"What have I done? I have torn the robe
From Baby Truth's unsheltered form,
And round the desolated globe
Borne safely the bewildering charm:
My tyrant-slaves to a dungeon floor
Have bound the fearless innocent,
And streams of fertilizing gore
Flow from her bosom's hideous rent,
Which this unfailing dagger gave....
I dread that blood!--no more--this day
Is ours, though her eternal ray
Must shine upon our grave.
Yet know, proud Vice, had I not given
To thee the robe I stole from heaven,
Thy shape of ugliness and fear
Had never gained admission here."
In view of the enormity of this sin, the language and feeling of the
good is, "I hate and abhor lying;" "A righteous man hateth lying;" "The
remnant of Israel shall not do iniquity nor speak lies, neither shall a
deceitful tongue be found in their mouth." They pray against the sin,
"Remove from me the way of lying;" "Remove far from me vanity and lies."
They do not respect those who are guilty of the sin. "Blessed is the man
that maketh the Lord his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such
as turn aside to lies;" "He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within
my house; he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight." It would be
well if all professing Christians would act upon this resolution of the
Psalmist, and exclude all liars from their presence.
6. _He is generally characterized for other evils as associated and
produced by his lying._--The degeneracy of moral principle which can
impose upon the credulity of mankind by the invention and statement of
what is known to be untrue is capable of other acts of vice and
immorality. Hence the prophet Hosea, in speaking to the Israelites of
the judgments that should come upon them, declares that "the Lord hath
a controversy with the inhabitants of the land, because there is NO
TRUTH, nor mercy, nor knowledge of God in the land. By swearing, and
lying, and killing, and stealing, and committing adultery they break
out, and blood toucheth blood." Here we see the brood of evils
associated with lying. "A lying tongue," says Solomon, "hateth those
that are afflicted by it." It not only afflicts, but hates them whom it
does afflict--hates them under the calamity of which itself has been the
cause. "A liar," he again says, "giveth ear to a naughty tongue." He
listens to lies, to slander, to cursing, to profanity, and the various
evils constituting a "naughty tongue."
7. _He often tries to conceal his previous sins by lying, and to conceal
his lying by subsequent sins._--Ananias and Sapphira sinned in keeping
back part of the price, and then they lied in endeavouring to cover that
(Acts v.). Cain sinned in murdering his brother, and then lied in the
attempt to hide it (Gen. iv. 9). Jacob did wrong in appearing before his
father as Esau, and sustained his wrong by a lie. The brethren of Joseph
transgressed in dealing unkindly with him and selling him into the hands
of the Ishmaelites, and then to conceal the matter they deceived their
father by lying (Gen. xxxvii. 31, 32). Samson committed sin by throwing
himself into the power of Delilah, and sought his deliverance from her
hands by telling lies (Judges xvi. 10).
And so the liar has to resort to additional sin in defending himself
against his lying. One lie begets another lie to sustain it. Sometimes
it calls forth an oath, a blasphemy, a curse, perjury, and other kinds
of sin. Gehazi lied to Naaman concerning his master, and then to clear
himself before his master he lied a second time (2 Kings v. 22, 25).
Peter also lied in saying that he knew not Jesus, and to sustain himself
in it, when discovered, he cursed and swore, and thus doubled his crime
(Matt. xxvi. 72).
"One lie," says Owen, "must be thatched with another, or it will soon
rain through." "He who tells a lie," remarks Pope, "is not sensible how
great a task he undertakes, for he must be forced to invent twenty more
to maintain that one." "When one lie becomes due," says Thackeray, "you
must forge another to take up the old acceptance; and so the stock of
your lies in circulation inevitably multiplies, and the danger of
detection increases every day."
It is astounding to a serious mind to observe how some persons can run
on in the repetition of falsehoods; and who, upon an apprehension of
discovery, will yet go on paying the price of what they have told by
continuing to lie on. It is also humiliating to one's humanity to notice
oftentimes the cunning, subtlety, paltry tricks resorted to in order to
cover over the lies which are exposed to detection.
"This is the curse of every evil deed,--
That, propagating still, it brings forth evil."
8. _He is almost invariably discovered in his sin._--"The lip of truth,"
says the wise man, "shall be established for ever; but a lying tongue
is but for a moment" (Prov. xii. 19). The moral government of God is
maintained by truth. It is engaged in the promulgation and defence of
truth. He who lies is a violator of its sacred laws, and exposes himself
to the searching and grasping power of justice. The agents of the
justice of God are numerous, and by one or the other the rebel is sure
to be discovered and brought to public exposure in his criminality.
There is a general love to truth and hatred to lies among mankind, and
the belief or suspicion of a lie leads at once to the use of means to
find it out, in order to know the truth and expose the falsehood. Truth
known as truth is never questioned. It remains inviolable and eternal.
It stands as the admiration of the intelligent universe. But falsehood
is transient in its power and reign, and exists while it does exist as
the object of execration to all the rational beings of heaven and earth.
9. _He cannot go unpunished._--He is punished in the remorse and
condemnation of his conscience; in the abhorrence of him in the judgment
of every respectable member of society; in the continual fear he has of
shameful discovery. None can trust him. It is against the moral instinct
of human nature to confide in a liar. Children cannot trust their
parents when they know they lie. Even the ties of kindred, however
close, cannot create mutual assurance in the face of habitual falsehood.
Fidelity in every authority visits lying with punishment. Children are
punished by parents; servants by their masters. A liar is such a
mischievous member of the community that the almost unanimous feeling
towards him is one of condemnation.
The Scriptures contain most fearful words expressive of the retribution
which shall come upon the liar:--
"I will be a swift witness against false-swearers, and them that fear
not Me, saith the Lord of hosts." "Thou shalt destroy them that speak
leasing: the Lord will abhor the bloody and deceitful man." "What shall
be given unto, or what shall be done unto thee, thou false tongue? Sharp
arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper." "A false witness shall not
be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall not escape." "But the
fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and
whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and ALL LIARS, shall have
their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is
the second death." "And there shall in no wise enter into it anything
that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination or maketh A LIE."
"For without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers,
and idolaters, AND WHOSOEVER LOVETH AND MAKETH A LIE."
In illustration of some of the preceding sentiments, I give the
following:--
An American lawyer says: "On entering college, I promised my mother,
whom I loved as I have never loved another mortal, that while there I
would not taste of intoxicating liquor, nor play at cards, or other
games of hazard, nor borrow money. And I never did, and never have
since. I have lived well-nigh sixty years, yet have never learned to
tell a king from a knave among cards, nor Hock from Burgundy among
wines, nor have I ever asked for the loan of a single dollar. Thanks to
my mother!--loving, careful, anxious for me, but not over-careful nor
over-anxious. How could she be, when I was so weak and ignorant of my
weakness, feeling myself strong because my strength was untried, and
such a life as human life is, such temptations as beset the young,
before me.
"She did not ask me to promise not to swear. She would not wrong me by
the thought that I _could_ swear; and she was right. I could not. How
can any one so insult the Holy, the All-Excellent, our Father, and best
friend? Nor did she ask me not to lie. She thought I _could_ not _lie_.
Had she thought otherwise, my promise would have been of little value to
her. And I also thought I could not. I despised lying as a weakness,
cowardice, meanness, the concentration of baseness. I felt strong
enough, manly enough, to accomplish my end without it. I had no fear of
facing my own acts. Why should I shrink before my fellows for anything I
had done? Lie to them to conceal myself or my acts? Nay, I would not
have faults to be concealed. My own character, my own life, was more to
me than the esteem of others. I would do nothing fit to have hidden, or
which I might wish to hide. I thought I could not lie, and I could not
for myself.
"During my second college year there was a great deal of card-playing
among the students. The Faculty tried to prevent it, but found it
difficult. Though I never played, my chum did, and sometimes others
played with him in our room when I was present. I not unfrequently saw
the students at cards. One of the professors questioned me upon the
subject.
"'Have you ever seen any card-playing among the students?'
"'No, sir,' I answered firmly, determined not to expose my fellows. 'A
lie of honour!' I said to myself. What coupling of contradictions! As
well talk of 'honest theft!' 'innocent sin!'
"'You are ignorant of any card-playing in the college building, Brown?'
"'Yes, sir,'
"'We can believe _you_, Brown.'
"I was ready to sink. Nothing else could have smitten, stung me, like
that. Such confidence, and I so unworthy of it. Still I held back the
truth.
"But I left the professor's room another person than I entered
it--guilty, humbled, wretched. That one false word had spoiled
everything for me. All my past manliness was shadowed by it. My ease of
mind had left me, my self-respect was gone. I felt uncertain, unsafe. I
stood upon a lie, trembling, tottering. How soon might I not fail? I
was right in feeling unsafe. It is always unsafe to lie. My feet were
sliding beneath me. One of the students had lost a quarter's allowance
in play, and applied to his father for a fresh remittance, stating his
loss. His father had made complaint to the college Faculty, and there
was an investigation of the facts. The money had been staked and lost in
my room. I was present.
"'Was Brown there?' asked the professor.
"'He was.'
"The professor's eyes rested on me. Where was my honour _then_--my
manliness? and where the trust reposed in me? Did any say, 'We can
believe _you_, Brown,' after that? Did any excuse my lie--any talk of my
honour then? Not one. They said, 'We didn't think it of you, Brown!' 'I
didn't suppose Brown would lie for his right hand!'
"It was enough to kill me. But there was no help. I had to bear my sin
and shame as best I might, and try to outlive it. No one trusted me as
before. No one could, for who knew whether my integrity might not again
fail? I could not trust myself until I had obtained strength as well as
pardon from God, nor even then, until I had many times been tried and
tempted, and found His strength sufficient for me."
* * * * *
Bessie was a little girl, not very old. One morning, as she stood before
the glass pinning a large rose upon her bosom, her mother called her to
take care of the baby a few minutes. Now Bessie wanted just then to go
out into the garden to play, so she went very unwillingly.
Her mother bade her sit down in her little chair, placed the baby
carefully in her lap, and left the room. The red rose instantly
attracted the little one's attention, and quick as thought the chubby
little fingers grasped it, and before Bessie could say, "What are you
about?" the rose was crushed and scattered. Bessie was so angry that she
struck the baby a hard blow. The baby, like all other babies, screamed
right lustily. The mother, hearing the uproar, ran to see what was the
matter. Bessie, to save herself from punishment, told her mother that
her little brother Ben, who was playing in the room, had struck the baby
as hard as he could.
Ben, although he declared his innocence, received the punishment which
Bessie so richly deserved. Bessie went to school soon after, but she did
not feel happy.
That night, as she lay in her bed, she could not go to sleep for
thinking of the dreadful wrong she had committed against her brother and
against God; and she resolved that night to tell her mother the next
morning. When morning came, however, she felt as if there was something
kept her back; she could not make up her mind to confess the sin; it did
not seem so great as the night before. It was not much, after all, her
silly heart said. As day after day passed, Bessie felt the burden less
and less, and she might have fallen into the same sin again had a
temptation presented itself, but for a sad event. One morning, when she
came home from school, she found Ben ill with a frightful throat
distemper. He had been so all the forenoon. He continued to grow worse,
and the next evening he died.
Poor Bessie! it seemed as if her heart would break. Kind friends tried
to comfort her. They told her that he was happy; that he had gone to
live with the Saviour who loved little children; and if she was good,
she would go to see him, though he could not come again to her.
"O!" said the child, "I am not crying because he has gone to heaven, but
because I told that lie about him; because he got the punishment which
belonged to me."
For a long time she refused to be comforted.
Several years have passed. Bessie is now of woman's size; but the
remembrance of that lie yet stings her soul to the quick. It took less
than one minute to utter, but many years have not effaced the sorrow and
shame which followed it.
* * * * *
A mother sat with her youngest daughter, a sprightly child, five years
of age, enjoying an afternoon chit-chat with a few friends, when a
little girl, a playmate of the daughter of Mrs. P., came running into
the sitting-room, and cried,--
"Where is Jane? I've got something for her."
"She is out," said the mother.
"What have you got? Show it to me," eagerly exclaimed Hannah, the
mother's favourite. "I'll give it to her."
The little girl handed Hannah a bouquet of flowers, which she had
gathered for Jane, and returned home with the faith that her kindness
had not been misapplied. She had scarcely left the room, when Hannah,
standing by her mother's chair, talking to herself, said, loud enough to
be heard across the room,--
"I like flowers--she often calls me Jane--she thinks I am Jane--I'm
going to keep this bouquet."
The mother made no objection to the soliloquy, and Hannah immediately
began to pick the leaves from the handsome rose, for the purpose of
making rose water. She had not completed her task when Jane bounded into
the room, and seeing Hannah with flowers, exclaimed,--
"I'm going to have a bouquet pretty soon. Sally Johnson said she would
bring me one this afternoon."
"But she won't," said Hannah.
"I'll go and see," returned Jane, tripping as she spoke towards the
front door.
"Here, Jane," said the mother, "Sally brought this bouquet for you, but
you were not in, and she gave it to Hannah."
The tears started in Jane's eyes. She felt that she had been robbed, and
she knew that Hannah had been preferred to her. Hannah had been
encouraged in a deliberate falsehood and in deception towards her
sister. Many a time since has that mother felt herself obliged to punish
her daughter for prevarications, and often has she been heard to say
that she wondered where so small a child learned so much deceit.