THE IVY. 317 



tlie LoUd, that He might be glorified." And 

 glorified he is in ihem. Tlie fruit which they 

 bear is indeed clad in the hue of affliction, for his 

 poor Church is nailitant against nnany foes, and 

 exceedingly pressed above measure, seeming to 

 have the sentence of death in themselves; but he 

 gives them a spirit of patient endurance, inexpli- 

 cable in some cases but by the great mystery of 

 faith, whereby, adhering to the Hock that cannot 

 be moved, they derive strength according to their 

 day. They stand, a miracle of supporting grace, 

 "as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet 

 making many rich, as having nothings and yet 

 possessing all things." 



Many years ago, I planted an Ivy, and watched 

 its growth WMlh childish interest. Having fixed its 

 root firmly in the soil, it speedily put forth shoots ; 

 and as tliese grew, the short stout fibres appeared, 

 grasping the rough particles of an ancient wall, 

 plunging into every lillle crevice, and securing 

 themselves by a process that excited my wonder 

 beyond any thing that I can remember, at that 

 period of my life. I have pulled away the young 

 branches, endeavouring lo refix them a different 

 position, but in vain : the work of adhesion was 

 one that human skill could not accompH>^h, nor hu- 

 man power compel. The utmost that I could do 

 was to afford an artificial support to the detached 

 branch, until, having coniinued its growth, it put 



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