As the flower of the grass he shall pass away.

St. James plays the fabulist, or historian here, and narrates the sad end of a certain blade of grass. In whose field, then, did this grass grow? All the commentators reply, "In that of the prophet Isaiah." St. James is here falling back on Old Testament words which would be familiar to the Jews for whom he wrote — words which his story would be sure to recall to their minds.

I. THE STORY OF THE BLADE OF GRASS (Isaiah 40:6-8). As we listen to the prophet, imagination stirs and works; we see the broad, pleasant field bathed in sunlight, fanned with sweet airs, thick with verdant grass, gay with the purely tinted, fragrant wild flowers which clothe the grass as with the robes of a king; and then we feel the fierce, hot blast sweep across the field, under whose breath the grass withers, the bright flowers fade, and all that teeming life, all that exquisite and varied beauty, is swallowed up of death. Who does not feel at times that that is a true picture of human life? And remembering how, in this field, every separate blade of grass and every fragile flower has its own little world of hopes and fears, joys and pains, who can fail to be saddened as he beholds them withered by a breath, their early promise unfulfilled, their goodliness not ripening to its maturity? "All flesh is grass" — all the great heathen races; but also "this people is grass" — a grass which withers like the rest. Like their neighbours, the Jews were in a constant flux, vexed by constant change. One generation came, and another went. The life, vexed with perpetual changes while it lasted, never continuing in one stay, was soon over and gone. Their only hope lay in obedience to the Divine Word, in appropriating that Word, in steeping their life in it till it became enduring as the Word itself.

II. THE MORAL OF THIS STORY. St. James is not content with a lesson so large and general as had contented Isaiah. He has a special purpose in view in telling the story which called up memories, prophetic and historic, from the past. As he had taken a single blade of grass out of Isaiah's broad field, so he selects one man, or one class of men, for special warning. The blade of grass reminds us that human life soon withers, that human fortune often withers even before the man dies. Yes; but it also reminds us that some men wither even while they retain the full vigour of their life, and their good fortune abides. The rich man "withers in his ways," in his goings to and fro along the lines of his traffic, before his health is touched, before his wealth is touched. And therefore, argues St. James, the rich man should rejoice when his riches use their wings and fly away. The alternative the apostle places before him is this: Let the wealth wither that the man may live, or let the man wither amid the abundance of his wealth. It is a hard saying I but, before we reject it as too hard for practical use, let us clearly understand what it means. James had just said, "Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is lifted up, but the rich in that he is brought low." Now, however much we may dislike the injunction, or part of it, can we deny that it is based on a true, on a Christian, view of human life? Are not sudden and large reverses of condition severe and searching tests of character? Does it not take a very good poor man to ride straight to God when he is set on horseback, and a very good rich man not to "break down" when he is "brought low"? Great reverses of fortune are very searching and conclusive tests of character. And can we expect a Christian teacher to bid us grieve over any reverse by which our character is tested, matured, perfected? The wealth and the poverty will soon pass, but the character will remain, and will determine our destiny. Does any one object, "It may be easy enough for a poor man to be glad when he gets rich; but how is a rich man to rejoice when he becomes poor? You ask too much of us, more than it is in man to give." I reply: "You are not speaking, and you know that you are not speaking, from the Christian point of view, in the spirit of Him who, when He was rich, for our sakes became poor. You are putting circumstances before character, transitory gains and pleasures before abiding and eternal realities. St. James himself felt that the latter half of his injunction was hard to flesh and blood; in demanding that the rich man should rejoice whenever he is brought low, he felt that he was imposing a very severe test on character, a very heavy strain on virtue. And that, I suppose, is why he told his story of the blade of grass, to which at last we come back. What he meant was, I think, to this effect: "You remember the prophet Isaiah's field of grass, and how it withered beneath the scorching heat, so that the flower thereof fell off, and the grace of its form perished. The rich man is often like a blade of that grass. The sun of prosperity shines on him more hotly than he can bear; all the promise and beauty of his nature fade beneath the scorching heat; he withers in his ways, in the multitude and perplexity of his schemes and pursuits: his fortune grows, but the man decays, dies before his time, dies even long before he ceases to breathe and traffic." Douglas Jerrold, one of our keenest wits and satirists, has depicted "a man made of money." He had only to put his hand into his breast to find it full of banknotes; but as he draws away note after note, he drains away his vitality; he dwindles and pines amid his vast schemes and luxuries month by month, till he wastes into a mere shadow, till the very shadow disappears. The picture is hardly a satire, it is so mere a comonplace. Every day we live we may see men dying of wealth, all that is manly, all that is fine and pure and noble in character, perishing as their fortunes grow. The warning comes home to us in this age as in few previous eras of the world; for our whole life is so rapid and intense, our business is such a strenuous and exhausting competition, we are solicited by so many schemes for our own advancement, or for the good of the town in which we dwell, or for the benefit of the commonwealth of which we form part, that it is almost impossible to make leisure for thought, for a quiet enjoyment of what we have gained, or for those religious meditations and exercises on which our spiritual health in large measure depends. We are literally withering away in our ways, so many are the paths we have to tread, so rapid the pace we have to maintain, so scorching and tainted the atmosphere we breathe. And hence, whether we are rich, or seeking riches, or are labouring with anxious and fretting care for a bare competence, we all need to take heed to the warning which speaks to us as to men; i.e., as to spiritual and immortal creatures, children of God and heirs of eternity. If we would not Suffer this world, which holds us by ties so many, so strong, and so exacting, to crush all high spiritual manhood out of us, we must set ourselves to be in this world as Christ was in the world. Let the mind that was in Christ be in us also; let us cultivate His preference of duty to pleasure, of service to gain, of doing good to getting good; and instead of withering away in our ways, we shall find every path in which we walk a path of life, a path that leads us home.

S. Cox,