mazes of which it is not necessary for us to follow their deliberations, the Fathers decided upon the Nicene Creed, one of the clauses of which, asserts that our Lord was "God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten not made, being of one substance with the Father." Whenever we utter these familiar words, let us never forget that they are the result of the fierce conflict of the Church with heresy, that they are due to the irresistible force of Athanasius, who, at first, stood almost alone, but finally succeeded in bringing nearly all the bishops to agree with his proposition. At first, seventeen bishops, who belonged to the Arian party, declined to go with the majority, but on learning that the Creed was to be published by Imperial authority, and that the penalty of refusal would be the loss of place and favor, the greater part submitted. There remained, therefore, only two bishops beside Arius himself who were unreservedly opposed to the new Creed. At the conclusion of the Council, the Emperor invited the bishops to a banquet-it being also the twentieth anniversary of his accession to the throne; and when the feast was over, he presented them with gifts, and paid exceptional honor to Paphnutius, whom he embraced, kissing the empty socket from which the eye had been torn by the executioners. They went home, as they came, at public expense. Four months after his return to Alexandria, the good Bishop Alexander died; and when the Egyptian bishops assembled to elect a successor, the crowd pressed in upon them, crying, "Give us Athanasius, the pious, the devout, the true Christian, the ascetic, he will be a bishop indeed." The majority of the bishops voted for him, and on June 8, 326, he was elected to one of the proudest positions that the Church of that day could afford. For forty-six years Athanasius filled the chair of St. Mark, was the head of the Alexandrian Church, and the foremost Christian leader of his time. His char acter is thus described by Gregory of Nazianzum: "He was hospitable to strangers, kindly to suppliants, accessible to all, slow to anger, pleasant in conversation, still more pleasant in temper, effective alike in discourse and in action, assiduous in devotions, helpful to Christians of every class and age, a theologian with the speculative, a comfort to the afflicted, a staff to the aged, a guide to the young, a physician to the sick, a promoter of Christian marriage, and a purifier of married life in short, such a prelate as Paul described by anticipation, when, in writing to Timothy, he showed what a bishop ought to be." Strong as Athanasius was in the loyal devotion of his people, he was assailed with the most unrelenting and virulent hatred by his enemies, led by Eusebius of Nicomedia, who had the ear of the Emperor. The head and front of his offending was his championship of the Nicene Creed, “and the Arians," Hooker says, "never suffered him to enjoy the comfort of one peaceable day." The most infamous and groundless charges were freely made against him, in consequence of which the Emperor became his fierce opponent and persecutor. He was repeatedly driven from his See, and became an exile, first for three years to Trèves, the capital of Gaul, then for four years to Rome, and again for six years to the Theban desert. Even this did not exhaust the indignities heaped on this faithful servant of Christ. The enemies of the Nicene Creed finally summoned a general council at Milan, secured its revocation, and insisted on every bishop signing the revocation with his own hand. At first two, Liberius, the Bishop of Rome, and Hosius, the President of the Nicene Council, refused, but they were so persecuted that they finally yielded to the pressure brought to bear on them, and throughout the whole Church there was no strong testimony raised on the behalf of the essential Deity of our Lord apart from the persistent and faithful witness to this central truth borne by the Bishop of Alexandria. It was certainly Athanasius contra mundum ("Athanasius against the world"). When we recite that Creed, let us remember that for long years it was the battleground of contending parties, and that it was preserved to the Church through the influence of this one saintly soul, who walked with God, who spent his time between the service of the Church and the prayer of the cloister, one of the purest, holiest, noblest, and most heroic in the annals of Christianity, who stood absolutely alone, like a rock amid the seething waters. It may be asked why did God permit this controversy to arise and rage through so many years. The answer is not far to seek. As one reads the anti-Nicene literature, though there are abundant evidences of the tenacity with which the fathers held the Deity of our Lord, yet the idea of the Trinity is nowhere so clearly defined as it became afterwards through the fierce conflict which we have described. An immense and permanent benefit accrued to the entire Church by the distinct emphasis and stress which were henceforward laid on this central position of the Christian faith. Constantius, the son and successor of Constantine, pursued his father's policy, and on one occasion sent five thousand soldiers to surround his church and take the bishop's life. This was on the midnight of February 8, while Athanasius and his flock were gathered at a vigil service. Undaunted by the danger that menaced his life, Athanasius took his seat on his episcopal throne, and bade his deacon intone Psalm cxxxvi., while the people repeated the response, "For his mercy endureth forever." Before it was finished the soldiers broke in the doors. and began to trample brutally upon the people. Many were wounded by arrows, and many more were crushed to death in the press. Athanasius, however, kept his seat, though entreated by his clergy to save his life; but he insisted that he would not stir till they had secured their safety by flight. When most of them had escaped, his friends dragged him swooning through the press. On recovering his senses, he fled from the city, not because he held his life dear, but because he knew how absolutely necessary at that juncture his life was to the Church. "In the dark night, 'mid the saints' trial sore He stood, then bowed before The Holy Mysteries-he their metest sign, Weak vessel, but divine." Away from the haunts of men, in the recesses of the deserts, living among the wild beasts, amid the simple monks who had fled there from the storm and hubbub of the world, he continued to rule his See, wrote books which are full of personal interest and theological value, and gave proof of the indomitable courage and heroism of his character. Constantius, though master of the world, trembled before the man who had no arms, who scorned to use force, and who, in the majesty of simple faith in God and fidelity to Him, stood forth as a pillar in the temple of Christian truth. "He had," says the great Church historian,, "no friend but God and death, the one a defender of his innocence, the other a finisher of all his troubles." One by one his persecutors died off, and in the forty-sixth year of his bishopric Athanasius returned to his See, and spent the last six years of his life in comparative peace. He was held in universal honor, notwithstanding the infamous falsehoods by which his enemies had endeavored to soil his fair fame, and died in the unchallenged enjoyment of his position. In extreme old age, his once auburn hair white with the snows of many winters, he lay down quietly to die, but his name is one of the brightest in the clustered constellation of the past. Basil and Erasmus, Gibbon and Newman, have given him unstinting commendation. One says of him that he was attractive as a magnet, but indomitable as a diamond and another, that he was a principal instrument. after the Apostles, by which the sacred truths of to a father, and under his tutelage learned some of the most important lessons in character building. It was natural, therefore, that in returning to his native town to begin the work which has since developed along so many different channels, it was to his boyhood counselor, "Brother George," that Mr. D. L. Moody instinctively turned for help and for the furtherance of his plans. The cordial response with which he was met is recorded as a permanent memorial in the campuses and grounds alike of the Northfield Seminary and Mount Hermon Boys' School. Mr. George F. Moody lived his life. in a small sphere, if the term is to be interpreted geographically. The times he left the immediate vicinity of his home were so rare that they might be enumerated upon the fingers of one hand. But his influence was not shut in by the mountain ranges that wall in the Connecticut Valley, for in hundreds of young lives he spread his spirit far and wide. Owing to the death of his father, when he was under nine years of age, George, as the oldest brother at home, assumed the burdens of the family which included, besides his widowed mother, seven brothers and sisters. Uncomplainingly he sacrificed the lighthearted irresponsibility of boyhood and bravely shouldered the work of a man. To his dying day he bore the physical results of those early years of work, which were silent but eloquent memorials of his noble spirit. The measure of success in life is not the amount a man gets out of the world but rather what he gives to it. To leave the world richer for having lived in it, to have added to its joys and to have assuaged to some extent the sum total of its sorrow and pain, is to have fulfilled God's purpose respecting a human life. To this conception of Christian living Mr. George F. Moody attained, and in the community in which he served. his God and fellowmen, he will be remembered for the many services he rendered with gentleness, patience and love as counselor, peacemaker and friend. THE ABIDING COMPANIONSHIP.* Rev. J. H. Jowett, M. A. My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest. Ex. xxxiii. 14. of song. The evangel of these words has haunted my mind of late like the clinging bars of some catching strain I have known for weeks that they would form the motto I should offer you at the dawning of the year, and ever since I chose them they have breathed about my life like soft, sweet balmy air on sunny heights. The other morning I went for a walk up the valley of the Tees; I went alone, that I might once again commune with this message for the year. My path left the home, passed under the shadow of the County School, crossed the recreation grounds, wound *From British Weekly. in and out among the wide-spreading meadows, now and again coming within sight and sound of the swift, eager river, and now veering round and threading the crowded street of the busy market-town, and now narrowing to the little track that led to a new-made grave. And through all the varying way this evangel possessed my mind. "My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest." And then I realized that my walk had been parabolic, and that in all its shifting changes life itself had been portrayed. I had touched life at all its emphases, and the gracious evangel was fitted to all. "My presence shall go with thee," in the serious affairs of the home, in the pregnant place of education, in the relaxations of amusement and sport, in the broad, quiet spaces of Nature's strength and beauty, in the stress and speed of business, and along the narrow road that leads to the open grave. The changing road: the unchanging Presence! The shifting environment: "the friend that sticketh closer than a brother!" "My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest." we Well, here we are, facing the unknown road of the New Year. Where is the road going to lead? What sudden and unexpected turnings shall we experience? Shall we find the road firm and smooth and easy, or shall we find it rough and "rutty," straining and tiring to the limbs? Will it provide a pleasant saunter, or will it necessitate bleeding feet? Will it be a green lane, or a stony steep? Will the way be clear and legible as a turnpike, or will it sometimes be faint and doubtful, like an uncertain track across the moor? We do not know: we are alike in a common ignorance: culture and wealth convey no favor: all distinctions are here wiped out: are all upon an unknown road, and for everybody the next step is in the mist! "Thou knowest not what a day may bring forth." If it were good for us to know it, we should be taken into the counsels of the Almighty. The knowledge of the future path matters nothing: the perception of the present Companionship matters everything! What of the road? "Thou knowest not now." What then? "My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest." And so our motto entwines the gracious offer of a Companion for the unknown and changing road. My text promises the destruction of loneliness, but not the dispersal of the mist. Let me remind you of some of life's loneliness which this wonderful Companionship will destroy. There is the loneliness of unshared sorrow. Is there anything more solitary than sorrow that can find no friendly ear? Sorrow which has an audience can frequently find relief in telling and retelling its own story. How often the bereaved one can find a cordial for the pain in recalling the doings and powers of the departed! It is a wise ministry in visiting the bereaved to give them abundant opportunity of speaking about the lost. The heart eases itself in such shared remembrance. Grief is saved from freezing, and the genial currents of the soul are kept in motion. But when sorrow has no companionable presence with which to commune, the grief becomes a withering and desolating ministry. "When I kept silence, my bones waxed old." Aye, there is nothing ages people like the loneliness of unshared grief. And there are multitudes of people who know no friendly human ear into which they can pour the story of their woes. The outlet manward is denied them. What then? Is the desolation hopeless? ence shall go with thee." can be whispered into the ear of the Highest. The Companionship is from above. Said one lonely soul, who had been nursing his grief in secrecy, as the stricken dove seeks to hide the arrow that rankles in its breast, "I will pour out my soul unto the LORD," and in the sympathy of that great Companionship his sorrow was lightened, and transfigured, like rain clouds in the sun. "My presThe story "In the dark and cloudy day, When earth's riches flee away, And the last hope will not stay, My Saviour, comfort me. "When the secret idol's gone, That my poor heart yearned upon, Desolate, bereft, alone, My Saviour, comfort me." There is a loneliness of unshared triumph. I asked a little while ago if there is anything more lonely than sorrow that can find no friendly ear. I am bound to say that I sometimes think that lonely triumph is as desolate as unshared grief. My memory recalls with bright vividness one of the boys in the school where I received my earliest training. He was an orphan |