shelter behind that strong defence need no other. Weak, sense-governed
hearts may crave something more palpable, but they do not really need
it. A parapet on an Alpine road gives no real security, but only
satisfies imagination. The sky needs no pillars to hold it up.

Then an unknown voice breaks in upon the song, calling on unnamed
attendants to fling wide the gates. The city is conceived of as empty;
its destined inhabitants must have certain qualifications. They must be
righteous, and must 'keep faithfulness' being true to the God who is
'faithful and true' in all His relations. None but the righteous can
dwell in conscious citizenship with the Unseen while here, and none but
the righteous can enter through the gates into the city. That
requirement is founded in the very nature of the case, and is as
emphatically proclaimed by the gospel as by the prophet. But the gospel
tells more articulately than he was enlightened to do, how righteousness
is to be won. The last vision of the Apocalypse, which is so like this
song in its central idea, tells us of the fall of Babylon, of the
descent to earth of the New Jerusalem, and leaves as its last message
the great saying, 'Blessed are they that wash their robes that they may
... enter in through the gate into the city.'

Our song gives some hint of similar thoughts by passing from the
description of the qualifications for entrance to the celebration of the
security which comes from trust. The safety which is realised within the
walls of the strong city is akin to the 'perfect peace' in which he who
trusts is kept; and the juxtaposition of the two representations is
equivalent to the teaching that trust, which is precisely the same as
the New Testament faith, is the condition of entrance. We know that
faith makes righteous, because it opens the heart to receive God's gift
of righteousness; but that effect of faith is implied rather than stated