THE BREAD FROM HEAVEN.

READ JOHN vi. 30-51.

LL the people who had seen the miracle of the loaves can hardly have been present. But, besides such of those people as were there, there were doubtless others, who, though they must have heard of the miracle, yet had not seen it. Perhaps it was these that asked for a sign. Or it may be, that, though they who asked had seen the miracle, yet they wished to see a sign on a larger scale, such a sign as the feeding of the people in the wilderness with manna for so many

years.

The sign was asked for in consequence of our Lord saying, "This is the work of God, that ye believe on Him whom He hath sent." It was as though they had said, "Thou callest us to believe on Thee, as sent by God we believe on Moses, as sent by Him, because of the manna; what sign of the same kind dost Thou show?"

They quoted the words of the seventy-eighth psalm. But, in our Lord's reply, He tells them that it was not Moses, but God Himself, who gave the manna; and further, the manna, though given miraculously by God, Iwas not the true bread from heaven. It was but a type of the true. "But My Father giveth you the true bread from heaven." He gave you the type before; now He gives you the true bread.

What did He mean? What was 66 the true bread from heaven?" It was Himself. "The bread of God is He (or, as it might be, that) which cometh down from heaven, and giveth life unto the world."

The Jews did not understand Him. Yet they saw that He spoke of something precious and life-giving, as the woman of Samaria perceived when He spoke to her of the "well of water, springing up into everlasting life." So, like her, they asked Him for this bread; "Lord, evermore give us this bread."

Then Jesus explained His meaning clearly; "I am the Bread of life: he that cometh to Me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on Me shall never thirst."

He is the Bread of life still; for us, as well as for them. He is the spiritual food and sustenance of the - soul; the Bread of life, the only spiritual food by which life in the soul is supported. Israel in the wilderness was supported by manna alone; such was God's appointment: so Christ alone maintains in us spiritual life. There is no hunger for those who come to Him, no thirst for those who believe on Him. The words 'come" and "believe" mean here almost the same, and help to explain each other. The coming is a coming in faith; the belief is such a belief as brings the believer to Christ. Again, how strikingly like are these words to our Lord's words to the Woman of Samaria about the water of life!

"He that believeth on Me:" but Jesus knew that the great bulk of those who had seen His miracle, and who at that very moment saw Him face to face, and heard His words, did not believe. "I said unto you, that ye also have seen Me, and believe not." Though many around Him had sought Him, it was but for common bread, not for the Bread of life; they did not really believe.

But some did; all whom the Father had given to the Son; all true disciples among those who were there, and all true disciples everywhere. Such are given by the Father to the Son, to be His. Their hearts are changed by His grace; they are led to believe; they are inclined to come to Christ; they do come to Him. They come, and He receives them. Not one such does He reject. Thus He becomes "the Bread of life" to them; He Himself is the very Life of their souls.

How full of comfort is this assurance about the Father's will! Our Saviour came to do the Father's will; and this is the Father's will, that nothing should be lost of that which He has given to the Son, but that all, with nothing missing, should be raised up by Him at the last day.

This, however, is general; "all that which He hath given Me." But the Father's will extends also to each individual person who sees the Son (whether personally, or in the hearing of the Gospel), and believes on Him. His will is that every such person should have everlasting life. This our Saviour declares: and He adds, "And I will raise him up at the last day."

We are not to be slothful. We are to believe, to watch and pray, to cleave to our Lord, to seek to be fruitful in holiness; but our comfort is not in ourselves, or in anything we can do, but in God's gracious will concerning us. He will bestow everlasting life upon us, as given to His blessed Son in the covenant of grace, and as believers in Him. He will keep us steadfast. He will teach, guide, strengthen, sanctify us by His Holy Spirit; He will enable us to persevere unto the end. Not one shall be lost. Not one true and humble believer shall be missing. "I will raise him up at the last day."

Jesus knew that the Jews murmured, yet He made no change in His teaching. On the contrary, in these last verses He said again the very thing at which they had murmured; and that more fully than before. Did He wish then to offend them? Did He not wish them to believe? Yes; but belief must be belief of the truth, or it is worth nothing. If they would have eternal life, it was necessary that they should believe in Him as the Bread of life, and as having come down from heaven. In very love to them therefore He repeated this truth, notwithstanding their murmurs.

Let us remember this. Our Lord here sets us an example. The truth will often be murmured at. Let us never alter it, or tone it down, to meet men's unbelief. That is no real kindness. On the other hand, we must give no needless offence, we must try to win others to our Lord by love. But truth, the truth of God, must come first.

JOHNNIE'S FIRST SUNDAY AT CHURCH. AMMA, dear, may I go to church to-day?"

M

"I am afraid, Johnnie, that you could not keep quiet."

"Oh, yes I can. I will be very still if you will let me go."

"Let us try him this morning," said papa. "Well, Emily may get you ready. Remember you have promised to be a good boy."

"Yes, mamma," said Johnnie in a tone so loud and earnest that his brothers and sisters laughed.

When they were all ready, Johnnie walked beside Emily, taking hold of her hand. "Are you not glad that I am big enough to go to church?"

"Yes, dear; and I hope you will listen to the minister."

"I will," said Johnnie; "I will tell every word he says."

"Yes, it was beautiful; but don't talk to me any more, Emily; you will make me forget the sermon." It was papa's custom to ask the children to tell as much as they could remember about the sermon. They all had something to say.

Johnnie listened to each one. Then he said, "That's not all. Papa, why don't you ask me?"

"Well, Johnnie, we shall be glad to hear from you." "Jesus loves you; come to Jesus!"" said he, very earnestly.

"Yes, those were the last words of the sermon. You have done well for a little boy not quite three years old," said papa, kissing him. "Yes," said mamma, we are all pleased with him." And then she kissed him, and the children did the same. "We will not soon forget 'Johnnie's First Sunday at Church,' nor the words he has repeated, 'Jesus loves you; come to Jesus!'"

"No," said the children, "we will not forget them."

"I hope that you may not," said papa; "I can say nothing better to you to-day, or desire anything more for you in the future, than that you might all feel and remember these words: 'Jesus loves you; come to Jesus!""

And will not all the readers of this little story think of them too? "Jesus loves you; come to Jesus!"

Yet hard indeed it must often be,
Far harder than we think,
When the body is chilled and the mind
depressed

To resist the tempter Drink.
Trials of which we little know
Must beset the cabman's life;

men

came

That they did not hear, as he had done,
The news of the Saviour's love:
"Couldn't you go to them and try
Their burdens to remove ?

"Couldn't you speak to them of sin?
They are wild, like the most of us."
Oh, why are the saints so slow to help
When sinners are pleading thus?
On the first night of the services
The cabmen went alone,

But the news which had comforted their hearts

They wanted to make known.

On the second night they filled their cabs

With the poorest they could find, The lame, the old, the little ones, The ignorant and blind.

A goodly company it was

To gather in for prayer; Alas, that in a Christian land

Such gatherings should be rare! Not for the whole, but for the sick, Is the physician sent,

And to the outcast and the poor

Our dear Redeemer went.

Oh, if we follow Him indeed,

We shall love and try to win The poor lost souls now perishing In the deep abyss of sin.

There is power still in the name of
Christ,

Power to raise the weak;
How is it that we have no faith

Of that holy name to speak?

NE day, as I was going to visit in my district, I went a little out of my way in order to go by pleasant, old-fashioned Cheyne Walk. A few feet from the pavement, and going in the same direction as myself, was a costermonger with his donkey and cart. The donkey was a nice, well-set-up little creature, with shiny harness, and a way of stepping which seemed to say that he felt he was a responsible animal, who would do the best he could even with a heavy load behind him; and certainly he had to do his atmost that day, as the cart was full of coals.

While I was looking, without success, for the usual coster's whip, a clear little voice cried, "Push, Dadda!"

The voice belonged to a lovely little child of from two to three years old. She was seated on the shoulder of a tall, strong man (the donkey's master); one of his hands held her safely, while the other was placed on the back of the cart. The contrast was curious between the clean, fair face and bright pinafore of the child and the man's handsome but very coaly features and clothes.

taken out a "coster's" licence, and had once been presented with a young donkey by the grateful costermongers? He replied, "Yes, and it's done a deal of good; I hardly ever sees an old donkey a-working now; I mean, one as is past his work. My Neddy there, he knows as he's got a good place, and he don't want no whip."

By this time the road began slightly to ascend, and the little child's wish to "Push, Dadda!" was allowed by the loving father, and the blackened hand and the two chubby palms were placed together with a will against the cart, to aid the patient beast. So well did they succeed that a corner of a street soon hid them from my sight.

Now, it seemed to me, that sweet child's wish to help her father was like ours, who love our Father who is in heaven, and want to aid some of His work on earth; sometimes we would push when He knows it is right to pull, and then we must be content to do His will, even though it does not seem like going

on.

Then, our Father loves to hear the requests for work in his children's voices, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do ?"

The little child put all her tiny strength to help the father's work; but, all the while, he was bearing her on his shoulder. Thus all our works are done "in Him;" "He makes us willing in the day of His power;" "He has wrought all our works in us."

Do you think that little one would have pleased her father so well, or have been half so useful, if she had

and in temper naturally amiable, though constant selfindulgence had already made her indifferent to the wants and feelings of others.

On a dark and rainy morning in November, Sophia was awakened from a long and dreamy sleep by the bustle of the housemaid, who was engaged in lighting a fire in the adjoining dressing-room, to be ready by the time her young mistress rose to dress. With a shrug of her shoulders, Sophia turned round in her warm and comfortable bed, and as she once more composed herself for another slumber, the thought passed through her mind, "How dreadful to be obliged to get up so early in the morning this cold damp weather, and to have to light the fires and sweep the rooms by candle-light." In a few moments she was again asleep, and did not awake till her maid came to the bedside to say that it was past nine.

not stayed on his shoulder, but had tried to help him by herself? No, she would surely have pushed at the wrong moment, and hindered when she might have helped; so must we remain quiet, held in the "Great God, our Saviour's" hand, who places us "on His shoulder rejoicing;" so, we, being close to His heart, and feeling "His strength" thrilling through our weakness, shall be able to "will and to do of His good pleasure."

TWO WAYS OF SPENDING A DAY. OPHIA NORTON was the only child of a rich London merchant. She was idolised by her parents, and courted, caressed, and admired by her friends. In person she was beautiful and attractive,

Sophia yawned, stretched herself, and, after ten minutes' time spent in looking at the handsome fringe of the bed curtains, she slowly got out of bed and crawled into the dressingroom. When she reached the breakfast-room, she was informed by the attending servant that her mother was confined to her bed with a sick-headache, and that her father had already breakfasted and was gone to the city.

"How disagreeable to be alone," thought Sophia, as she sat down to her sumptuous meal; "and what horrid, wretched-looking weather!" She ate with out relish, for long morning slumbers are not generally favourable in producing a keen and healthy appetite When the breakfast things were removed, she walked to the window, and stood for some moments watching the falling drops of rain. "No going out this morning," she said aloud, as she sauntered to the piano and carelessly played a few bars; and then opening a book of songs, began to sing; but after she had got through one verse, she hastily closed the book, and shutting the instrument, walked into the library, where she stood for some moments looking over the well-filled book-shelves, as if undecided which volume to choose. At length, having fixed upon a tale of wonder and romance, she returned to the breakfast-room, and, drawing an easy chair close to the fire, began to read ; but her mind, satiated and palled with frequent novel reading, hardly felt any degree of interest even in the exciting and unreal scenes through which the heroine