The Spurgeon Series 1857 & 1858. Charles H. Spurgeon

II. Well, now, I am going, in the second place, to try to STIR YOU UP, my brethren, to desire this great, this wonderful thing for which David prayed. Oh! for the rough and burning eloquence of the hermit of old, who stirred the nations of Europe to battle for the cross! I would to God this morning I could speak as he did, when the multitude were gathered together, or, like that bishop of the church, who followed him, who addressed the mighty multitudes with such burning words of fiery eloquence, that at last they heaved to and fro with waves of excitement, and every man, springing to his feet and grasping his sword cried, “Deus vult” “The Lord wills it,” and rushed forward to battle and to victory. In a higher and holier sense I preach the crusade today, not as a hermit, but as God’s preacher, I come forth to stir you up, men and brethren, to desire and seek after this great and highest wish of the faithful, that the whole earth might be filled with his glory. And how shall I stir you up except by leading you to one or two contemplations?

      10. First, I beseech you, contemplate the majesty of God; or rather, since I am unable to help you to do that just now, let me remind you of seasons when you have in some measure grasped the thought of his divinity. Have you never at night gazed upon the starry orbs, with the thought that God was the Maker of them all, until your soul was steeped in reverent adoration, and you bowed your head with wonder and with praise, and said, “Great God! how infinite are you?” Have you never, in looking upon God’s pure earth, when you have seen the mountains, and the clouds, and the rivers, and the floods, said —

      These are your glorious works, Parent of good,

      Almighty! Yours this universal frame,

      Thus wondrous fair: yourself how wondrous then?

      Oh! I think you must have had some glowing bursts of devotion, somewhat like that burst of Coleridge in his hymn from the valley of Chamounix; or, like that of Thompson, when he leads the Seasons out to sing God’s praise; or, like that matchless burst of Milton, when he extolled God, making Adam in the garden praise his Maker. Yes, there have been moments when we could bow before God, when we felt our own nothingness, and knew that he was all-in-all. Ah! if you can have such thoughts as these, my friends, this morning, I know that the next thought akin to this will be — “Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.” You cannot bow before God yourself and adore him, without wishing that all the rest of mankind would do the same. Ah! and the thought has gone further; you have wished that even inanimate objects might praise him. Oh! you mountains, let the shaggy woods upon your crowns wave in adoration; you that with bald heads lift up yourselves loftier than those minor hills, let the clouds that surround you serve like wings of cherubim to veil your faces. But oh! adore him, adore him, for he is worthy of all adoration; let him ever be extolled. You cannot, I repeat, have great thoughts of God yourselves, without spontaneously rising up and saying, “Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.”

      11. But, my brethren, turn your eyes up there. What do you see there? You see the Son of God stepping from the place of his glory, casting aside the garments of his majesty, and robing himself in garments of clay. Do you see him there? He is nailed to a cross. Oh! can you behold him, as his head hangs meekly on his breast? Can you catch the accents of his lips, when he says, “Father, forgive them?” Do you see him with the thorn crown still upon his brow, with bleeding head, and hands, and feet? And does not your soul burst with adoration, when you see him giving himself for your sins? What! can you look upon this miracle of miracles, the death of the Son of God, without feeling reverence stirred within your bosom — a marvellous adoration that language never can express? No; I am sure you cannot. You bow yourself before that cross; you close your eyes that are already filled with tears, and as you bend your head upon the mount of Calvary I hear you say, “Jesus, have mercy upon me.” And when you feel the blood applied to your conscience, and know that he has blotted out your sins, you are not a man unless you spring from your knees and cry, “Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.” What! did he bend his awful head down to the shades of death? What! did he hang upon a cross and bleed, and shall not earth praise him? Oh you dumb, surely this might loosen your tongues. Oh you silent ones, you might begin to speak; and if you do not, surely the very stones will speak, and the rocks that split once at his death will split again, and open a wide mouth to let their hallelujahs ascend to heaven. Ah! the cross makes us praise him. Lovers of Jesus, can you love him without desiring that his kingdom may come? What! can you bow before him, and yet not wish to see your Monarch master of the world? Out with you, men, if you can pretend to love your Master, and yet not desire to see him the conqueror. I give you not a farthing for your piety, unless it leads you to wish that the same mercy which has been extended to you might reach to others, and unless it prompts you to pray this prayer, “Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.”

      12. But gaze a moment longer. The man who died for sinners sleeps within a grave; a little while he sleeps, until the angel rolls away the stone and gives him liberty. Do you behold him, as he wakes up from his slumber, and radiant with majesty, and glorious with light, frightens his guard, and stands a risen man? Do you see him, as he climbs to heaven, as he ascends to the paradise of God, sitting at the right hand of his Father until his enemies are made his footstool? Do you see him, as principalities and powers bow before him, as cherubim and seraphim cast their crowns at his feet? Do you hear him? Do you hear him intercede, and do you hear also the music of the glorified spirits, ever chanting perpetual choruses before his throne? And do you not wish that we might

      Prepare new honours for his name,

      And songs before unknown?

      Oh! it is impossible to see the glorified Christ with the eye of faith, without exclaiming afterwards, “Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.”

      13. But now one other thought. Common humanity urges us to pray this prayer. Did you never walk through a village full of drunkenness and profanity? Did you never see at every ale house poor wretched bloated carcasses that once were men, standing, or rather leaning against the posts, staggering with drunkenness! Have you never looked into the houses of the people, and beheld them as dens of iniquity, at which your soul did turn aghast? Have you never walked through that village and seen the poverty, and degradation, and misery of the inhabitants, and sighed over it? Yes, you have. But was it ever your privilege to walk through that village in later years, when the gospel has been preached there? It has been mine. Once it was my delight to labour in a village where sin and iniquity had once been rampant, and I can say with joy and happiness, that almost from one end of the village to the other, at the hour of eventide, you would have heard the voice of song coming from every roof top, echoing from every heart. Oh! what a pleasant thing to walk through the village, when drunkenness has almost ceased, when debauchery is dead, and when men and women go forth to labour with joyful hearts, singing as they go the praises of the everliving God; and when at sunset the humble cottager calls his children together, and reads them some portion from the book of truth, and then together they bend their knees — oh! happy, happy households! Yes, we have seen some such places; and when our hearts have been gladdened by the sight, we have said, “Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen and Amen.” It has been our delight sometimes to tabernacle among the lowly for a little season. We have had our seat given to us in the chimney corner for awhile, and by and by as the time to retire drew near, the good man of the house has said to the prophet’s servant, “Now, sir, will you read for us tonight, since you are here?” And we have noticed the faces of the little group around us, as we have read some portion like this — “Truly God is good to Israel, even to such as are of a clean heart.” And then we have said, “No, we will not pray tonight; you must be priest in your own house, and pray yourself.” And then the good man has prayed for his children, and when we have seen them rise up and kiss their parent for the night we have thought, “Well, if this is the kind of family that religion makes, let the whole earth be filled with his glory. For the blessedness and for the happiness of man, let God’s kingdom come, and let his will be done.” Contrast that, my brethren, with the murderous rites of the Hindu; contrast it with the savagery and barbarism of heathen lands. If I could bring some barbarian to stand before you this morning, he might himself be a better preacher than