweetness" (ver. 25) of right words of tender sympathy.

3. Abstinence from argument in such circumstances which only irritates and never soothes.

4. Considerate listening to explanations.

5. Hearty acceptance of honest self-vindications. In all these particulars we have bright examples set us by our blessed Saviour, who never broke the bruised reed nor quenched the smoking flax. By such methods of ministry we are to earn and prove the holy name of friend to our brethren, and lead men to believe that God has angels of blessing in human shape passing about the worn paths of misery in this world. - J.

This is the passionate outcry of a soul in trouble. Misfortune and loss have fallen heavily upon Job. His spirit is sorely stricken. The presence of Eliphaz and his many words of advice bring neither comfort nor hope, and almost in angry defiance the cry bursts from his lip. "Teach me, and I will hold my tongue. Cause me to understand wherein I have erred. How forcible are right words! but what doth your arguing reprove?" Angrily and hopelessly Job describes himself as "one that is desperate." His eager demand is to know whether the trials and calamities that have come upon him are in reality due to exceeding wickedness and special sinfulness on his part. Let us take the words, "Teach me, and I will hold my tongue," as the prayer of the earnest soul in the presence of God. In the experience of every Christian man occasions arise — alas, how often! — when words of unrestrained anger are allowed to escape from the lips — bitter, biting words that wound many a heart, that work havoc in the home, that make others wonder and even stumble, that bring discredit on the Christian profession. Truly the words of the apostle James are not the language of exaggeration. The tongue is a fire; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. Well may our prayer to God daily be, "Teach me, and I will hold my tongue." Or, again, is not the same prayer needed in regard to our common conversation? Our speech is not always "with grace," and, apart altogether from words of wrath and bitterness, there is a general carelessness which is to be deplored. Through sheer thoughtlessness incalculable harm is often done. The prayer is indeed necessary. "Teach me, and I will hold my tongue." Usefully, however, as this text may be employed in enforcing common Christian duties and graces, my chief aim is to apply it to the culture of our deeper spiritual experience. The golden virtue of silence is not much in demand at the present time. On all hands the tendency is towards speech. It is a superficial age. Loudness and self-advertisement are in evidence rather than quietness and contemplation. Now I submit that when the prayer for Divine teaching is earnestly offered, there will be greater readiness to keep silence, greater desire for the quieter side of Christian life, greater longing for that deeper spirituality which does not always, or even chiefly, manifest itself in words. Even in the ordinary affairs of life the instructed man is not the man most eager to speak. Knowledge should bring humility, and a deepening sense of the tasks yet to be achieved. It is the man of little knowledge who is generally most eager to parade his opinions. In the spiritual culture of men it is not those who have passed through the deepest experiences that are most ready to speak of such things. The Divine teaching emphasises the importance and the value of silence quite as much as of speech. It enforces the need for quietness and meditation. How weary one often grows of the way in which Christ and Christianity are talked about on every side! How terrible is the lack of serious thought, or the presence of empty and complacent speech! Dr. Martineau has well said, "If theological gossip were the measure of religious faith, we should be the devoutest of all human generations." I fear not! Curiosity, rather than reality, is the note that is sounded. Even in our Churches we must surely be grieved, and sometimes alarmed, by the lack of depth and seriousness. Earnest thought and prayerful aspiration are not too much in evidence. We talk too much: we strive too much. With our many organisations, societies, schemes, we are in danger of putting too high a value on the power of speech to the depreciation of the spirit that waits in silence and communes with God. Our aim seems largely to be to make speakers. Now I know well the need that exists for such help. Far be it from me to depreciate it! Yet I feel strongly that we are confronted by the peril of overestimating this kind of service. We are only too apt to forget the value of the man of quiet spirit, and to exalt unduly the man of many words and ready speech. I want to enter a plea on behalf of the silent man. There are undoubtedly in all the Churches many who could not give utterance to the deep thoughts and lofty aspirations stirring within them, and yet whose lives have in them the very spirit of Jesus Christ, and stamped upon them what is none other than the beauty of holiness. The time of difficulty and crisis clearly reveals their strength and their value. Great, indeed, is our loss when we fail to appreciate the man of few words, but of real spiritual power. One of our besetting dangers today is that of words outrunning experience. This peril must always prevail where speech is unduly exalted and praised. Where all are encouraged and frequently over persuaded to speak, utterance and conviction will find considerable difficulty in keeping company. Let the expression exceed the experience, and the spirit of unreality will creep in and will soon rule. Unreality will in the end beget contempt for the things professed, and indifference towards them. This is undoubtedly one of the explanations of the falling away of some in our Churches whose zeal has, for a time, been greatly in evidence. On the other hand we often find, especially among young people, that some of the very best of them are reserved in speech on religious matters, unwilling to discuss what is most sacred to them, unprepared as yet to reveal their deepest thoughts and experiences. The forcing house has no attraction for them, and they shrink back from what seems undue familiarity with Divine things. Too often such are looked upon with suspicion, or spoken of with censure, by many glib of tongue yet unworthy to stand by their side. Let it be borne in mind, then, that while the Divine illumination may make men preachers and teachers, yet its result in producing silence and meditation is not to be overlooked nor lightly regarded. An intense hatred of sin, a clear conception of pardon, an earnest meditation on the wonders of grace and redemption, a tarrying long at the Cross of Calvary and dwelling on its mystery and glory — such vital experiences may well produce in the soul humility, awe, and silence. The quietness of the Divine method must not, then, be lost sight of. The virtue of silence must be more highly prized. Growth should be steady, not sudden; regular, not spasmodic. To this end personal communion with God, individual fellowship with Him is indispensable. The soul that waits in silence learns the deepest lessons, finds the richest treasures. Christ Himself found His truest strength in His solitary companionship with the Father. Silence has its place, therefore, in spiritual development. Speech is not to be underestimated. But there is little danger of that mistake being made. Far greater is the peril of an undue exaltation of the value of speech, and a corresponding depreciation of the virtue of silence. "Teach me, and I will hold my peace," is a prayer full of promise for the common days and common ways of life, as well as for its special experiences and special crises.

(H. P. Young.)