history has turned round two points of hope; one, the _first_--the
other, the _second_ coming of the Messiah. The magnificent imagery of
Hebrew prophecy had described the advent of the Conqueror; He came--"a
root out of a dry ground, with no form or comeliness; and when they
saw Him there was no beauty in Him that they should desire Him." The
victory, predicted in such glowing terms, turned out to be the victory
of Submission--the Law of our Humanity, which wins by gentleness and
love. The promise in the letter was unfulfilled. For ages the world's
hope has been the second advent. The early church expected it in their
own day. "We, which are alive, and remain until the coming of our
Lord."

The Saviour Himself had said, "This generation shall not pass till all
things be fulfilled." Yet the Son of Man has never come; or rather, He
has been _ever_ coming. Unnumbered times the judgment eagles have
gathered together over corruption ripe for condemnation. Times
innumerable the separation has been made between good and bad. The
promise has not been fulfilled, or it has been fulfilled, but in
either case anticipation has been foiled and disappointed.

There are two ways of considering this aspect of life. One is the way
of sentiment; the other is the way of faith. The sentimental way is
trite enough. Saint, sage, sophist, moralist, and preacher, have
repeated in every possible image, till there is nothing new to say,
that life is a bubble, a dream, a delusion, a phantasm. The other is
the way of faith: the ancient saints felt as keenly as any moralist
could feel the brokenness of its promises; they confessed that they
were strangers and pilgrims here; they said that they had here no
continuing city; but they did not mournfully moralize on this; they
said it cheerfully, and rejoiced that it was so. They felt that all