It is finished.

S. JOHN xix. 30.

Do you ask why I have chosen these particular words for my text? I will answer the question by telling you a story. It is an old story, well-known everywhere, but best known here (at least I should suppose) in this town of Jarrow where I am speaking; a story well-worn, but not worn out, old but fresh still, fresh with the freshness of perpetual youth.

A man past the middle of life lay on his deathbed, surrounded by his disciples. They were sorrowing, says a bystander who relates the incident, at the thought that they should see his face no more in this life. A youth was taking down some words from the master's lips. 'One chapter still remains,' said the lad, of the book which thou hast dictated; and yet it seems troublesome to thee to ask more of thee.' 'It is not troublesome,' said the dying man, 'get out thy pen and prepare, and write quickly.' So the

hours went on. At intervals he conversed with his scholars; then again he dictated. At length his amanuensis turned to him; 'Beloved master, one sentence only remains to be written.' 'Good,' he replied, 'write it.' After a short pause the boy told him that it was written. 'Good,' said he, 'it is finished; thou hast said truly.' And in a few moments more he gave up his soul to God, with his last breath chanting the doxology, familiar to him, as to us.

You have recognised the story. The dying man was Bede; the book, which he dictated, was the translation of S. John's Gospel into the English tongue.

So then these solemn words 'It is finished,' appropriate at all times and in all places, have a singular propriety in this place and at this time; in this place which (whatever other and varied interests it may have for you) is known to the world at large chiefly as the home of Bede the Venerable; at this time, when the recent appearance" of the latest English translation of the Scriptures may well recall our minds to the earliest.

'It is finished.' These words were full of meaning to the dying man. Three completions, three endings, more especially they appear to have suggested to his mind.

I. There was first of all the finishing of the work of dictation, on which he was engaged. When his

youthful amanuensis used the words (as he appears to have done), it probably did not occur to him that they were the very words of the dying Saviour on the Cross. The last chapter, the last sentence, was written. The loving labour, on which they had been so long engaged, was ended. His dear master had. lived to see the completion. It was with much joy, which even the sad thought of the approaching severance could not quench, that he announced, 'It is finished.'

The incident was indeed memorable, far more memorable than it could have appeared to any there present, to the translator, to the amanuensis, to the sorrowing circle of scholars who stood around awaiting the departure of their dear master. It was satisfaction enough for them to think that one Gospel-the chief Gospel-was now clothed in a language which the people could understand. They could not foresee the long, glorious, and eventful history of the English Bible, of which this was the opening scene. Το ourselves its true significance will appear. The names of Wicliffe and Tyndale, of Rogers and Coverdale, of a long line of martyrs and confessors in the cause of Biblical knowledge and truth, will rise up before us. To ourselves it will recall the time, the thought, the labour, expended upon this work of translation in later generations, when it passed from individuals, who

took it upon themselves of their own zeal and love, to committees and bodies of men duly authorised to exercise a common judgment. To ourselves it will seem to link the far-off past with the immediate present, the age of Bede with the age of the Victorian revisers.

What is the meaning of all this? What significance is there in the fact, that age after age so much thought and labour has been expended over this one book? Whatever else may come of this latest revision, one result at least has been achieved. It is a striking testimony to the power, the worth, the pricelessness of the book itself. Why is it that fifty or sixty men have been content-yes, and more than content-to spend years upon the work, to take long journeys from the most distant parts of the kingdom, to give their time and their thoughts gratuitously, without even the hope of fame,—for the achievement is the achievement of a committee, and the individual reaps no glory? Without the hope of fame, did I say? Nay, with the absolute certainty of censure, of rebuke, of misinterpretation, of imputation of motives, of adverse criticism of all kinds. Did their predecessors-better men than they-their predecessors, whether individuals or committees, receive any better treatment? Was not our present Authorised Version, which all men now with justice esteem so highly,

decried on its first appearance, accused of faults which it had, and faults which it had not, of bad English, of bad scholarship, of bad theology? Did not almost every one say then, as almost everyone says now, 'The old is better?' Nay, if the recent revisers are surprised at all by the public criticisms on their work, it is by their mildness, not by their harshness. Judging from the experience of the past, they looked for a far more severe verdict on their work than has been pronounced. Why then did they undertake this thankless task with their eyes open? Why, except that there is a power, a life, a spell, in that book which drew them by its magic? They held it an honour, a privilege, as well as an obligation, to do what they could to set that book before the Englishspeaking people in the best form which improved scholarship and enlarged knowledge suggested. And now, with a feeling akin to that which suggested the words to Bede's young amanuensis eleven or twelve centuries ago, they say thankfully, 'It is finished.'

2. But the words, as they were taken up and repeated by Bede, had a second meaning also. 'It is finished,' said the youth. 'Good,' replied Bede, 'it is finished. Thou hast said truly.' The lad spoke of the volume of parchment, of the writing in ink. But there was another writing written to the end, another volume closed, at that same hour, the writing of an earthly