may be, of course, an allusion to the metaphor of a feast here, and God
may be set forth as 'the portion of my cup,' in the sense of being the
refreshment and sustenance of a man's soul. But I should rather be
disposed to consider that there is merely a prolongation of the earlier
metaphor, and that the same thought as is contained in the figure of the
'inheritance' is expressed here (as in common conversation it is often
expressed) by the word 'cup,' namely, 'that which makes up a man's
portion in this life.' It is used with such a meaning in the well-known
words, 'My cup runneth over,' and in another shape in 'The cup which My
Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it?' It is the sum of
circumstances which make up a man's 'fortune.' So the double metaphor
presents the one thought of God as the true possession of the devout
soul.

Now, how do we possess God? We possess things in one fashion and persons
in another. The lowest and most imperfect form of possession is that by
which a man simply keeps other people off material good, and asserts the
right of disposal of it as he thinks proper. A blind man may have the
finest picture that ever was painted; he may call it his, that is to
say, nobody else can sell it, but what good is it to him? A lunatic may
own a library as big as the Bodleian, but what use is it to him? Does
the man who collects the rents of a mountain-side, or the poet or
painter to whom its cliffs and heather speak far-reaching thoughts, most
truly possess it? The highest form of possession, even of things, is
when they minister to our thought, to our emotion, to our moral and
intellectual growth. We possess even them really, according as we know
them and hold communion with them. But when we get up into the region of
persons, we possess them in the measure in which we understand them, and
sympathise with them, and love them. Knowledge, intercourse, sympathy,
affection--these are the ways by which men can possess men, and spirits,