are drunken in the presence of the enemy, like the Saxons before
Hastings, what will become of them? Drink the cup of gladness, as men do
when their foe is at their side, looking askance over the rim, and with
one hand on the sword, 'ready, aye ready,' against treachery and
surprise. But the presence of the danger should make the feast more
enjoyable too, by the moderation it enforces, and by the contrast it
affords--as to sailors on shore, or soldiers in a truce. Joy may grow on
the very face of danger, as a slender rose-bush flings its bright sprays
and fragrant blossoms over the lip of a cataract; and that not the wild
mirth of men in a pestilence, with their 'Let us eat and drink, for
to-morrow we die,' but the simple-hearted gladness of those who have
preserved the invaluable childhood gift of living in the present moment,
because they know that to-morrow will bring God, whatever it brings, and
not take away His care and love, whatever it takes away.

This, then, is the form under which the experience of the past is
presented in the second portion,--joy in conflict, rest and food even in
the strife. Upon that there is built a hope which transcends that in the
previous portion of the psalm. As to this life, 'Goodness and mercy
shall follow us.' This is more than 'I will fear no evil.' That said,
sorrow is not evil if God be with us. This says, sorrow is mercy. The
one is hope looking mainly at outward circumstances, the other is hope
learning the spirit and meaning of them all. These two angels of
God--Goodness and Mercy--shall follow and encamp around the pilgrim. The
enemies whom God held back while he feasted, may pursue, but will not
overtake him. They will be distanced sooner or later; but the white
wings of these messengers of the covenant will never be far away from
the journeying child, and the air will often be filled with the music of
their comings, and their celestial weapons will glance around him in all
the fight, and their soft arms will bear him up over all the rough ways,