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32X

■t H

i'C

WM. MORLEY PUNSHON, D.D,

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AUTHORS.

,'OHs-. S.H.

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■•..;*<- ■

-■y

THE MOST

ELOQUENT SERMONS

OF THE

GREATEST LIVING PREACHERS.

EEV. WM. MORLEr PUNSHOK D.D.

REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER.
REV. C. H. SPURGEON.

, .s

CONTAINING

SELECT PULPIT ORATIONS DELIVERED ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS, FROM A

GREAT VARIETY OF TEXTS OF SCRIPTURE, AND INCLUDING DR.

PUNSHON'S FAMOUS "FAREWELL SERMON," PREACHED

IN THE METROPOLITAN CHURCH, TORONTO,

PREVIOUS TO HIS DEPARTURE

FOR ENGLAND;

» WITH

PORTRAITS A^:D BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES OF EACH DIVIDE;

ASD

gin |nfrobmtia« lo gr. ^m«Ijon*8 Sermons,

BY THE REV. W. H. MILBURN. '

REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE RESPECTIVE AUTHORS.

TORONTO, ONT.
PUBLISHED BY A. H. HOVEY & CO.

CJexeral Agext Foa New Brukswick— R. A. H. MORROW, St. Joun, N.B.

1873.

PUBLISHERS' NOTICE.

The Publishers having been repeatedly solicited to issue a Collection of Ser-
mons by Dr. Punshon, have deemed the occasion of his departure from
Canada — the field of his recent successful labors — an appropriate one for
complying with this urgent request. ' I

Sincerely regretted by hosts of admiring friends, that earnest and eloquent
preacher of Divine truth has departed from our midst, perhaps never to return.
The Publishers beg leave, therefore,' to offer the present collection of his Ser-
mons (which is the only extensive collection ever published), carefully collated
and revised, with the hope that it may serve as a Memorial Volume of our
departed friend. To make it more acceptable to all denominations, and ta
afford an opportunity for a comparison of the relative merits of our greatest
living preachers, late and select sermons of Beecher anc' Spurgeon have been
added ; and to the thousands of admirers in Canada of these three great pulpit
orators, the publishers beg leave most respectfully to dedicate the work, with
Ihe hope that it may carry to its readers the richest blessings imaginable.

Toronto, July, 1873.

ll
HI

. CONTEj^TS.

ction of Ser-
arture from
ate one for

id eloquent
•r to return,
of his Ser-
Uy collated
^ME of our
ns, and to
ir greatest
have been
eat pulpit
•ork, with
)Ie.

PUNSHON'S SERMONS. , «

I'Ar.B
INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF DR. PUNSHON ix

I. MEMORIES OF THE WAY 21

II. THE BELIEVER'S SUFFICIENCY 39

III. THE MISSION OF THE PULPIT 58

IV. SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF GOD 77

V. THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST 92

VL ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST 109

VH. THE CHRISTIAN'S INHERITANCE 125

VIIL THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROR 142

IX. THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH, LIFE, PROSPECTS & DUTY 158

X. THE APOSTLE'S GROUND OF TRUST 175

XI. THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION 195

XII. THE PROPHET OF HOREB— HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS 2H
Xin. FAREWELL SERMON 251

BEECHER'S SERMONS.

MEMOIR OF HENRY WARD BEECHER 267

1. IMMORTALITY 271

n. EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR DIVINE PROVIDENCE 290

in. REASON IN RELIGION ', 308

IV. THE USE OF IDEALS 328

V. THE HARMONY OF JUSTICE AND LOVE 350

VL LOVE, THE COMMON LAW OF THE UNIVERSE 373

it-

IV CONTENTS.

SPURGEON'S SERMONS.

PAGB

MEMOIR OF REV. C. H. SPURGEON 401

I. TRAVAILING FOR SOULS 405

II. YOUR OWN SALVATION 425

III. THE SIN OF GADDING ABOUT 444

IV. NUMBER ONE THOUSAND, OR "BREAD ENOUGH AND

TO SPARE." 454

ILLUSTRATIONS.

PORTRAIT OF DR. PUNSHON FRONTISPIECE.

CHURCH 109

THE "HOLY BIBLE." .........'/.... 210

CHRIST REBUKING THE PHARISEES 250

THE ASCENSION 26Z

PORTRAIT OF HENRY WARD BEECHER 266

CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN 270

CHRIST BEARING THE CROSS 349

CHURCH 373

PORTRAIT OF REV. C. H. SPURGEON 400

CHURCH 404

"SUFFER LITTLE CHILDREN TO COME UNTO ME." 424

MARTYRDOM OF LATIMER 472

• • • • • . 401

•••••••» 4^5

425

444

i AND *
454

'SPIECE.

109

210

250

266

' • • • . 270
.... 349

•••• 2>7'2
• • . . 400
' • • • 404
••• 424
... 472

WILLIAM MORLEY PUNSHON.

INTRODUCTION.

MEMOIK OF DE. PUNSHON", - ,

BY REV. WM. H. MILBURN.

N a bright sunshiny morning I drove from my
lodgings, Little Ryder Street, St. James', two oir
three miles in a south-westerly direction to Brixton
Hill Wesleyan Chapel. The edifice was that day to
dedicated to the worship of Almighty God, and the'
preacher on the occasion was the Rev. William Morley
PuNSHON. I had heard much of him, and was naturally de-
sirous to listen to one who was called the most eloquent of
living "Wesleyan preachers.

As I reached the chapel in advance of the time for com-
mencing the service, I entered the vestry, where I was
introduced, among others, to the preacher I had come to
hear. He seemed a man about five feet ten inches in height,
rather inclined to corpulency, with by no means a striking
or expressive face when in repose, and possessed of a voice
rather husky and not at all prepossessing.

His dress was that of all Wesleyan ministers in England,
closely approaching the style of the clergy of the established
church — the invariable white neck-tie surmounting the uni-
form of black. The appointed hour arrived and we entered
the chapeL

The prayers of the church of England — excepting the
Tiitany — were read by the superintendent of the circuit from

. ■

X INTUOnrCTTOK.

» - •

a desk on one side ol'tlie clumeel. i\lr. Punslion tlien mounted
a desk on the other side of the chancel, gave out a liynin, and
offered a hrief extemporaneous prayer.

His readhig was not at all immx'ssivo, and I began to
wonder whether, indeed, ho could uc an orator. In trutli, I
liad been so often disappointed that I had almost come to
regard a reputation for clo(picnce as prinuf facie evidence
against a man's possessing it, and I was tempti d to think in
this case, that I was once more befooled. The preaclier took
Ids text and proceeded with the discourse. A brief exegetical
introduction was followed by the announcement of the points
he meant to treat. The arrangement of the sermon was
textual, methodical and Wesleyan. The English take far
less latitude in such matters than we. The Wesleyans are
Weslcyans indeed, imbued with the spirit and almost ad-
hering to the letter of our Great, Founder. Well-nigh every
sermon has its three lieads, and each head its three sub-
divisions, and at the conclusion of the third "thirdly," comes
a close, searching, and practical application. This style
seems to be considered almost indispensable to orthodoxy,
and forms a striking contrast to the large, oflen latitudin-
arian, and frequently helter-skelter freedom of style allowed
in this country, where all manner of truth, and even untruth,
is preached from any text that may be selected, under the
plea that the style is " topical."

The form of the English pulpit obliges the preacher to ad-
here to a pulpit manner. It is modelled upon the shape of
the little wooden boxes we see in Roman Catholic churches
in this country, affording room for one person only — access
to it being gained by a long flight of winding stdps, and
when you have toiled to the dizzy lieiglit, you find yourself
overlooking the galleries, and perched, perhaps twenty feet
above the floor. Not a little self-control must be practiced
by the preacher, and he is compelled, whether he will or
not, to pay a good deal of attention to the laws of gravita-
tion, and other decorous regulations, or tlie stern penalty of
a tumble may be enforced upon him.

The platform of this countiy (for our pulpits are nothing
more), in its slight elevation above the floor, its nearness to
the people, its susceptibility to impression from the audience,
xiud the vantage-ground it affords the preacher for imbuing

lnthoductioin.

II iiiouiitod

began to
II truth, I
) como to

evidence!
> think in
?lier took
xegetical
10 points
non was
take far
yans are
iiost ad-
?h every
l*ee sub-
" comes
is stylo
bodoxy,
titudin-
allowed
mtruth,
ier the

• to ad-
lape of
lurches
-access
>s, and
^urself
y feet
cticed
^ill or
avita-
Ity of

thing'
3SS to
ence,
)uing

tljo lu'RVcrs with his own syini»;Ui»ies, is a gr(\*it advance
npon the Knglisli desk, and a near a|)|)roach to tlie (iniho of
tiic early Cluirch. Tlie dilleivnce, as to the standing-ground
ot the |)reacliers of the two countries, is significant — ahnost
symbolic — of tlie dili'erence of their styles.

The English seem to fancy that our method, in its reach
after the ))eoi)le, its disloyalty to technical rule, its range of
illustration, and its disuse of a strict theological phraseology,
as well as in its free ado])tion of the language of common
life, borders upon a reprehensible looseness.

To the American, on the other hand, the close adherancc
to models, the almost single variation between a dogmatic
and horatory style, and the employment of a limited range
of words, not so much Scriptural as conventional, make the
English pulpit appear formal. No doubt each could learn
somethincr of advanta«jje from the other; and it seemed to
me, that I\Ir. Punshon occupied the enviable position of
standing midway between the two, with many of the advan-
tages ot both. He is systematic, yet untrammelled, and
while technical in his arrangement, he is still free and varied
in illustration. Confining lumself to the legitimate themes
of the pulpit, he at the same time does not despise the U80
of general literature. His aim seems to be to make men
Christians — either to convert them from sin, or to establish
them in holiness, not to teach them political economy, to
educate them in aesthetics, to afford them brilliant disquisi-
tions in metaphysical science, or to enforce on them the flat-
tering assnrance, that the private soul (that is, the essential
mc) is higher and grander than society, state, church, law,
or Scripture

The staple of his disconrses, wh(!n I heard him, concerned
man's spiritual and eternal welfare, and did not consist in
llowers, stars, breezes o" clouds. I shoidd say that he is
better read in the writings of St. Paul and St. John, than in
those of the Gnostics, and that he holds the canon of Scrip-
ture to be binding upon men, as a rul 3 of faith and practice.

As to politics, I have a suspicion (but I can only state it as
a suspicion, for I heard him say nothing on the subject) that
he prefers th« English Revolution of 1G88 to the French Re-
volution of 1*780 ; and tliat he holds the i)owers that be are or-
dained of God, and not of the Devil ; and therefore if he taught

INTHODUCTION.

I !

anytliing on the subject, tliat lio would teach fealty to the
constitutiou of the land in which he lives, loyalty to the law,
obedience to constituted authority, as tlie duty of every good
citizen, and not, that insubordination and revolution are the
crowning glories ot every regenerate soul. He is liberal,
but his liberality is not the equivalent of a contempt for or-
thodoxy ; and while some of his countrymen may esteem
him a progressive, I hardly think his progressiveness consists
in the recently expounded doctrine of consistency, " be true
to yourself to-day — no matter what you said or did yester-
day " — that is to say, progress and the weathercock are one
and the same thing.

As Mr. Punshon advanced in his discourse on that pleas-
ant June morning, an occasional emphasis, applied with
judgment, betokened the practical speaker, and the finish
of his sertences betrayed thorougli preparation. As he
warmed to his work, quickening at the same time the gait
of his articulation, you found him gaining a stron^ij hold not
only U|)on your atl ention but upon your feelings ; and you
discovered that underneath the ample and rather loose folds
of adipose tissue with which his outer iran is invested, there
are great stores of electrical power. He possesses that
attribute indispensable to the orator, for which we have no
better name than magnetic. You are rooted as by a spell,
and surrender for a time the guidance of your own thoughts.
You have dropped the helm of your mind, for a more skillul
j^ilot has for the nonce taken your place at the tiller.

Occasionally, you find the speaker's power over you going
to such lengths as to control your respiration, and you
breathe as he breathes, or as he gives you liberty. Whoever
' has known the delicious pain of a long, deep inhalation —
half a sigh of relief, half a wcVome ot the outer world for
the time forgotten — while listening to a speaker with such
rapt earnestness that every faculty of mind and sense is con-
centrated in the one act of hearing, has felt what oratory is.
He has felt it, but can he describe it? He might as we'd
- attempt to describe the thrill of love or raptui'e. I doubt
not Mr. Punshon has showed many people what oratory is,
and made them to know the power of the orator; but I
question much if he can teach them the power of his art, or
how to analyze and define it. It is not the power of intel-

INTRODUCTION.

• ••

Xlll

ealty to the
to the law,
every good
tion are the
2 is liberal,
mpt for or-
aay esteem
ess consists
y, " be true
did yester-
[5ck are one

that pleas-
>plied with
I the finish
»n. As he
ne the gait
1^ hold not
i; and you
loose folds
(Sted, there
esses that
ve have no
by a spell,

thoughts,
lore skillul
er.
you going

and you

Whoever
lalation —
world for
with such
use is con-
)ratory is. ■
it as well
I doubt
)ratory is,
)r; but I
his art, or

of intel-

lect, for I have seen and heard nothing from him extraor-
dinary as an intellectual production. It does not lie in his
taste — I am not sure if that would bear the test of rigid
criticism. It is not in the exhibition of stores of learning ;
his life has been too busy and practical to enable him to gain
great stock of lore. It is not in the tricks of a charlatan or
the skill of an actor, for Mr. Punshon is a sincere, devout,
and godly man. The charm of eloquence retreats from
the scrutiny ol analysis as life retires from the knife of the
anatomist.

Before he has reached his major "thirdly," it is all over
with your independent consciousness ; you have yielded at
discretion, and are the prisoner of his feeling. I am half in-
clined to believe that his own intellect is in the same plight,
and that memory acts as the warder of the brain, under writ
from the lordly soul. You have thrown criticism to the
dogs; your ear has exchanged itselt for an eye; the bone and
flesh of your forehead become delicately thin, as the laminae
of the corneajj and your brain seems endowed with the power
of the iris. You enjoy the ecstacy of vision, and as the
speaker stops you recover yourself enough to ftel that you
have had an apocalyptic hour.

It seems to me that the true measure of eloquence is found,
not so much in what is said as in what is suggeste:! ; not so
^ much in the speaker's ability to convey to you an idea, as to
suffu e you Avith the glow of a stmtiment ; not so much in
the truth which is uttered, as in the soid behind the truth,
of which you become, for the time, a sharer.

Mr. Punshon is much more of an orator than any man I
heard in England. In rociety he is simple, quiet and genial ;
his excellent good sense aud unaffected piety deliver him
from the snares of egotism, and the foolish weakness of self-
conceit. The chalice of praise turns many a great man's
head. The goblets which both the English and American
public have offered to Mr. Punshon are huge and brimming ;
but if the contents have affected him. I have not discovered
it. T have an idea that he gives close and scrupulous heed
to the Apostle's admonition, " Let no man among you think
more highly of himself than he ought to think, but let him
think soberly, righteously, according as God has dealt to
every man the measure of faith."

I i

XIV

INTRODUCTION.

Mr. Punsbon is not as robust as be ^ooks. Ho is not able
to stncly closely more tlian cbree liours at a time, and fre-
quently not more than that out of the twenty-four hours.
He prepares himself for the rostrum and pulpit with the
most scrupulous and exhaustive care. I should say that the
greater part of his sermons and lectures are committed to
memory, and delivered almost word for word, as they were
beforehand composed. His recollection is, therefore, at once
quick and tenacious. This plan, while it insures a higher
average of public performance and saves him from many
mortifying failures, at the same time shuts him out from the
ground of highest power.

Mr. Punshon was born (I now quote from reliable autho-
rity) on the 29th of May, 1824, and successfully passed
his examination for the Wesleyan ministry in the year 1845.
He is a native of Doncaster, and is related on the mother's
side, to the Morleys of that town, and since of Hull, Sir
Isaac Morley being his uncle. The only child of his parents,
he early di,^played that wonderful memory for which he is
now so remarkably distinguished, and a propensity to store
it Avith facts which rarely interest mere boys. At the Don-
caster Grammar School, where he was educated, he is said
not to have displayed any surprising proficiency ; but when
still a child he was able to name nearly all the members of
the House of Commons, with the j)laces for which they sat,
and the color of their politics.

In early life he associated himself with the Wesleyan
Methodists, to which religious body his fa:.iily belonged ;
but public affaiis continued to be his ruling passion, and the
most surprising thing is, that his oratory, instead of adorn-
ing the Methodist chapel, should not have been electrifying
the chapel of St. Stephen. When his grandfather and ur.cles
removed to their establishment in Hull, he was placed vr
their counting-house as junior clerk. Ht .nay have had
talents for business, but his inclination ran in i^nother direc-
tion. During the three years that he was supposed to be
making out invoices and footing up ledgers, he was absorbed
in newspapers ; and the only account he cared to keep was
of the way in which the representatives ^f ihe people voted
in parliament.
In the debates nobody was better posted up. The

tei

the I

wai

notl

maij

owi

mu^

dQ^

thrJ

INTRODUCTION.

s not able
and I're-
>iir Jiours.
with the
Y that the
niittecl to
hey were
2, at once
a higher
Pm many
from the

•le autlio-
y passed
sar 1845.
mother's
EiuII, Sir
parents,
Loh he is
to store
:he Don-
5 is said
nt when
nbers of
bey sat,

esleyan
longed ;
and the

adorn -
;rifyi:j

ur.cles
ced r\
re had
• direc-

to be
sorbed
>p was
voted

The

temptation of a daily newspaper was irresistible ; and whilo
the other clerks were deep in figures, he was culling figures
of speech from the orators of the Reformed Parliament —
watching the opening genius of Gladstone and Mn aulay,
noting the maturer excellences of Peel and Palmerston, and
marking the finest flights of Shiel and O'Connell for hirt
own. The predilections of a young politician are seldom of
much importance; but it so happened that young Punshon's
devotion to newspaper studies threw him into the society of
three young men who were earnest disciples of the then
newly born conservative opinions of Sir Robert Peel and his
adherents, and who held weekly meetings to strengthen each
other in their political faith. Once a month one of them
read a paper to the rest on a given subject ; and though not
more numerous than the celebrated knights of the thimble
of Tooley Street, they called themselves " The Menticultural
Society." Two of the three survive, one being a Wesleyan
minister and the other a clergyman of the Established Church.
In these weekly discourses and monthly lectures, Mr. Punshon
first distinguished himself as possessed of those faculties which
have made him eminent. Nor did he and his associates con-
fine themselves to politics ; for th^re is in existence a small
volume of poetry which they publir:hed conjointly, and to
which Mr. Punshon contributed a piece entitled "The
Orphan," of considerable promise. About the same time he
received, under the ministry of the Rev. Samuel Romilly
Hall, those impressions which resulted in his religious con-
version. He then became a Sunday school teacher, and
subsequently a local preacher. He began to preach when
he was eighteen years of age, and exhibited much ability in
the pulpit. His first attempt was made at EUerby, near
Hull, and it was so successful as to cause the sermon to live
in the memory of at least some who heard it, for they talked
about it years afterward, when Mr. Punshon visited the
place. Under such circumstances there could be little doubt
that his vocation was not in the counting-house. But still he
was kept in the commercial circle, for from his relatives in
Hull he was sent to an uncle at Sunderland, to follow up the
pursuit on which he had entered.

But the books in which he delighted were neither ledger
nor day-books. His refined fancy and polished taste made

XVI

INTHODUCTIOX.

him an ardent admirer of the sublime and beautiful in litera-
ture, and at the same time his religious views led him to
employ his talents more than ever in the preaching of the
Gospel ; and as certain rivers are lost in morasses, we lose
sight of his commercial career somewhere among the coal-
pits and iron-works of the North.

During these events he had been bereaved of both
parents ; and his grandfather, at length convinced that secu-
lar business was not his vocation, made liberal arrangements
for his being trained for the ministry in the Wesleyan Insti-
tution, after a preliminary course of instruction at the house
of his uncle, the Rev. Benjamin Clough, at Deptford.

There, however, he did not long remain ; it being found,
probably either that his genius was ill-suited to the res-
traints of an academical course, or that by selt-culture, and
the help of his ministerial relative, he had attained a profi-
ciency which, with talents such as his, superseded a more
formal training. In the spring of 1845 a secession of the
parishioners from the Episcopal Church at Morden, Kent,
formed the nucleus of a Wesleyan church in that town, and
Mr. Punshon was invited to accept the^ pastoral cha ge of
the seceders. He complied with the request, and under his
ministry their numbers so greatly increased that a commo-
dious chapel was erected, and always well filled. It was
only for a short time, however, that he remained in this
place, for in the autumn of the same year the Conference,
under whose jurisdiction the Mordea church seems to have
come, sent him to Whitehaven, where he resided two years,
and attracted large congregations. From thence, in 1847,
he was removed to the city of Carlisle, and two years after-
ward to Newcastle-on-Tyne. In both of these great centres
of population Mr. Punshon at once acquired a worthy name,
and became a mighty power for good, as well as at Sunder-
land, Gateshead, Shields, and the other towns of the dis-
trict, where he never had to preach or lecture to empty, or
only partially occupied pews and benches. While stationed
at Newcastle, being then in his twenty-fifth year, he mar-
ried a daughter of Mr. Vicars, of Gateshead, a very esti-
mable and highly accomplished lady, whose premature death
in 1858 threw the darkest shadow across Mr. Punshon's
path, jubt when he had been appointed to a Metropolitan

firf.i

INTROBrOTTON.

xvii

in litera-
i him to
g of the
we lose
the coal-

of both
hat secu-
igements
an Insti-
lie house
1

g found,
the res-
iire, and
[ a profi-
a more
1 of the
1, Kent,
ivn, and
la ^e of
ider his
commo-
It was
in this
erence,
o have
years,
1847,
3 after-
entres
name,
under-
le dis-
ty, or
tioned
s mar-
Y esti-
death
5hon's
olitan

circuit, where enlarged usefulness and new honors awaited
the gifted and ardent ambassodor of Christ ; when most
unwelcome, the King of Terrors came and took the angel
of the pastor's home away, to her sister-spirits in glory.

From Newcastle Mr. Punshon was removed in 1851 to
Sheffield, and thence to Leeds in 1855. It was while he was
at Sheffield that the fame of the preacher became noised
abroad ; and his services were soon in very frequent request
for special sermons, and also for lectures. It was, we be-
lieve, in the character of a lecturer that he appeared for the
fir?,t time in London, some twenty years ago. We well
recollect the circumstance of his standing upon the platform
ot Exeter Hall, to discourse to the members of the Young
Men's Christian Association on the Prophet of Iloreb. It
was not, strictly speaking, a lecture ; but an oration of ex-
treme brilliancy, suited in a high degree to captivate the
minds and find its way to the affections of a youthful audi-
ence ; and we never remember to have heard such rapturous
applause as that with which the thousands there assembled
greeted each glowing period. The whole of the oration
was delivered memoriter^ and with extraordinary fluency ;
and such was the literal fidelity with which the speaker
had followed the manuscript, which was either in his pocket
or at home, that when it shortly afterward appeared in
print, it would have been difficult for the most retentive
memory of the closest listener to have pointed out a sen-
tence that the lecturer had not uttered. By this single
performance Mr. Punshon established a Metropolitan repu-
tation outside his own denomination, which was increased
some two or three years afrerward by his second lecture in
Exeter Hall, before the same Association, on the Immortal
Dreamer, John Bunyan ; and, later still, by that most master-
ly oration on the Huguenot, which tens of thousands in almost
all parts of England and America have listened to with
unbounded delight.

The following ten years of the great preacher's life
were devoted to the preachins: of the Gospel in the various
cities and towns of Great Britain and Ireland. During this
period he visited all of the larger places, and many of less
note. His reputation was now becoming thoroughly estab-
lished as one of the leading pulmt orators of Great Britain,

'lil

XVlll

INTllODUCTION.

and tlie simple announcement of his intention to fill the
pulpit on any occasion, was sufficient to crowd the edifice
to its utmost capacityo Occasionally he appeared upon the
rostrum as a lecturer — a field which allows greater scope to
his imagination, and one in which his genius seems equally
at home as in the pulpit.

It was during these years that Mr. Punshon made a
tour of Continental Europe, visiting France, the Rhino,
Switzerland, Italy, etc. This period of reereation, though
one of rest and enjoyment to the indefatigable preacher,
was not by any means without its beneficial results to the
religious and literary world, for the orator has drawn largely
from his experiences at this time for illustrations in his
discourses ; and his lecture of " Florence and her Memo-
ries," was suggested by his adventures in that city.

But Mr. Punshon's fame had by this time spread beyond
the narrow confines of the two islands in which his labours
had up to this time been principally spent. His reputation
had crossed the broad expanse of the ocean, and an earnest
desire was expressed on this side of the water that they
might be permitted to listen to the appeals of the eloquent
divine. Yielding to these solicitations, Mr. Punshon deter-
mined to visit the United States and Canada, and sailed for
Canada in the s*pring of 1868. His career among us is too
well known to need any extended notice here. His eloquence
was equal to the expectations, and his reputation was fully
maintained. He achieved a great success, and was chosen
in 1869 President of the Wesleyan Conference of Canada.
He preached and lectured in a great number of the cities
and towns of the Dominion, and was instrumental in infus-
ing a new life, and enlarged vigor and membership, into
the Wesleyan Churches throughout the country. One of
his noted achievements was the projection, and subsequent
successful erection, through his earnest and unflagging zeal,
of the famous " Metropolitan Church" in Toronto, a
costly and beautiful structure, unsurpassed in architec-
tural effect by any church on the Continent. This noble
edifice stands a monument alike to the indefatigable energy
of Dr. Punshon, and to the liberality of the citizens of
Toronto.

While residing in Toronto, Mr. Punshon was married

forll

lib(

shol

ble(

soni

INTRODUCTION.

XIX

) fill the
lie edifice
upon the
scope to
s equally

made a
3 Rhino,
, though
)reacher,
s to the
I largely
IS in his
' Memo-

beyond
labours
Dutation
earnest
lat they
(loquent
1 deter-
iiled for
5 is too
)quenco
as fully
chosen
Canada,
e cities
L infus-
p, into
One of
equent
g zeal,
ito, a
chitec-
noble
energy
ens of

arried

to the sister of his late lamented wife — a marriage formerly
forbidden by English law, but since rendered legal by more
liberal enactments. Mr. Punshon was destined, however,
to undergo the anguish of another domestic affliction, and
shortly after foUoAved this wife also to the grave. lie was
blessed with several children by his first marriage — three
sons and one daughter. The University of Cobourg conferred
upon Mr. Punshon, during his residence in Canada, the
legree of Doctor of Divinity.

Dr. Punshon made several visits to the United States,
lecturing and preaching, and on every occasion was greeted
with the acclamations of his audiences. Offers of very high
salaries, however, failed to induce him to settle in the
States, though repeatedly solicited by a people who are
never slow to appreciate talent, or to remunerate it with a
fitting reward. But his associations there, as he informs
us, were of the most pleasant and agreeable nature.

On Sabbath morning, the 11th of May, 1873, Dr. Punshon
delivered his farewell sermon, at the Metropolitan Church,
in Toronto, previous to his departure for England. In a
pathetic and touching address, he urged his hearers to
steadfastness and increased zeal in the cause of Christ, that
his labour amongst thorn might not prove to have been in
vain ; and in conclusion, in simple and touching language,
which drew tears to many ar eye, he bade them an earnest
and affectionate farewell. Tne people of Canada will offer
a fervent prayer, in which not Wesleyans alone, but all
denominations will join, that this painful separation may
be but for a brief term ; and also, that wherever Dr. Pun-
shon' s lot may be cast, and wherever his labours may be
spent, that lot may be one of continued happiness and pros-
perity, and those labours crowned with an abundant
measure of success, to the honour and glory of God, and
the furtherance of His kingdom upon earth.

With one or two exceptions, perhaps there is no living
minister possessed of so much popular power as Mr. Pun-
shon. It* is something wonderful and grand to witness the
spell of his genius upon miscellaneous audiences of from
three to five thousand people. In the pulpit he is unques-
tionably a master, and only second to a very few preachers
of the age. So accurate and elaborate is almost every

age.

INTRODUCTION.

sentence, and so appropriate and polished every illustiative
simile, that it may be confidently said he writes out and
commits to memory every sermon that he delivers. What-
ever he undertakes, lie does well. Whether it is in the
preaching of an ordinary sermon in a Methodist chapel, or
in the delivery of an ostensibly popular discourse in some great
public building, or as taking part in the meeting of some
benevolent or religious association, or as a lectui;er occu-
pying the rostrum before thousands of delighted hearers,
he is always earnest, always energetic, always effective.
Vigorous, inventive, and impassioned, he adapts himself to the
versatile tastes of his auditory, not by any apparent effort,
but by simplicity and strength, and by speaking right out
the thoughts that are in him. He rouses every passion,
touches every emotion, and awakens every sympathy in
the hearts of his hearers.

With God's blessing. Dr. Punshon has yet, according to
the English standard, full twenty of his best years before him.
May he have length of days and fullness of power, so that
he shall continue to grow in favor with CJod and man, is the
hearty wish of his friend,

W. II. MiLBURX.
Bbookltn, N.Y., /Mne, i<575. \

tusti ativG
out and
. What-
Is in the
hapel, or
>me great
J of some
;er occu-
hearers,
effective,
elf to the
It effort,
ight out
passion,
athy in

rding to
:>re tiim.
so that
, is the

.BUEX.

PUNSHON'S SEEMONS.

■<•>»

MEMORIES OF THE WAY. "

" And thou shall remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee
these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to
know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldst keep his command-
ments, orno."—DEUT. viii. 3.

PECULIAR solemnity would be attaclied to
these words in their original utterance, espe-
cially in the mind of the person who uttered
them, for they were spoken under the shadow of
approaching departure. Last words are proverbially
impressive, and these were among the last words of the
veteran Moses to the people of his charge and love.
There had grown in his heart a strong aft'ection for the
children of Israel during his forty year's administration
of their affairs. He had watched over them with fatherly
tenderness, and had guided them through the intrica-
cies of the desert, to the borders of the promised land.
Often had he been wearied by their murmurings, often
had he been provoked by their unbelief. He had been
alternately the object of their mistrust and of their
confidence, of their jealousy and of their enthusiasm,
and yet their very waywardness only seemed the more
warmly to endear them ; and, with a love stronger than
death, he loved them unto the end. Aware that, by

C)0

MKMOllIES OF TIIK WAY.

his unadvised speaking at the waters of Meribali, lie
had barred his own entrance into Canaan, and ani-
mated with a passion for the welfare of his people,
intenser as the time of their separation drew nearer, he
gathered them upon the plains of Moab, and in solemn
and weighty words retraced the path they had trod,
warned them against their besetting dangers, and
exhorted them to fidelity in Jehovah's service. In the
midst of this advice, the words of the text occur, sum-
moning^ them, so to speak, to take a mental pilgrimage
over all the track which they had travelled, and to
connect it with beneficial uses which might influence
their future lives. Such a review of the past is always
wise and salutary when it is conducted in a becoming
and prayerful spirit, and to such a review of the past,
therefore, it is that we invite you to-day. We may not
unprofitably accompany the children of Israel in their
review of the way which they had trod ; we may learn
lessons in their company which may effectually benefit
ourselves. In order that we may preserve some sort of
system in our contemplations, we will notice, in the
first instance, the remembrance of the way ; secondl}^
the purpose of God's providence in the journey; and,
thirdly, the uses of the memory.

I. In the first place, the remembrance of the way.
" Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy
God hath led thee these forty years in the wilderness."
It is a wonderful faculty, this faculty of memory. Its
acts seem to be of the nature of miracles wrought con-
tinually for the conviction of unbelief. We cannot
expound its philosophy', nor tell its dwellihg-place, nor
name the subtle chords which evoke it from its slum-
bers. A snatch of music in the street, the sight of a
modest flower or of an old tree, a word dropped casu-
ally by a passer-by, a face that flits by us in the hurry-
ing crowd, have summoned the gone years to our side,
and filled us in a moment with memories of divinest
comfort or of deepest sorrow. The power ot memory is

IJ!!'

MEMOHIES OF THE WAY.

cribalj, lie
I ftiicl ani-
ls people,
nearer, he
in solemn
had trod,
:ers, and
'• In the
3ur,^ 8um-
ilgrimage
|, and to
influence
is always
•ecoming
the past,
may not
in their
ay leani

benefit
e sort of

in the
condiy,
Y', and,

E WAY.

5rd thy
rness."
Its
it con-

annot
!e, nor

slum-
of a

casu-
uirry-

side,
finest
ory ia

lasting and is 'nflucntial. A kindness has been done in
secret ; but that seed, dropped into the soil of memory,
has borne fruitage in the gratitude of years. A harsh
word or an inHictcd injury, flung upon the memory,
has rankled there into lawlessness and hi to sin. Iso
man can be solitary who has memory. The poorest of
us, if he have memory, is richer than he knows, for by
it we can reproduce ourselves, be young even when the
limbs are failing, and have all the past belonging to us
when the hair is silvery and the eyes are dim. How
can he be a sceptic or a materialist, for whom memory
every moment raises the dead, and re^-^ses to surrender
the departed years to the destroyer; communes with
the loved ones though the shroud enfolds them ; and
converses with cherished voices which for long years
liave never spoken with tongues ? I had almost said,
but that I know the deep depravity of the human heart,
how can he sin who has memory ? For though the mur-
derer may stab his victim in secret, far from living wit-
nesses, and may carefully remove from the polluted
earth the foul traces of his crime, memory is a witness
that he can neither gag nor stifle, and he bears about
with him in his own terrible consciousness the blasted
immortality of his being. Oh, it is a rare and a divine
endowment ! Memories of sanctity or sin pervade all
the firmament of being. There is but the flitting
moment in which to hope or to enjoy, but in the calen-
dar of memory that moment is all time. This, then, is
the faculty which the Jewish law-giver calls up into
exercise : " Thou shalt remember all the way which the
Lord thy God hath led thee these forty years in the
wilderness." And in truth there could be no grander
history, nor one richer in instruction, than theirs. From
the time vv^lien they groaned in bondage, and their cry
went up to God, until now, when, after forty years'
vicissitudes, they stood upon the threshold of the land
of Canaan, each day would have its wonder and its lesson.
They had been led by a way which they knew not; they

'2\'

MK.MnlUKS OF TIIK WAV.

,l||

liiid seen the Iuwh of luitiiro Kuaix'udcd, iind the mochiin-
ism of the finiKUucnt disorganized ou their behalf. In
Egypt they had qimiled beneath the very Omnipotence
which had delivered them, and they had crouched
trembling at the banc ot Sinai, while ever and anon
loomed through the darkness the flashings forth of the
Divinity within. Sustained by perpetual miracle,
delivered with an outstretched arm, with the barrenness
behind and the plenty before them, they were to
^^remember the way which the Lord had led them in the
wilderness."

Brethren, our own, if we will only think of it, has
been an instructive history. There is much in the life
of each of us, in its rest, and in its change, in its hazard,
and in itti deliverance, wdiich will repay us if we revisit
it to-day. I3e it ours to recall the paot, to recover the
obliterated circumstance, to abide again at each halting
place of our journey, to decipher the various inscrip-
tions which the lapse of time has fretted almost to
decay, to remember, as the Israelites, the way which the
Lord hath led us.

1. Tht-re would be in their history, in the first place,
the remembrance • of favor, and by consequence of joy.
All through their course they had had very special
manifestations of the power and goodness of God. He
had brought them out with a high hand from the pride
and tyranny of Pharaoh, he had cleared a patJti for
them through the obedient waters, the heavens had
rained down sustenance, the rock had quenched their
thirst; Jehovah's presence had gone with them through
the tangled desert path, by day in guiding cloud,
by night in lambent flame; their raiment had not
waxed old upon them, neither their foot swelled, for
forty years. He had spoiled their enemies in their
sight. Sihon, king of the Amorites, and Og, king of
Bashan, had fallen before his power. When the law-
giver gathered the tribes in the plains of Moab, he
could say : " !N"ot one thing of all that the Lord your

noli
vid|
or

MEMOIITES OF THE WAY.

moclmn-
•ohalf. In

nipotence
crouched

and anon

rth of the
miracle,

arrenness
were to

em in the

of it, has
n the life
s hazard,
ve reviait
jover the

1 halting
iiiscrip-

Imost to
'hich the

at place,
of joy,
special

xl. He

tie pride

)ath for

sns had

3d their

ihrongh
cloud,

ad not

led, for

\ their

dng of

le law-

ab, he

i your

God hath .spoken hsith ever failed;" and there was
not a iiuirniur in the host, and there was not an indi-
vidual in the congregation that could either gainnay
or deny.

Brethren," there could not fail to he great and grate-
ful rejoicing in this remonihrance of the loving kind-
ness of the Lord. That loving kindness has compassed
us from the first moment of our existence until now,
and by his favor he hath made our mountain to stand
strong. I would call up before you to-day those scenes
in your history upon which you are apt to dwell with
joyous and grateful memory. Think of the gracious
Providence who cared for your infancy, and who pro-
vented your doings in youth ; think of the unexpected
deliverances, the unlooked for surprises of blessing
with which you have been visited; pause before the
various stones of help which you have erected in the
course of your journey ; remember the stores of glad-
ness inexhaustible and constantly operating, that have
been poured upon you by the bounty of your heavenly
Father ; the joy of your heart, the joy peculiar to your-
selves, the natural and inevitable outflow of childhood's
sportiveness and glee, the joy of enlarging knowledge,
the joy of some new discovery of the beautiful, of some
keener thirst after the true ; the joy of travel, the sight
of earth's great cities, fair landscapes, and spots
renowned in song and story ; the joy of home, of
parents whose love has cast a spell upon your after-
lives, from which you would not be disenchanted if
you could — brother, and sister, and wife, and husband,
names that mean more to the heart, a thousand-fold,
than they can ever mean to the ear ; friends that knew
you and that understood you, those twin souls who
bore with your weaknesses without chiding, and who
entered into your dreams with sympathy. The joy of
meetings, and of farewells, and of that which came
between more sweet than each. The joy of the Church ;
victory over some besetting teir^ptation ; glad season

'!!

i 1

il,i :

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

of Christian fellowship which can never be forgotten;
sermons that seemed, in their exquisite adaptedness,
as if they had been made for you, to counsel in per-
plexity, to comfort in trouble ; sacramental occasions
when, in no distempered vision, you " saw heaven
opened, and the Son of Man standing upon the right
hand of the throne of God." The joy of usefulness,
the gladness which thrilled through you when you
succored the distressed, or were valiant for the truth,
or pitied and reclaimed the erring, or flung the gar-
ment of praise over some bewildered spirit of heavi-
ness. The joy that has sprung for you out of sorrow,
and has been all the brighter for the contrast ; deliver-
ance from danger which threatened to be imminent,
recovery from sickness that seemed as though it were
about to be mortal; the lightnings that have let the
glory through the clouds ; the flowers that vou have so
often plucked from tombs. Call up the mighty sum
of gladness now, and as, subdued and grateful in the
memory, you think of your past times, many a lip will
quiver, and many a heart be full, as you remember the
way which the Lord hath led you in the wilderness.

2. There would, secondly, be in their history the
remembrance of sin, and by consequence of sin, the remem-
brance of sorrow. Nothing is more remarkable as a
fact, and more illustrative of the depravity of the
human heart, than the frequency with which the
children of Israel sinned. Only three days after the
wonderful interposition at the Red Sea, their rnurmur-
ings began. The miracle at Marah, although it
appeased their thirst, failed to inspire their confidence,
for they tempted God again at the Waters of Strife.
Although the manna fell without ceasing, they lusted
after the fleshpots of Egypt. Their whole history, in-
deed, is a record of perpetual sin, a perpetual lapse,
now into jealousy, and now into sensualism, now into
unbelief, and now alas, into idolatry. These repeated
transgressions, of necessity, introduced them to sorrow,

SCJ

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

and they suffered, in almost every variety, the strokes
of Jehovah's displeasure. They were wasted hy suc-
cessive pestilences; they were devoured by fiery ser-
pents in the wilderness; the earth opened her mouth
and swallowed up the rebellious sons of Korah; the
Lord went not forth with their hosts to battle; and
they fled discomfited and crestfallen before the face of
their enemies. Their journey was made protracted
and dangerous. Bereavement visited every tent in
turn. One after another the head of each family bowed,
and sunk, and fell, until of all those who left Egypt,
stalwart and sinewy men, only two, and those of
another spirit, remained to enter into the land of pro-
mise and of rest; and the very lawgiver who called up
the exercise of the memory, and the few old men, upon
whose brows the almond tree was flcurishing, thinly
scattered here and there among the tribes, knew that
their heads must bow, their frames dissolve in death,
ere the van-standard of the host could be unfurled
within the borders of the promised land. There could
not fail to be subdued and pensive emotion in this
aspect of the remembrance of the way. Our own
history has its sorrowful side, too, which it will be well
for us to remember to-day. All sorrow, of course,
comes originally from sin, but there is some sorrow
which we inherit from no personal transgression, but
which has been handed down to us, a sad entail of
suffering, a disastrous transmission from our earliest
fathers. The remembrance of such sorrows stretches
far back in the history of every one's life. Perhaps
you were cruell}^ treated in j^outh, and you can hardly
think of it now without shuddering. Perhaps some
bitter disappointment made your path ungenial, or
some early unkindncss came like a frost-blightupon
your fresh, young hopes, just when you were beginning
to indulge them. Perhaps a long sickness chained you
down, and you suffered the illness of hope deferred,
and you wondered whetlier the cheek woukl ever bloom

nil

i.'i>

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

again in the ruddiness of health, and whether the elas-
tic pulse would ever bound and swell through the veins.
Perhaps there are other memories — most likely there
are — so dense in their darkness as to cast all the rest
into a relief of lesser shadow. The first breaking up
of your homes, the stroke that swept you into orphan-
hood, or that took away the desire of your eyes with a
stroke, or that cast you upon a cold world's charities
for work and bread. Call up these nieriories, though
the heart bleeds afresh as you think of them. They
have their uses ; they need not be summoned for the
first time in vain. And then the memory of sin — don't
hide it, don't be cowardly about it ; confront your
yesterdays, not in defiance, but in penitence and
prayer ; your long resistance to the strivings of the
Holy Spirit, the veiled impertinence with which you
refused to hearken to a father's counsel and were deaf
to the entreaties of a mother's prayers. The sins of
your youth, which, though you humbly trust are par-
doned by the grace of CTod, plague you still, like the
scars of some old wound, with shooting pains in many
a chango of weather. Your unfaithfulness since the
Lord called you, your indulgence since your conversion
in things you dared not for your lives have done while
ynu were seeking mercy. How } ou have cherished
some secret idol, or forborne to deliver them that were
drawn to death, or dwelt in your ceiled houses?, intent
only upon your own aggrandizement and pleasure,
while the house of God lay waste. Call up these
memories, do not disguise them ; they will bow you in
humility before God.

This is the memory of the way. " Thou shalt re-
member all the way which the Lord thy God hath led
thee." All the way — it is necessary that all the way
should be remembered — the hill of difficulty as well as
the valley of humiliation, the time of prosperity as well
as the time of pain. l!^ecessary for ou:* advantage that
we may understand our position, learn the lessons of

MEMORIES OF THE WAY,

providence and grace; necessary tliat we may con-
struct a narrative, for every event in our history is con-
nected and mutually interpreted ; necessary that ^ve
may trace the outworking of Jehovah's plan in the
successive achievements of our lives. And if by the
memory of joy you are impressed with God's benefi-
cence, kept in cheerful piety, and saved from the foul
sin of repining ; and if by the memory of sorrow you
are moulded into a gentler type, taught a softer sym-
pathy, and receive a heavenward impulse, and antici-
pate a blessed reunion ; if by the memory of sin you
are reminded of your frailty, and rebuked of your pride,
stimulated to repentance and urged to trust in God —
then it will be no irksomeness, but a heaven-sent and
precious blessing that you have thus "remembered the
way that the Lord hath led thee in the wilderness."

II. I come, secondly, to notice tile purposes of Di-
vine Providence in the journey. These are stated
to be three ; '' to humble thee and to prove thee, to
know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldst
keep his commandments or no." The passage tells us
that in all God's dealings with the children of Israel,
whether he corrected them in judgment or enriched
them with bounty, there were purposes at work — ^pur-
poses of spiritual discipline, intended to induce self-
searching and the improvement of their hearts and
lives.

1. The first purpose that is spoken of is to induce
humility — " to humble thee. ' * Every event, alike in their
deliverance from Egypt, and in their passage through
the wilderness, was calculated to show them their own
feebleness, and their constant dependence upon a high
and upon a superior power. AVhat could human might
have eftected for them in the way of securing their de-
liyerance from Egypt ? Their spirits were broken by
long years of slavery ; the iron had not only gyved their
limbs, it had entered into their soul. They had not
the heart, any one of them, to strike for freedom ; and

]

i '

ii I

I i

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

if they had even meditated a rising, they were a people
of such divided counsels, and so distrustful of each
other, that it would have been but a paroxysm of frantic
rebellion, which would have rooted the Pharaohs on
the empire, and have riveted upon themselves the yoke
of a more bitter bondage. When the permission for
departure was wrung reluctantly from the plague-
stricken king, what could human might have availed
for them, when he repented of his momentary gracious-
ness, and pursued after them in hot haste, and they
were on the borders of the Red Sea, with the giant
waves barring their progress, and a host of ferocious
enemies behind? Everything in their experience
taught them their dependence upon God. They were
led through a region that no adventurer had ever ex-,
plored, no foot had ever trod. When they pitched
their tents at eventide, they knew not at what hour
they should strike them, nor whether they should
strike them at all; there might b« forced years of en-
campment in that one spot; there might be forced
marches and rapid progre-s; but they had no control
over it: as the pillar went, and wherever the pillar
went, they went ; and as they sounded forth their matin
song of praise, there was not a man in the whole con-
gregation that could tell through what rocky clefts or
woody defiles the echoes of the vesper hymn would
sound. Their supply was as miraculous as their guid-
ance. Ko plough had turned up the soil, no river
murmured by their side, they had never gazed for forty
years upon one solitary blossom of the spring-time, nor
had tne golden grain ever once in their sight bent grace-
fully to the sickle of the reaper: they were fed with
' manna, which they knew not.

" When faint tbey were and parched with drought, • '

Water at his word gushed out."

Oh! it is the world's grandest illustration of man's
absolute f'^ebleness and of God's eternal powder. 600,000

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

iVG a people
ful of each
11 of frantic
'haraohs on
es the yoke
nission for
he plague-
ive availed
y gracious-
, and they
the giant
' ferocious
experience
rhey were
d ever ex-,
'J pitched
vhat hour
5y should
^rs of en-
le forced
o control
the pillar
eir matin
hole con-
clefts or
m would
eir guid-
no river
for forty
ime, nor
nt grace-
■^ed with

' man's
600,000

lighting men, beside women and children, led by
Divine leadership, and fed by Divine bounty, for the
space of forty years. Brethren, the dealings of Provi-
dence with ourselves are intended to show us our de-
pendence upon God, and to humble us in the dust
under his mighty hand. We are very proud sometimes,
and we talk about our endowments, and we boast
largely of what wc have done, and what we intend to
do ; but we can do absolutely nothing. The athletic
frame — how soon can he bring it down ! The well en-
dowed heritage — how soon can he scatter it! The
mental glance, keen and piercing — how soon can he
bring upon it the dimness and bewilderment of years !
We cannot, any one of us, bring ourselves into being ;
we cannot, any one of us, sustain ourselves in being for
a moment. Alas ! who of us can stay the spirit, when
the summons has gone forth that it must die ? We are
free; we cannot help feeling that we are free; and yet
we can as little help feeling that our freedom is
bounded, that it has a horizon, something that indicates
a watchful Providence outside. How often have wo
aimed at building for ourselves tabernacles of remem-
brance and of rest, and we have gazed upon the build-
ing joyfully as it progressed to completion, and then
the breath of the Lord has blown upon it, and it has been
scattered, and we have been turned adrift and shelter-
less; and, lo! dwellings already provided for us of
firmer materials and of more excellent beauty, upon
which we bestowed no labor nor thought. And so it
is with all the matters of human glory. The strong
man rejoiceth in his strength, and magnifieth himself
in the might of his arms, but the Lord hath made him
strong ; the wise man glorifieth himself in his intellect,
but the clear perception, and the brilliant fancy, and
the fluent utterance, these are God's gifts ; the rich
man rejoiceth in his riches, but the prudence to plan,
and the sagacity to foresee, and thQ industry to gather,
these are the bestowments of God.

.; 'i^i

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

Ah ! why will men sacrifice to their own net, and
burn incense to their own drag, when they have abso-
lutely nothing which they have not received ; and when
every gift cometh from the Father of light, with whom
there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning ?
And in the realm of morals, and in the spiritual life,
feebleness is the same. A conscience voic' of

our

offence, a good report of those that are without a heav-
enly purpose or a holy resolve, the inner purification or
the comely outgrowth of a beneficent life — we are poor
to compass them. We acquire them only by our
dependence upon God. Have you learned this lesson,
this deep, hard lesson of humility ? Forty years' sins
you have committed ! have they humbled you in the
j)resence of God ? Forty years' chastenings have cor-
rected you ! have they humbled your pride or fretted
you into greater audacity of rebellion ? Forty years'
mercies have blessed you ! have they excited your
gratitude or inflated your vanity ? Brethren, we must
be humbled, if we would be happy. It was in the
Valley of Humiliation, you remember, that the lad that
had the herb heart' s-ease in his bosom kept his serene
and his rejoicing home.

2. Then the second purpose of God's providence in
the journey is to prove us. The idea seems to be, that
a skilful chemist employs tests for the purpose of ana-,
lysis, and to discover the composition of that which he
examines, so God uses the occurrences of life as a moral
touchstone, to discover the tendencies and inclinations
of man. Thus we read God did tempt, test, try, prove
Abraham, requiring from him a sacrifice, excessive and
apparently cruel, in order that he might knov/ the
strength of his servant's faith, and of his filial fear.
There were many of those testing circumstances in the
history of the children of Israel. They were tested by
their mercies, as when, feeling the manna insipid, they
lusted after the flesh-pots of Egypt ; they were tested
by their duties; ,they were tested by their calamities, as

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

net, and
ave abso-
andwhen
th whom
urning ?
itual life,

voic^ of
t a heav-
cation or
are poor

by our
s lesson,
ars' sins
a in the
ive cor-
c fretted
Y years'
3d your
fe must

in the
lad that

serene

Jnce in
►e, that
)f ana-
ich he
moral
ations
prove
i^eand
w the

fear,
n the
ed by

they
ested
es, as .

at the I., .'d Sea, and in the confticts with the hosts of
Amalek. They were tested by their companions, as
when they formed unholy league with Midianite
idolators, and brought upon themselves that swift
destruction which Balak wished for, but which the
cowardly Balaam dared not for his life invoke. Breth-
ren, God has his crucible still. In oui past lives we
shall find circumstances that have tried ourselves, and
we shall remember the results of the trial sometimes
with devout gratitude, oftener with unfeigned shame.
Our afflictions have tried us, and we have thought that
we have done well to be angry, and we have arraigned
the proceedings of God at the bar of our limited reason
(solemn mockery of judic ature !) when, perhaps, the
reflection of to-morrow w^ould have approved what the
distrust of to-day was so ready to condemn. Our
duties have tried us. We have felt the shrinking of
the flesh, and the result has been sometimes their
reluctant and sometimes their spiritless discharge.
Other people have b'^en unjust or unkind to us ; we
have met with ingratitude or with treachery: our own
familiar one, in whom we trusted, has betrayed us ;
slander has been busy belching out her calumnies
against our fair fame ; all these things have tested our
patience, our endurance, our meekness, our long-suflfer-
ing, and, like Moses, we have spoken unadvisedly, or,
like the disciples, we have had to pray, " Lord, increase
our faith," before we could grasp the large and princely
idea of forgiveness to seventy times seven. Often
companionships have tried us, and we have shown how
small has been our self-reliance and how easily we have
taken the hue and mould of the society in which we
were thrown, and how a pointed finger, or a sarcastic
laugh, or a lip scornfully curled, can shame the man-
hood out of us, and make us very cowards in resisting
evil, or in bearing witness for God. Thus have we
been, thus haa God proved us in the wilderness, and if
we are in earnest for heaven, and if we have in any

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

ilii

!ii!!l'

measure proHted by the discipline, we shall be thankful
for the trial. Placed as we are in a sinful world,
exposed to its every-day influences, whether of good or
evil, we need a piety which can maintain itself in all
circumstances, and under every pressure. The trial
will be a matter of choice, preferred by every godly
and valiant C/hristian soldier. He feels as though that
were an inglorious heaven that was won without a
sacrifice and without a toil ; he knows that the pro-
mise is not that he shall pass through the wilderness
without the sight of an enemy ; it is a better promise
than that — that we shall never see an enemy that we
cannot master, and that by God's grace we cannot
completely overcome ; and he had rather don his armor
for a foeman worthy of his steel, for an enemy that will
at once prove his own valor and show the resources of
the Captain of his salvation, than he would don it in
order to prance in the gorgeous apparellings of some
holiday review. Oh ! believe me, the piety which the
world needs, which the church needs, and which we
must have if we would be approved of our Great
Master, must not be that sickly sentimentality which
lounges on ottomans, and discusses social and moral
problems while it is at fease in Zion ; it must be the
hardy principle pining in inaction, robust from healthy
exercise, never so happy as when it is climbing up the
slopes of some difficult duties, and has the breeze from
the crest of the mountain stirring amid its waving hair;
and happy, thrice happy, will it be for you if, as the
result of the inspection, you can say, as David did,
" Thou hast proved my heart and thou hast visited me
in the night ; thou hast tried me and shalt find nothing.
I am purposed that my heart shall not transgress, con-
cerning the works of men ; by the word of thy lips I
have kept me from the paths of the destroyer."

3. And then the third purpose of l^rovidence in the
journey is " to know what was in thine heart — whether
thou wouldest keep his commandments or no." The

hUT

itsel

an<

liui

its

whl

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

le thankful
ful world,
of good or
self in all
The trial
ery godly
ough that
without a
: the pro-
nlderness
r promise
T that we
'e cannot
his armor
' that will
ources of
don it in
I of some
^hich the
^^hich wo
r Great
ty which
id moral
St be the

healthy
g up the
eze from
ng hair ;

as the
^id did,
lited me
nothing.
Jss, con-
lips I

in the
whether
" The

human heart is a microcosm — a little world, containing in
itself all the strifes, and all the hopes, and all the fears,
and all the ventures of the larg«jr world outside. The
human heart ! who can unravel its mystery, or decipher
its hidden law % The smile may play upon the lip,
while beneath there is the broken, burning heart ; and,
on the other hand, the countenance may have shadow
of anxiety, while the sunlight dances gaily on the soul.
The human heart ! Human knowledge can give us very
little acquaintance with it ; such knowledge is too won-
derful tor man ; it is high, and he cannot attain unto it ;
but there is One who knows it, and knows all its tortuous
policy, and all its sinister motive, and he is anxious that
we should know it, too, and one purpose of his provi-
dential dealings with us is, that we may know what is
in our heart ; and yet of all sciences none is so difficult
of attainment as tliis same science of self-knowledge.
Whether it be from the deceitfulness of the object of
study, or whether it be from the morbid reluctance,
almost amounting to fear, with which men shrink from
acquaintance with themselves, there are few that have
the bravery to pray, " Lord, make me to know myself."
Indeed, it were a hideous picture if it were suddenly
unveiled in the presence of us all. When the Lord
would show Ezekiel the abominations of Jerusalem, he
led him through successive chambers of imagery, upon
the walls of which were portrayed their loathsome and
unworthy doings. Ah ! if our enormities were to be
thus tapestried in our sight, who of us could bear the
disclosure? There was deep self-knowledge and deep
humility in the word of the old reformer, who, when he
saw a criminal led off amid the jeers of the multitude to
be hanged at Tyburn, turned around sighing, and said :
" There, but for the grace of God, goes old John Brad-
ford." There is a very affecting illustration of what can
lurk unsuspected in the human heart, in the 8th chapter
of the 2nd book of Kings : " And Elisha came to Damas-
cus ; and Ben4iadad, the king of Syria, was sick ; and it

i!^;

MEMORIES^ OF THE WAY.

was told lilm, sayiupj, The man of God h coinc hither.

And the king said nnto Hazael, Take a present in thine

liand, and go, meet the man of ixod, and inquire of the

Lord by liim, saying, shall I recover of tliis disease? So

llazael went to meet him, and took a present witli him,

even of every good thing of Damascus, forty camels'

burden, and came and stood before him, and said, Thy

son, Ben-hadad, king of Syria, hath sent me to thee,

saying. Shall I recover of this'^disease ? And Elisha said

unto him, Go, say 'unto him, Thou mayest certainly

recover. [The disease itself is not fated to destroy thee,

tliere is no decree of that k'lid.] Howbeit the Lord hath

showed me that he shall surely die. And he settled his

countenance steadfastly, until he was ashamed ; and the

man of God wept. And Hazael said, Why weepeth my

lord. And he answered, Because 1 know the evil that

thou wilt do unto the children of Israel ; their strongholds

wilt thou set on fire, and the> young men wilt thou slay

with the sword, and wilt dash their children, and rip up

their women with child. And Hazael said [shocked at

the bare mention of such atrocities], But what, is thy

servant a dog, that he should do this great thing ?" But,

as the old divine quaintly says, " the dog did it after all."

Brethren, there lurks this danger in us all ; there is no

superiority of character in ourselves ; there is no firmer

power of resistance to evil. In our unaided strength we

are no better fortified against the extremes of iniquity

than many around us who now wallow in the atrocities

of crime. That speculative merchant, whose afiairs had

become hopelessly embarrassed, and who, in the vain

hope of retrieval, olied the too ready pen of the forger,

and in that sad moment forfeited the probity, of years —

how sad must have been his reflections when, to use his

own expressive words, he " agonized on," when he thought

that he should transmit to his children nothing but the

heritage of a blasted name, and that those children would

have an up-hill struggle all the way through life, their

own blamelessness being a small matter against the ter-

i-ill
col
th

MEMORIES OF THE WAY.

nble opprobrium of tlicir fatlicr's mi^idolngs. He who
continues in the feast until wine intlanies him, imagines
that he can tread -svitliout danger upon the giddy verge
over which multitudes have fallen ; but, by little and
little, he cherishes the unappeasable thirst for drink until
it becomes a morbid physical malady, and, frantic and
despairing, he rushes down into a drunkard's grave. •
That youth who, at the solicitation of some gay com-
panion, ventures, for the first time, into the foul hell of
a gaming-house, and Avho joins in the perilous hazard,
would scoff at the prophet who should tell him that, a
few years hence, a gambler and a spendthrift, he should
live in poverty and die in shame. That young man who,
to gain funds, perhaps, for the Sunday excursion, or for
the night's debauch, took the money from his master'^
till Avith the conscientious intention of replacing it at the
time of the quarterly supply, little thought that that
deceitful heart of his would land him in a felon's dock,
or, upon the deck of the transport ship, waft him to
a returnless distance from his country and his homo.
Brethren, from a thousand causes of disaster and of
shame with which our experience can furnish us, and
which we read in the history of every day life, it becomes
us, with godly jealousy watching over our own hearts, to
guard against the beginnings of evil ; and as we think of
blighted reputations and of ruined hopes — of many once
fair, and innocent, and scrupulous, and promising as we
— as we gaze upon the wreck of many a gallant vessel
stranded by our side, which we saw steaming out of the
harbor with stately pennons — let us remember that in us
there are the same tendencies to evil, that it is grace —
only grace — which hath made us to differ, and that each
instance of calamity and sin, while it evokes our pity —
not our scorn — for those that have so grievously erred,
should proclaim in solemn admonition to ourselves,
" Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he
fallo" " To know what is in thine heart, w^iether thou
wouldest keep his commandments or no."

Ill

'^' H

iMEMORIES OF THE WAY.

III. If you have thus tnivclled in tlio way that you
have trodclen, there will bo many uses of the memory
which we cannot stay to particularize to-day. You will
know more of God at the conclusion of your visit than
you did at the commencement. You will behold in the
way both the goodness and the severity of God — the
severity which ])uiiishc8 sin wherever it is tO be found,
the goodness which itself provides a substitute and find.s
a Saviour. Where do you not iind him rather ? There
was the stream gushing forth from the smitten rock-s—
was there not? — and the perishing and thirsty Israelites
were happy. " They drank of the rock that followed
them, and that rock was Christ." There was the brazen
serpent, the symbol of accepted propitiation in the wil-
derness of sin. "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the
wilderness, even so hath the Son of Man been lifted up,
that whosoever believeth in him should not parish, but
should have everlasting life." Oh, as you gather u])
those memories — the memory of joy, the memory of
sorrow, the memory oi sin — as you remember the good-
ness and the loving kindness of the Lord, his faithful-
ness to fulfil his promises, his tenderness, which your
repeated rebellions have not caused to fail — gather up
yourselves in one earnest consecration of flesh and spirit,
which I take to be the best consecration of the house
which you now dedicate to God — living temples, pillars
in ihe house of God, that si «U go out no more forever.

■*'

V .

II.

. THE BELIEVER'S SUFFICIENCY

«» Not that wo arc Bufllclent of ourselves to think anythhig as of our-
selves ; but our sulUclcncy Is of God."— 3 Cokintuians, iii. 5.

IIE promise contained in these words is one of
^ the most encourat^insj cand one of the most
SI comprehensive in tiie Bible. It is the essence
of all Christian experience; it is the moral which the
Sriptnres continnally inculcate, and it stands in the
heraldry of heaven as the motto on the believer's arms.
The all-sufficiency of God has been the support and
comfort of the faithful in all ages of the Church. On
this rock Abraham built his hope ; to this refuge in all
times of trial the sweet Singer of Israel fled ; by this
confidence the great Apostle of the Gentiles was constantly
and perseveringly upheld. The all-sufficiency of God
gives strength to patience, gives solidity to hope, con-
stancy to endurance, gives nerve and vitality to eifort.
The weakest believer, with this giieat treasure in possess-
ion, is enabled to go steadily forward, sacrificing no du*y,
resisting all sin ; and, amidst every horror and every
humiliation, feeling within him the still, clear light of
life. To this the most eminent saints are indebted for
all they enjoy, for all they are enabled to perform ; and
though assailed by various foes without, and by various
fears within, by this they can return from every conflict,
bearing the spoils of victory ; and as with the trophies of
their triumph they erect the grateful Ebenezer, you may
see this inscription written upon them all : " Having

4!0

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

obtained lielp of God, Ave continue unto tliis day,"
feeling most deeply the impotency of the nature they
inherit, and peiietrated with the sense of the difficulties
by which they are surrounded. When faith is in exercise,
they point to this as a never-failing source of strength ;
and in the course of their untried and unswerving
pilgrimage, this is their language : " Let the wise man,
if he will be so foolish, trust to his wisdom ; let the rich
man glory in his wealth ; let the proud man vaunt his
own dignity ; let the trifler make the world his defence ;
we dare not trust to such refuges of lies, we dare not
build upon foundations that are palpably insecure. "We
feel our own nothingness ; but we feel our own might,
because our sufficiency is of God.

From the commencement of the chapter out of which
these words are taken, we learn that the same exclusive-
ness of spirit existed in the days of Paul which exists in
certain quarters now, and that the same charge — that of
false apostleship — was brought against him that has since
been so plentifully flung at eminent ministers of Jesus
Christ. It is no small consolation to find that we are
thus unchurched in good company. The apostle, how-
ever, answers the accusation just as any man woul4 do,
who had no particular interest to serve ir^ 'Surroundihg a
m'eat question with a cx'owd of arguments anything but
luminous — he appeals to the Church a?mong8t whom he
had labored, and asks their verdict as to his success as a
minister: " Do we begin again to commend oi^rselves,
or need we, as some' others, epistles of commendation
to you, or letters of commendation from you ? Ye are
j'our epistle (your changed hearts, your holy lives, your
-tya^slbrmed affections, your heavenly deportment — ye
are 0ttr epistles) written in our hearts, known and read of
all men : forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be
the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with
ink (nor anything so fading), but with the Spirit of the
living God ; not in tables of stone (nor anything so hard),
but in fleshy tables of the heart; and such trust havo we

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

tins day,"
nature they

le difficulties
is in exercise,

of strength ;

unswerving
e wise man,

let the ricJi
n vaunt his
his defence;
we dare not
secure. We
own might,

ut of which
e exclusive-
3h exists in
ge— that of
at has since
rs of Jesus
hat we are
ostie, how-

^^oul4 do,
•oundiig a
j^thing but

whom he
cce$s as a

oijrselves,
nehdation

1 Ye are
ives, your
ment — je
id read of
^•ed to be
not witli
'it of the
so hard),
havo we

through Christ to Godward;" then, so anxious is he
even in this moment of his triumphant vindication to
avoid all appearance of boasting, that he puts in a great
disclaimer: "not that we are sufficient of ourselves to
think anything of ourselves; all that, whether in us as
subjects or by us as the instruments, has been done by
the sovereign power of God, who also hath made us able
ministers of the New Testament, not of the letter, but of
the Spirit; for the letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth
life." The Apostle in these verses imfolds the great
secret both of ministerial call and of ministei ial efficiency.
It is God, not man, that makes, not finds, able ministers
of the !New Testament. The tones of his voice are heard,
saying to them, " Son, go work to-day in my vineyard."
And it is a remarkable fact, one which we should never
forget, that this voice is never heard in a heart where
there is no faith ; consequently, the prime qualification
for a minister of the Christian religion is the heart that
has been melted by its love, and a consciousness which
has felt it in its power. Without this, all else is unavail-
ing ; the attainment of the most profound and extensive
knowledge, the grasp of the loftiest and most scholarly
intellect, thepossession of the most commanding eloquence,
the treasures of the most imperial fancy, the research of
the most accomplished scholar, all these are useless, worse
than useless, if they be not consecrated by the Spirit of
the Holy One; only the trappings that decorate the
traitor, and make his treason yet the fouler; only the
weapons of more imminent danger, and the portents of
more terrific and appalling ruin. The most distinguished
minister within the compass of the Catholic Churcli,
however eminent he may be, however signally his labors
have been blessed, has reason to remember, every moment
of his ministerial career, "I am nothing, less than
nothing; but my sufficiency is of God." The comfortable
and scriptural doctrine contained in the text is not more
true of ministers, of whom it was immediately spoken,
than of Christians in general, to whom it may be properly

«P

Ili

,,;.,,-

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

applied. The station is different, the strength is the
same. Your sufficiency, as well as ours, is of God. To
take the words in this extended sense, we may find in
them matter of profitable meditation, by considering
first the nature of this sufiiciency and then the authority
which believers have to expect this sufficiency for them-
selves.

I. First, the sufficiency of God may be considered
either as proper, or communicated. By his essential, or
proper sufficiency, we mean that he is self-existent, self-
sufficient, independently happy ; angels and men may
declare that they cannot increase his glory ; it is eternal,
underived, perfect. He has said that he will never give
it to another. There was no necessity in his nature im-
pelling him to create tlie universe ; he could have existed
alone, and he did exist alone, long before the everlasting
silence was broken by a human footstep, or interruptea
by a human voice; and that Divine solitude was the
solitude of matchless happiness. The best praises, there-
fore, the most extensive services of his worshippers, are
but reflections of the glory which dwells originally in
himself. But it is of the sufficiency of God in relation
to his creatures that it is our province especially to speak.
And it is in this sense that God is good to all, and his
tender mercies are over all his works.

1. He is sufficient, in the first place — ^let us take low

f round first— -/b/' the preseTvaiion of the universe which
is hands heme made. From the sublime account which
the Scriptures give us of creation, we learn that the
heavens were made by him, and all the host of them by
the breath of his mouth; and as we know that nothing
earthly has within it the power to sustain itself, we are
further assured that he upholdeth all things hy the same
word of his power. It is by this ever breathing word,
constantly in exercise, that the sun shines, that the moon
walks in brightness, that the stars pursue their courses in
the sky ; the clouds are marshalled by his divine decree,
and when he uttereth his voice there is a multitude ol

THE BELIEVERS SUFFICIENCY.

'ngth is tho
i'God. To
nay find in
considering
e authority
r for them-

considered
Jssential, or
istent, self-
nien may
i is eternal,
never give
nature im-
ive existed
Jverlasting
iterrupted
3 was the
ses, there-
ppers, are
^iuaJly^ in
1 relation
to speak.
, and his

ake low
^e which
^t which
hat the
hem hj
nothing
we are
le same
? word,
emoon
urses in
decree,
ude of

waters in the heavens. Eeason looks at this systematic
and continuous regularity, and admires it, and refers it
to the operation of second causes, and argues very philo-
sophically about the nature and iitness of things; but
piety looks through tlie complications of the mechanism
to the hand that formed it. The universe is to her but
one vast transparency, through which she can gaze on
God ; her pathway and her communion are on the high
places of creation, and there, far above all secondary and
subordinate agencies, she discovers the hiding of his
power. The symmetry of nature is to her more beautitul
because God has produced it. The deep harmonies of
the systems come more tunefully upon her ear because
the hand of the Lord has awakened them.

'* What though no real voice nor Bound
Amid the lacliant orbb be found ?
In faith's quick ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a noble voice,
For ever einginjr as they shine,
' The hand that made U8 Ib Divin©.' "

And what a contemplation does this open to us of the
majesty and power of God! Who can understand it ?
The planets are kept in their orbits, and the seasons
continually alternate. Old Ocean dashes himself upon
the shore, and every day finds "hitherto" written upon
the sand, and ihe mad surge respects it. The earth
yields her increase ; vegetable life is evolved ; circula-
tion takes place throughout the animal system ; man
walks and lives, and all these diversified operations are
produced at one and the same moment, perpetuated
from one moment to another by the simple w< >rd of God.
Extend your conceptions still further ; take hold of the
far-reaching discoveries of astronomy. Glance at the
numberless suns and systems that are scattered in the
broad field of immensity, and remembor (for there is no
Scripture against it, and probabilities are strongly in.
favor of the opinion), that tiiey are all inhabited by de-
pendent creatures somewhat like ourselves. Glance at

I If

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

!i-

A I

the almost infinite variety of existences witli which we
are acquainted — whether we walk the earth, or cleave
the air, or swim the sea — connect with all these the
Scriptural announcement that these are hut parts of his
ways, and how little a portion is known of them ; and
then how thought shrinks from the aggregate ! how the
hrain recoils from the contemplation of the sum ! and we
may well finish the quotation, and say, " The thunder of
his power, who can understand ?" All our reasonings
upon the subject only serve to demonstrate that man by
searching cannot find out God. Could you, with the
swiftness of a sunbeam, dart yourselves beyond the limits
of the known creation, and for ages upon ages continue
your pilgrimage in infinite space, you would never — who
can grasjD that thought ? it is too large for us — never be
able to reach a place where God is not, never light upon
a spot where this glorious Being is not essentially and
infiuentially present. The whole universe is one vast
laboratory of benevolent art, over every department of
which the Deity presides — a sanctuary, every part of
which the Divinity inhabits — a circle, whose circumfer-
ence is imfathomed, and whose every section is filled with
God. But I stop here just for a moment, to remind you
of the thrill that comes through the heart of the believer,
when, after this exhibition of boundless and colossal
power, he can go home, singing — . , «

•' This all-sufflcieut God is ours, . . *

, Our Father and our love." " .

Our suflSciency is of God.

2. Then, secondly, and chiefly^ he is sufficient jfor the
preservation and for the perpetuity of the Gospel plan ^
in the salvation and ultimate happiness of every indi-
vidual heliever. Christianity is not to be viewed by us
merely as a moral system ; that were to place it on a
level with the speculations of Confucius, and Socrates,
and others. It is something more, it is a course of
Divine operations. We are not to regard it as a mere

'! t

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

."w-hich we
, or cleave
n these the
parts of his
them; and
e ! how the
in ! and we
thunder of
reasonings
lat man by
», with the
i the limits
?s continue
ever— who
—never be
igJit upon
tialij and
> one vast
Lrtment of
y part of
cjircumfer-
filled witli
jmindyou
3 believer,
I colossal

k for the
x>elplan^
'fy indi-
3d bj us
3 it on a
iocrates,
)urse of
a mere

ethical statement of doctrine made known to us by a
bundle of books ; we must remember tlie Divine asjency
ulwaj^s, by which it is conducted and inspired. "Vfre ob-
served before, that no mere man has the power to produce
an abiding change upon the hearts of his hearers.
Human eloquence is a mighty tiling, I know ; human
reason is a persuasive and powerful thing, I know ; imder
certain favorable conjunctures of circumstances, they have
sometimes achieved mighty results. They can shame a
Herod, they can make a Felix tremble, they can almost
])ersuade an Agrippa to become a Christian, but they can
do no more. I know that immense multitudes have been
swayed by the power of a single tongue. The passions
liave become excited, either to madness or to sympathy,
either to deeds of lawless aggression, or to deeds of high
emprise ; but then there is only a transient mastery ob-
tained. We read of a harp in the classical fables of old,
which, when the winds swept it, was said to discourse
sweet strains ; but then, unhappily, the breeze and the
music died away together. So it is with the triumph of
the orator : the moment the voice of the speaker ceases
the spell is broken, the charm is dissipated ; reflection
l)egins to remonstrate against excitement, and the whole
aifair is forgotten, or comes upon the soul only as the
memory of some pleasant song. Nay, truth, celestial
truth, can produce no abiding change. Pardon and
sanctification are not the necessary consequences of state-
ments of doctrine. Scripture cannot produce them ; the
truth may appear in all its cogency and in all its power
before the mind — it may appear so clear as to extort an
acquiescence in what it propounds ; but it is uninfluen-
tial ; it lacks energy, and it lacks a self-appliant power.
It may enlighten — that is its province — it can never save.
Without the Spirit it is useless ; let the Spirit animate it,
and it is the power of God. Hearers who sit under the
ministrations of the truth without the Spirit may be
likened to a man standing upon the brow of a hill which
commands the prospect of an extensive landscape. The

i-
1

lirl

I i

THE BELIEVEIVS SUFFICIE^XT.

varied beauties of flood and field are before him ; nature
is clad in her richest livery, there is every variety calcu-
lated to interest and to inspire ; rugged rocks frown as if
they would keej) sentinel over the sleeping valley ; the
earth yields her increase, the crystal streamlet leaps
merrily along, impressions of the beautiful are every-
where visible, there is just one dravrbiick to the picture,
and that one drawback is, that the man who stands upon
the summit of the hill is blind. That is precisely the
state of the case in reference to truth in the Bible. It is
there in all its grandeur, but the man has no eyes to see
it. Let the Spirit come and take the scales away and
ehred ofl* the spiritual ophthalmia, and he sees the land-
scape stretching before him in all its hues of beauty, and
his soul is elevated and he feels the full raptuie of the
scene. Prevailing truth, therefore, is not of the letter
but of the Spirit, for " the letter ki'leth, but the Spirit
giveth lite." This Spirit it is that is promised for the
carrying out of the Gospel, and it therefore must be suc-
cessful. I know there is a ij^ood deal of difficulty about
his mode of prot^edure : God'a word must be fulfilled, that
is one thing ; man's freedom must be m;iintained, that is
another thinir. Man is a moral agent ; God has endued
him with talents and invested him with an immense
delegation of power, and in the distribution of these
talents and in the exercise of that power, he has said, in
effect, Let him alone ; he may do as he lists — just as he
lists. He is allowed, for the present, to act as if he had
BO superior, but for all he is holden finally most strictly
responsible. But no coercion is applied, no force is ever
in any conceivable instance made use of. One of our
most eloquent senators once said, that an Englishman's
cottage wab his castle. The winds may whistle through
every crevice, and the rains penetrate through every
cranny, but int(5 that cottage the monarch of England
dare not enter against the cotter's will. That is just the
st-ate of the case between Christ and the human soul. He
lias such a respect for the will of that immortal tenant

THE BELIEVER S SUFFICIENCY.

that he Ims placed witliiii w^, tliat he will never force an
entrance, lie will do cverytliiii<; else ; he will knock at
the door —

*' He now etands knocking at the door
Of every sinner's heart ;
The worst need keep him out no more, '

Nor force him to depart."

Bat he will not force an entrance. Often, disappointed
and grieved, he turns away from those whom he would
fain have enriched and saved, saying, " Ye will not
come unto rae, that ye may have life." But notwith-
gtanding all this formidable opposition, the Gospel, as
the adminstration of God's truth, backed by the energy
of the Holy Spirit, shall Unally triumph. We can con-
ceive of no enemies more subtle, more malignant, more
powerful than those which it has already encountered
and vanquished. Memory cheers us onward and bids
hope to smile. God is with the Gospel; that is the
great secret. She does not trust in her inherent energy ;
she does not trust in her exquisite adaptation to man's
every necessity and peril ; she does not trust in the in-
defatigable and self-denying labors of her ministers;
God is with the Gospel, and under his guidance she
shall march triumphantly forward, subjugating every
enemy, acquiring a lodgment in every heart, reclaiming
the world unto herself, until she has consummated her
victory in the ecstasies of a renovated universe, and in
that deep and solemn moment when the Son, who gave
his life a ransom for all, shall see of the travail of his
soul and be abundantly satisfied. O brethren! what a
comfortable doctrine is this! If this Gospel is to be
conducted fr m step to step in its progressive march to
conquest, do you not see how it guarantees individual
salvation and individual defence by the way ?

Where art thou in the chapel to-night (would that I
could discover thee!) timid and discouraged believer
who art afraid of the fatigues of climbing the Hill

f»

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

'.I

DilTicnlty, and croiichcst back al)asliod and cowering^
at siglit of tlio lions in front of the Palace Beautiful ?
Lift up thy head, be not discouraged; thy sufficiency is
of God. What frightens thee ? Affliction ? God is thy
liclp. Persecution? God is thy crown. Perplexity?
God is thy counsel. Death? God is thy everlasting
life. Only trust in God, and all shall be well. Life
sliall glide thee into death, and death shall glide thee
into heaven. " Who (asks the exulting Apostle, in the
8tli of Romans), who shall separate us from the love of
Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or famine, or
nakedness, or peril, or sword ?" That is rather a dark
catalogue; but mark how the Apostle answers it:
"Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors."'
It is not a drawn battle; night does not come on to
separate the combatants ; we have not to send a herald,
as they used to do in ancient warfare, to ask permission
to bury our dead ; we do not come from the Held with
the dishonored banner trailing in the dust, and the armor
hacked, scarred with the wounds we have gotten in the
light. "We are more than conquerors." Oh, the roy-
alty of that language! — "more than conquerors, through
him that hath loved us. For I am persuaded that
neither death" — he puts that first, because it generally
threatens believers most — " neither life," which is really
a more solemn and a more perilous thin^ than death,
rightly considered — " neither death, nor life, nor angels"
— if any of them should forget themselves so far as to
come and preach another Gospel and try to deceive the
very elect — " neither principalities nor powers" — for
although the captain of the hosts of darkness may plant
all his most formidable battery against us, he cannot
shake the palisades of strong salvation, nor snatch away
a solitary sheep from the fold of the great Shepherd.
" No, nor things present" — though those things present
may include famine, nakedness, peril and sword — " no,
nor things to come" — though, in those things to come,
there may be an originality of diabolism never dreamed

the' believer's sufficiency.

cowcri'np^
►eautifiil ?
ciency is
rod is thy
rplexity?
erlastinff
jII. Life
ide thee
3, in the
i love of
nine, or
' a dark
vers it:
nerors.'*'
^ on to
heraid,
'mission
Id with
p armor
in the
le roj-
1 rough
that
aerally
really
death,
iQgels"
as to
^e the
— 'for
plant
annot
away
herd,
esent
"no,
ome,
med

■ t

of yet — "and no crcatnro" — notliiiii^ l)nt sin, and that is
not a creature, that is a foul excrescence, a vile ai/urtion
upon the universe of God — keep clear of that — and " no
creature shall he able to separate vou from the love of
God, which is in Christ Jesus oui Lord." Qli, the bless-
edness, the ineffable blessedness of being in the love of
God! The blessedness of an approving conscience, the
blessedness of increasing knowledge, the blessedneF.3 of
complete victory, the blessedness of Gospel peace, the
blessedness of perfect love ! I do not know what that sea
of glass means about which we read in the Revelation ; I
do not pretend to an intimate acquaintance with Apoca-
lyptic disclosures ; but I know nothing that can better
imagine the deep, serene, reposing, kingly rapture of the
spirit that has finished its course with joy. It is a sea of
glass; it hath no billows; not a breath ever, by any
possibility, ruffles it. And on this sea of glass, as on a
wide and waveless ocean, the believer stands forever,
chanting eternally the song of Moses and the Lamb. Oh,
lift up your heads and come back to Zion with singing,
and let this be the burden of youi song : -

■ "Let doubt then, and danger my pro^jress oppose,

They only make heaven more sweet at the elosc ;
Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy,
For one j^limpse of His love turns them all into joy. •
And come joy, or come sorrow, whate'er may befall,
One hour with my God will make up for it all."

It were very little use our talking in this strain to you,
if you were to find out, after all, that it was some aristo-
cratical blessing, some privilege reserved only for the
l^eerage of the faithful, for the favored ones in the family
of the King of kings.

II. I come, secondly, to notice xnE AUTHORriY which

BELIEVEHS HAVE TO EXPECT THIS SUFFICIENCY FOR THEM-
SELVES. And, very briefly, we have a right to expect it,
because it is found and promised in the Bible. Every
believer, the moment he becomes a believer, becomes an
inheritor of the promises. The Bible is not my Bible,

THE BELTFVER S PUFrirTENCY.

t i

nor yonr Blhlo — it is our Bii)le. It is coiinnon property;
it beloiifj:^ to tlic uuiveraal Church. Wc have no eyrn-
pathy, of course, with those wlio would monopolize this
sacred troHsure, and keep this light of the Gospel burn-
ing, and tha|, with a precious dimness, only in the study
of the priest, or fettered, as it used to be, like a curiosity,
to the altars of the Church. Thank God, these days of
darkness are forever gone by. And yet there is a Church,
somewhere, professedly Christian, which denies to its
members the light and comfort of the Bible, in direct
oppo itio:i to the command of Ilimwdiohas said to every
one, "Search the Scriptures," thus most absolutely exalt-
ing itself against all that is calle<l God. Oh, most foul
corruption ! Deprive us of the Bible ! As well forbid
us to gaze on the jewelled sky, or to be fanned by the
winged and searching air. Deprive us of the Bible I
Call it sin for us to look at the sun, and to bask in the
blaze of his enlivening beams. The very same hand
which launched yon orb upon Ida ocean of light, and
bade him shine u^Don the evil and upon the good, has
sent this orb into the world, and has sent it on purpose
that it may be a IjJmp to all our feet and a lantern to all
our paths. We devoutly thank the good Spirit of the
Lord, that he put into the minds of our forefathers to
protest against so flagrant and monstrous an impiety ;
and, thank God, we are Protest-s^nts still. We cannot
aiford to be thus robbed of our birthright, to be thus
cheated out of our inheritance, to be thus basely swindled
out of the possession of the Book of God. It is the
legacy of the Apostle's labor ; the bulwark of the con-
fessors' faith ; the purchase of the martyr's blood. Thank
God for the Bible. Let us prove that we love it, by
drawing from it all the comfort and blessing, and guid-
ance, and warning, which its heaven-inspired pages are
calculated to afford. Well, we have a right, each of us
-^if we are in Christ — we have a right to expect this
sufficiency, because it is promised in the Bible. We
gather it from the declarations of Scripture. Listen to

Tiin belteveh'S suffictexcy.

proj)erty ;
3 no sjin-
>olizc tliis
pel burn-
^he Btudj
Juriositj,
i days of
Church,
}s to its
n direct
to ever J
'^y exalt-
lost foul
1 forbid
hj the
Bible I
in tlie
e hand
it, and
?d, has
>iirpose
1 to all
of the
lers to
pietj ;
cannot
e thus
indled
is the
e con-
Phant
it, by
guid-
J8 are

of U9

: this

n to

tlicm, they are yonr.^ : " Tliu?^ Raith tlic Lord wlio created
thee, O Jacol), wlio tbrincd tlieo, O Israel, Fear not, I
liave redeemed tliee, I have called thee by t/iy na7)ie"
Whiit a berintifiil thoupiht that is I Just get the meaning
and beauty out of it. llow many thousands of believers,
thousands upon thousands of believers, have there been
in the world from the beginning of its history until now
— thousands in the patriarchal ages who looked through
the glass, and who saw, dimly, the streak of the morning
in the distance, and, even with that streak of light, were
glad — thousands, in the prophetical times, who discerned
it in the brightness of a nearer vision — thousands who
basked in its tull-orbed lustre, when Christ came into the
world — thousands upon thou.^ands, since that time, who
have washed their robes and made them white in the
blood of the Lamb — thousands, who are now upon the
earth, working out their salvation with fear and trembling
— tliousands upon thousands that shall come into the
Church in the time of its milleni d glory, when the gatea
of it shall not be shnt day nor night, because the porter
shall have no chance of sliutting them, the people crowd
in so fast. Now get all that mass of believers, past,
present, and future, a company that no man can number;
and to each of them God comes in this promise, and says,
" I have called thee by thy name, I know all about thee"
— that is, I have not a merely vague, indelinite knowledge
of thee ; as an individual believer I know thy name, I
could single thee out of millions, I could tell the world
all thy solicitudes, and all thy apprehensions, and all thy
hopes, and all thy sorrows — " I have called thee by thy
name." Oh, precious promise I Take it to your hearts.
" I have called thee by thy name ; thou art mine ; when
thou passest through the waters I will be with thee ; and
through the rivers" — deeper than the waters — " ther
shall not overflow thee. When thou walkest througn
the fire thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flames
kindle upon thee." Listen again : " The Lord Grod is a
Bun and shield" — ^light and protection ; that nearly em.-

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

l)nicC8 all our wants — "Iio will ^Ive <:;nicc and pjloi'.y/^
Is there anything left out 'i And it' there nre any of you
so perversely clever and so mischievously inpjenious in
multiplying arguments in favour of your own despair,
that you can conceive of some rare and precious blessing
that is not wrapped up cither in grace or glory — "^'o
good thing will ho withhold from them that walk up-
rightly." *' Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dis-
mayed, for I am thy God." " Cast all thy care" —
" Nay," the rebel heart says, " There is some little of it
I must bear myself; something that has reference to the
lieart's bitterness, that it alone knoweth ; or to the heart's
deep, dark sorrow, with which no stranger intermeddles
— that I must bear myself." " Cast all thy care upon
me, for I care for thee." What ! distrustful still ? Can
you not take God at his word 'i Hark ! he condescends
to expostulate with you upon your unbelief: '' Why
sayest thou, O Jacob, and speakest, O Israel, my way is
hid from the Lord" — how often have you eaid that in the
time of your sorrow ! you know you have — *' my way is
hid from tho Lord, my judgment is passed over from my
God. Hast thou not known, hast thou not heard, that
the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of th? ends of
the earth, faintetli not, neither is weary. There is no
searching of his understanding. He giveth power to the
faint." Lie does not merely take his swoon away and
leave him weakly, he makes him strong. *' He giveth
power to the faint, and to them that have no miglit he
increaseth strength." Are you still dissatisfied ?

The God who knows human nature, knows how much
better a teacher example is than precept, and so, spark-
ling upon the pages of his lio'iy truth, he has left us
many bright instances of his interposition on behalf of
his saints. Abraham rises early in the morning, goes a
three days' journey with the son of his love, intending all
the while, with set and resolute purpose, to offer him in
sacrifice to the God of heaven. Arrived at the place of
their destination, all the ritual preparations are made :

THE BELIEVER S SUFFICIENCY.

the altar Is proparod ; tlic wllliiip; victim, unresisting, is
bound ; the sacriticial kiiitb is lifted ; no escape, tlien,
HUiCly ! But uuin'rt extremity is God's opportunity, and
the ram is caught in the thicivet by its horns, and (rod's
(^race is sutlicient — none too nnicli — but sutHcient still.
The cliildren of Israel are brou^jht to the borders of the
liCd Sea, hotly pursued by the Hower of the Ejjjyptian
'irmy ; the troops arc close upon them in tho rear : the
Kcd Soa stretches before them — the inaccessible hills of
Baal-Zephon tower on tho right hand and on the left.
What are they to do '^ There seems no possible chance
of escape. Oh ! what are tho laws of gravitation when
the Lord works for his people? llo who made them can
alter them at pleasure. The waters erect themselves on
either hand, and the bed of the ocean is their triumphal
pathway. God's grace is sufficient still. Nehemiah,
like a true-hearted patriot as he was, set to work to
rebuild the delapidated wallslof Jerusalem. But ho
began, like pome of his successors, in troublous times ;
Sanballat and To' iah came to fight against the workmen;
they were so hard beset, that they had to work with
sword in the one hand and trowel in the other ; God's
grace was sufficient, and the second Jerusalem rose up in
majesty upon the site of tho ruins of the first. What !
not satisfied yet'^ Surely that muse be an almost invin-
cible unbelief that these instances will not overcome.
What is it you say ? " Oh, but these are all instances
taken from the Old Testament times ; the age of miracles
is over now — we are not now to except such interpositions
on behalf of God's people." Well, let us try again.
Come out of the light of Scripture a little into the light
of common life. Tred softly as you enter that house,
for it is a house of mourning ; a large family surround
the bedside of a dying parent ; that parent is a Christian,
and knowing in whom he has believed, lie is not afraid to
die. But he has a large family, and the thought that he
shall leave them without a protector, the thought of the
forcible disruption of all social ties, presses upon his

THE BELIEVER S SUFFICIENCY.

■« ;

fipirit, and wlien you look at him, there is a Bhade of
Badness upon his counienance; but you gaze awhile, and
you see that sadness chased away l>y a smile. "What has
wrought the change? "What? Why, a ministering
angel whispered to him : '' Leave thy latherless clildren ;
I will preserve them alive." He hails the promiser.
Faith cries out: ''It is he, it is he; my God is present
here." He enjoys rapt and high communion w^ith celestial
visitants, and thus that chamber of death becomes the
gate of heaven. You pass by that house the next morn-
ing : the half-closed shutter and the drawn blind tell you
that he was and is not. You enter — the widow is sitting
in sorrow ; the first deep pang is scarcely over. The
tones of her husband's voice, with which she has so long
been familiar, rush, in all the freshness of yesterday, upon
her soul, and she is worn with weeping. But she, too, is
a Christian, and she flies to the Christian's refuge, and
her eye traces those comfortable words: "Thy Maker is
thine husband — the Lord of Hosts is his name." It is a
dark hour ; it has been a daik day ; and the darkness has
gathered, and settled, and deepened as the day wore ( n,
and now at eventide there is solt and brilliant light,
because her sufficiency is of God. You pass by the house
again when about a week has elapsed. Tlie last sad rites
have been performed ; the funeral bell, with its suppressed
and heavy summons, sounding like the dividing asunder
of soul and body, has tolled ; the very clay of her hus-
band has been torn from her embrace. He has died in
somewhat s'^'raitened circumstances ; he was the sole de-
pendence of the family, and, with aching head and
throbbing heart, she sits down to calculate about her
future subsistence; her heart begins to fail her, but,
before she gives way to despair, she consults a friend ; he
is a wise man, one upon whom the influences of the Holy
Spirit have operated long-; and he gives her the testimony
ot a long life* of experience : "I have been young, and
iiow am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken,
nor his seed begging bread." Dashing aw^ay the teai*9

shade of
'hile, and
What ha3
inistering
clildren";
promise!'.
3 present
i celestial
)me8 the
!Xt morn-
i tell you
is sitting
er. The
s so long
ay, upon
e, too, is
ige, and
Maker is

It is a
ness has
vore ( n.
It light,
le house
;ad rites
)presped
asunder
ler h US-
died in.
sole de-
id and
)ut her
r, but,
nd ; he
e Holy
iniony
i;, and
tsakcn,

teai*s

THE believer's SUFFICIENCY.

that had blinded her, she struggles and labors on, and
feels that though it is her darkest hour, her sufficiency is
still of God. That is no uncommon cafe: J have not
drawn largely upon the extravagance of an imaginative
fancy to bring it out. I could go into many of our
sanctuaries and bid you listen to one, as with a glad heart
and fi^ee, sings the converted sinner's anthem : " O Lord,
I will praise thee; thou wast angry with me, but thine
anger is turned away, and now thou comfortest me."
Then I could bid you listen to the experience of another,
but faltering and low, for he is just recovering from recent
illness: "I w^as brought low, and he helped me; he
saved me even from the gates of death." And then we
could point you to a third, and say : " This poor man
cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all
his troubles." And where aie the damnatory clauses that
forbid you to partake of these blessings ? M hat statute
of limitations is there that bars you from thij enjoyment
of this great and gracious heritage ? Brethren, are you
in Christ? Then all that belongs to the covenant is
yours. Yours is the present heritage, yours is the future
recompense of reward.

" Our sufficiency is of God." Is it bo ? Then you will
be sustained in trial ; you won't succomb to its power ;
it won't over-master you ; you will regard it as sent of
God, intended to work lessons and changes of some
providential discipline within you. You will be gratelul
for it ; you will know that when it comes, although it
looks harsh and repulsive outside, you have entertained
angels unawares, you will find after it has gone away.
Oh ! we learn many lessons when the head is low, that
we do not learn in the heyday of prosperity and blessing.
Just as it is in the natural world : you know when the
8un is set, the stars come out in their placid beauty, and

" Darkness shows us worlds of light .;
* ' We never saw by day ;"

aijd we should never have known they were there if tho

■!!' ;

THE BELIEVER S SUFFICIENCY.

darkness had not come. So in the night of God's pro-
vidential dispensations, the stars of the great promises
come shining out, broad and bright upon the soul ;■ and
we rejoice in their light and go on our way rejoicing.
Or, changing the figure, in the glad summer time, when
the leaves are on the trees, we go out, such of us as can
get into the country — we go out into the thick woods
and walk under the trees in shadow, and their branches
interlace above us, and the leaves are green and glossy ;
and so thick above that we cannot see the sky through ;
and then we forget that there is another world, and our
hearts are revelling in all pleasure and all blessedness of
this. But when the blasts of winter come and scatter
the leaves do' ti. then the light of heaven comes in
between, and we remember that here we have no contin-
uing city, and are urged to seek one that is to come.
Oh ! take hold of God s sufficiency then, and go bravely
to the meeting of trial, and you will find that trial,

"God'B alchemist old,
Forges off the dross and mold,
And leaves us rich with gems and gold."

Is your sufficiency of God ? Then it will animate you to
duty. Listen to this confession of weakness : " Unto me
who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace
given." Less than the least! What a pressure of weak-
ness th^re must have been upon that £Oul ! Listen to
this exulting consciousness of power : " I can do all
things through Christ that strengtiieneth me." They are
the antipodes of sentiment — are they not? Weakness
the most helpless and feeble — power the most exultant
and prond ; and yet that confession of weakness, and that
exulting consciousness of power, were the utterance of the
same lips, and the expression of the experience of the
same individual. What made the difierence? In the
one case he relied upon his own resources ; in the other,
he took hold of the sufficiency of God. Take hold of the
sufficiency of God, and nothing will be able to resist you ;

you I

of hi)
ever!
anlJ

is to|

glinj
has 11

TUB Believer's suS-ficienc

jrod's pro-
; promises
soul ;• and
rejoicing,
me, when
us as can
ck woods

branches
d glossy;
through ;

and our
edness of
id scatter
comes in
10 contin-
to come.
) bravely
ial,

e you to
Into me
is grace
3fweak-
isten to

do all
hey are
eakness
xultant
-nd that
e of the

of the
In the

other,
I of the
it you ;

you will go forward strong in the Lord, and in the power
of his might, overcoming sin and overcoming evil in its
every form, and planting for yourself and for your Master
an heritage of blessing in this world and in that one which
is to come.

'' Our sufficiency is of God." Is there a poor strag-
gling sinner that is rejoicing to think that the minister
has forgotten him, and that while he has been endeavor-
ing to bring out all the heart of the text — privilege and
promise exceeding great and precious, for the beneiit of
believers — no vord of warning can be extracted out of it
for those that are yet ungodly ? Wait a little. What is
the lesson you are to learn from the subject ? Just this :
that there is a sufficiency in God to punish. All his
attributes must be equally perfect. He must be just, as
well as the free and generous justifier of him that believ-
cth in Jesus» Oh, I beseecli you, tempt not against
yourselves that wrath which needs only to be kindled in
order to burn unto the lowest hell. " Kiss the Son, lest
he be angry, and ye perish from the way." Perish out
of the way — just as men fling away any obstacle or
hindrance that interrupts their progress, so shall God
fling the wicked out of the way. " Kiss the Son, lest he
be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is
kindled but a little. But a little — oh, it will need but a
little kindling to doom you to the perdition of hell.
Brethren, you need not perish: tiiere is a sufficiency,
thank God ! there is a sufficiency in Christ to save. Our
sufficiency is of God. And with this promise that I fling
forth into the midst of you, and pray that God would
bind it as a spell of sweet enchantment on your souls, I
close my words to-night : " Wherefore he is able to save
unto the uttermost" — to the uttermost of human guilt —
to the uttermost of human life — to the uttermost of human
time. May God save your souls, for the Kedeemer's
sake!

f \

■T* ••

!■■/-■■<■

■^ ^^yi^^

as:tfi

yaJHIiHyyy

III.

THE MISSIOJ^ OF THE PULPIT.

"Therefore, seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy,

we faint not; but have renounced the hidden things of dishonesty, not

'walking in craftiness, nor handling the word of God deceii fully; but by

' manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience

, in the sight of God."— 2 Cor. iv., 1, 3.

HIS is the Apostle's recorded judgment as to
the mission of the ministry which he had re-
U ceived of the Lord Jesus, and the duties of which
he disciiarged with such singular fidelity and zeal. In
the preceding chapter, he magnifies its superiority alike
of glory and of substantial usefulness over the dispensation
of the law, and then in a few weighty words separates
himself entirely from all false teachers, and establishes
himself, upon the ground of holy character and exalted
oflBce, as Heaven's high remembrancer among the na-
tions — a true witness for God amidst a dark and alien
world. He takes care, at the very outset, to assure those
to whom he speaks, that he is of the same nature, and
originally of the same sinfulness, as themselves : " There-
fore seeing that we have received this ministry, as we
have received mercy^ we faint not." We are not — as if
he had said — a distinct order of beings : there is no
natural superiority of character which might make the
minister proud, or which might make the hearer distant,
and callous, and unsympathizing. We once were sinners ;
we have yet the memory of bondage ; we have received
mercy, and are anxious to tell to others the tidings that
,1 ^ •

THE MISSION OP THE PULPlT.

ceived mercy,
ishonesty, not
I fully; but by
n's conscience

lent as to
le had re-
)s of which

zeal. In
)rity alike
jpensation

separates
stablishes
d exalted
^ the na-
and alien
3ure those
ture, and

" There-
y, as we
ot — as if
jre is no
make the
• distant,

sinners ;
received
ngs that

have led to our redemption. As we have received mercy
we faint not, but have renounced the hidden things of
dishonesty, the secret immoralities of pagan priests ; not
walking in craftiness, not retaining our hold upon tho
consciences of men by deceivableness of unrighteousness,
and by juggling, lying wonders ; not handling the Word
of God deceitfully, not preaching an adulterated truth or
a flexible Gospel ; not pliant to the prejudices, or silent
to the vices of those who hear us ; " but, by manifesta-
tion of the truth, commending ourselves to ^very man^a
conscience in the sight ol God."

All this, aflSrmed by the Apostle of the ministry of
olden time, may be affirmed of the ministry of reconcilia-
tion now. That ministry, wickedly maligned on the one
hand, imperfectly fuliilled on the other hand, has yet its
mission to the world. The unrepealed command still
stands rpon the statute-book : "Go ye into all the world,
and preach the Gospel unto every creature." And it is a
prayer often earnestly and passionately uttered by those
on whom its obligations have fallen, that, repudiating
artifice and idleness, they may, by manifestation of the
truth, commend themselves to every man's conscience in
the sight of God. I purpose, God helping me, briefly to
notice from these words — in the first place, the business
ot the ministry; secondly, the instrumentality which it
eniploys; and thirdly, the thought that hallows it.

1. The Ministry — this is my first position — has a busi-
ness WITH THE WORLD. It is the Divinely-appoiuted
agency for the cotumunication of God's will to man. As
a Divine institution it advanced its claims in the be-
ginning, and in no solitary instance have they been re-
linquished since. This Divine authorization and enact-
ment are still in force. The Bible says, when Christ
ascended up on high, " he led captivity captive, and re-
ceived gifts for men ; and he gave some apostles, and
some prophets, and some evangelists, and some pastow
and teachers, for the perfecting ol the saints, for the work
of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ."

ill'
111

THE MISSION OF THE PULPIT.

Tliei'b :^iiglit bo sometaing special, perhaps, in this
original commission, hut the principle of its Divine origin
is evidently presented as the principle of the ministry
itself; for St. Paul, who was not then called, who speaks
of himself afterward as one born out of due time,
earnestly and anxiously vindicates the Heavenly origin of
his apostleship : " I certify you, brethren, that the Gospel
which was preached of me is not of men ; for I neither
received it of men, neither was I taught it but by the
revelation of Jesus Christ." This it is which is the
elevation of the Christian riinistry, which exalts it far
above human resources and human authority. It travels
on in its own majestic strength — Heaven-inspired and
heaven-sustained. Moreover, the same passage which
tells us ""^ the institution of the ministry announces its
duration, and tells of the period when it shall be no longer
needed — till we all come, in the unity of the faith and of
the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man —
unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.
This period, thus divinely appointed for the cessation
of the ministry, has obviously not yet arrived. The
world sees but little yet of millennial glory ; there is yet
an alienated heart in its debased and rebel tribes ; there
is nothing in the pursuits which it follows, nor in the
natural impulses which move it, to incite to holy aim or
to induce spiritual living. It has no self-suggestive
memory of God. It has passions as blind and powerful,
and a will as perverse as ever. Death is in the midst of it,
and, though the corpse may be sometimes embalmed with
spices, or tricked out with flowers, or carried 'neath
obsequious plumes to burial, the chill is at its heart, the
breath of the plague is in the tainted air, and there is need,
strong and solemn need, for the anointed witness who
may stand between the living and the dead, that the
plague may be stayed. There are some, I know, who
tell us that the mission of the pulpit is fulfilled. They
acknowledge that, in the earlier ages, in the times of com-
parative darkness, when, men spelt out the truth in

sylh
2ro\N

THE MISSION OP THE PULPIT.

syllables, it did a noble work ; but the world has out-
grown it, they tell us ; men need neither its light nor its
warning; the all-powerful Press shall direct them, the
educational institute shall assis'^ them in their upward
progress, they shall move onward and upward under the
guidance of the common mind. And, while this is the
cry of infidelity and in diiferentism, there are some among
ourselves who have partially yielded to the clamor. They
have deplored (as wlio must not ?) the apparent ineffective-
ness ot existing agencies, the feebleness of the efforts for
evangelical aggression, and, in their eagerness to con-
ciliate prejudice and disarm opposition, they have com-
promised somewliat the high tone of Christian teach-
ing, and have studiously avoided the very terminology of
the Bible, so that the great truths of God s will and man's
duty, of Christ's atonement and the sinner's pardon, of
the Spirit's work and the believer's growth — those old
gospels whose sound is always music and whose sight is
always joy, are hardly to be recognized, as they are hidden
beneath profound thought, or veiled within affected
phrase. JBut the Divine institution of the ministry is not
to be thus superseded. It has to do with eternity, and
the matters of eternity are paramount. It deals and
would grapple with the inner man ; it has to do with the
deepest emotions of the nature, with those instincts of
internal truths which underlie all systems, from which a
man can never utterly divorce himself, and which God
himself has graven on the soul. So far as they work in
harmony with its high purpose, it will hail the helpings
of all other teaching ; but God hath given it the monarchy,
and it dare not abdicate its throne. The opposition that
you sometimes meet with of worldliness and infidelity to
the pulpit, if you analyze it, you find that though it may
have derived from the oppressions of priestcraft in bygone
ages somewhat of plausibility and force, it is but one
phase of the method in which the human heart discovers
its rooted and apparently unconquerable enmity to God.
Hence it is one of the worst symptoms of the disease

TUB MISSION OP THE PULPIT.

r*i'

which the ministry has been calculated and instituted to
remove. The teaching of the political agitator, of the
philanthropic idealist, of the benevolent instructor — why
are they so popular? The teaching of the religious
minister — why is it so repulsive to the world ? Mainly
from this one fact, that the one reproves, and the other
exalts human nature — the one ignores, the other insists
upon the doctrine of the Fall. You will find, in all the
schemes for the uplifting of man not grounded on the
Bible, the exaltation of his nature as it is, lofty ideas of
perfectibility, assertions that it needs neither revelation
nor heavenly influence to guide it in the way of truth.
Thus the Gospel is presented only as one among many
systems whicli all men may accept or reject at pleasure.
Its restraints are deemed impertinence, its reproofs
unnatural bondage. The talk of such teaching is fre-
quently of rights, seldom of duties. They are compli-
mented on their manlineos who ought to be humbled for
their sin, and, by insidious panderings to their pride,
they are exhorted to atheism, self-reliance, or habitual
disregard of God. Both kinds of teaching, the worldly
and the religious alike, aim at the uplifting of the nature.
But then they look at it frgm different standpoints, and,
of course, they apply to it different treatment. The one
is an endeavor to exalt the nature without God ; the otiier
would take hold of his strength and work to the praise of
his glory. The one regards humanity as it once was
before sin had warped it, able to tower and triumph in
its own imaided strength — the other sees it decrepit or
ailing, the whole head sick and the whole heart faint ;
and yet, by the balm of Gilead, to be restored to pristine
vigor. Tne one deeming that no confusion has come
upon its language, nor shame upon its many builders,
would have it pile up its Babel towers until they smite
the skies — the other sees the towers in ruins, splintered
shaft and crumbling arch bearing witness that they were
once beautiful exceedingly, and that by the grace and
skill of the heavenly A rchitect, they may grow up agaiu
into a holy temple in the Lord.

regis
and

THE MISSION OP THE PULPIT.

stituted to
or, of the
;tor — wliy

religions
Mainly
the other
ler insists
in all tlie
ed on the
V ideas of
•evelation
of truth.
»ng many
pleasure,
reproofs
g is fre-
! compli-
nbled for
3ir pride,
habitual
' worldly
3 nature,
ats, and,
The one
he other
Jraise of
ice was
mph in
[•epit or
t faint ;
pristine
iS come
lilders,

smite

intered

y were

je and

again

It is absolutely necessary, in this age of manifold
activities and of spiritual pride, that there should be this
ever-speaking witness of man's feebleness and of God's
strength. And, however mr.ch the opposition against the
ministry may tell, and it does tell, and it ought to tell,
against the vapid and frivolous, against the idle and insin-
cere, it is a powerful motive for the institution of tlie
ministry itself; just as the blast that scatters the acorn^«,
roots the oak the more lirmly in the soil. So long as
men are born to die, so long as the recording angel
registers human guilt, so long as human responsibility
and retribution are unheeded truths, so long as there is
one solitary sinner tempted by the black adversary, so
long will the ministry have a busiiess with the world ;
and it is the earnest prayer of those who have undertaken
it that they may in some humble measure, in all fidelity
and with dauntless courage, with genial sympathy, with
pure affection, be witnesses for (rod, like that glorious
angel whom the evangelist saw with the light upon his
wings, having the everlasting Gospel to preach unto
every nation and people and tongue.

II. I observe, secondly, the business of thb ministry
IS MAINLY WITH THE CONSCIENCE OF MEN. Every man has
a conscience; that is, a natural sense of the difference
between good and evil — a principle which does not con-
cern itself so much with the true and false in human
ethics, or with the gainful and damaging in human for-
tunes, as with the right and wrong in Human conduct.
Call it what you will, analyze it as you may — a faculty,
an emotion, a law — it is the most important principle in
our nature, because by it we are brought into sensible
connection with, and sensible recognition of, the moral
government of God. It has been defined sometimes as a
tribunal within a man for his own daily and impartial
trial ; and in its various aspects it answers right well to
all the parts of a judicial tribunal. It is the bar at which
the sinner pleads ; it prefers the accusation of transgres-
sion ; it records the crime ; it bears witness to guilt oi^

THE MISSION OF THE PUL PIT.

innocence ; and as a indge it acqnits or condemns. Tims
taking coginzanoe ol moral actions, it is the faculty which
relates us to the other world ; and by it (rod, retribution,
eternity, are made abiding realities to the soul. As by
the physical senses we are brought into connection with
the physical world, J.nd th.e blue heavens over it, and the
green earth around us, are recognized in their relation to
ourselves ; so by this moral sense of conscience we see
ourselves, in the light of immortality, responsible crea-
tures, and gain ideas of duty and of God. How mighty
is the influence which this power has wielded, and yet
continues to wield in the world ! There are many that
have tried to bo rid of it, but there is a manhood at its
heai't which murder cannot kill. There are many that
have rebellcfl against its authority, but they have acknow-
ledged its might notwithstanding, and it has rendered
them disturbed and uneasy in their sin. Th^re are mul-
titudes more that have fretted against its wholesome
warnings ; and often when, because it has warned them
of danger or tlireatened them with penalty — they have
tried to stifle and entomb it, it has risen up suddenly into
a braver resurrection, and pealed forth its remonstrances
in bolder port and louder tone. But for its restraint,
many of the world's reputable ones would have become
criminal. But for its restraint, many of the world's
criminals would have become more audaciously bad. It
has spoken, and the felon, fleeing when no man pui-sued
him, has been chased by ." falling leaf. It has spoken,
and the burglar has paled behind his mask, startled at
his own footfall. It has spoken, and the coward assassin
has been arrested in his purpose, and has paused irresolute
ere he has struck the blow. Its vindictive and severe
upbraiding after the sin has been committed has often
lashed the sinner into agony, and secured an interval of
comparative morality by preventing sin for a season. It
has been the one witness for God amid the traitor facul-
ties — single but undismayed, solitary but true. When
the understauding and the memory, and the wiU and the

THE MISSION OF THE TULPIT.

afFcctions, liad all consented to the onticemcnts of evil,
conscience has stood tinn, and the man conld never sin
with conitbrt nntil lie had ih'u^ged it into desperate
repose. It lias been the one dissentient power amonp^
the faculties, like a moody i;-!iest among a company of
frantic revcHers, wliom they could neithei* conciliate nor
expel. When God's judg-ments have been abroad in tho
world, and men would lain have resolved them into
ordinary occurrences or natural phenomena, conscience
has refused to l)e satistied with such delusive interpreta-
tions, and, without a ])ro])het's inspiration, has itself
deciphered tlie handwriting as it blazed upon the wall.
It has forced the criminal oftentimes to cleliver himself
up to justice, preferring the public shame of the trial and
the gallows-tree to the deeper hell of a conscience aroused
and angry. Yes, and it has constrained from the dying
sinner a testimony to the God he has insulted, given
when the shadows of perdition were already darkening
upon the branded brow.

Oh, brethren, that must be a mighty power which has
wrought and whick is working thus ! And it has wrought
and is working in you ; and, as such, w^e acknowledge it.
We can despise no man who has a conscience. Although
,with meanness and with sin he may largely overlay it,
we recognize the majestic and insulted guest, and are
silent and respectful as in the presence of a fallen king.
We see the family-likeness, although intemperance has
bloated the features and has dulled the sparkle of the eye.
There is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of the
Almighty givetli him understanding. JTow it is with
this faculty in man that the minister has mainly to do.
His work, his business, is to bring out the world's con-
science in its answer to the truths of Divine revelation.
Recognizing in it something which can respond to its own
duty, the ministering witness without will constantly
appeal to the answering witness within. Regarding all
other faculties, however separately noticeable, as avenues
qxHY to the conscience, he will ai^n constantly at the ears

i:
I

THE MISSION OF THE PULPIT.

of the inner man. To coino eliort of this is to (;ome short
of duty. To fail in this is to fail in a work which our
Master has given us to do. AVo sliould form but a very
unworthy estimate of our own hin'li oaHini: if we were to
aim at the subjugation of any subordinate faculty, and
tliat accomplished, sit down as if our work were done.
The minister may appeal to the intellect — of course ho
may. All thanks to him if he clear away dithculties
from the path of the bewildered. All thanks to him if
he present truth in its symmetry of system, and in all tho
grand and rounded harmony of its beautiful design. But
iie must press through the outworks to the citadel,
through the intellect to the conscience, that the understand-
ing, no longer darkened, may apprehend the truth, and
that the apprehended truth may make the c<mscience
free. The imagination may be charmed by tho truth,
which is itself beauty ; but only that it may hold the
mirror up to conscience, to see its own portrait there
photographed directly from on high, and which, with
such marvellous fidelity, gives all the scars upon tho
countenance, and every spot and wrinkle upon the brow.
The passions may be roused by the truth, which is the
highest power — not that people may swoon away under
terrific apprehensions of wrath, or only or mainly that
people may escape hell and enter heaven, but that the con-
science may resolve on a holy life, that there may result
the comely outgrowth of a transformed and spiritual
character, and that through the impending fear of per-
dition and the promised water of life, a man may issue
into the wealthy place of confidence in God, assimilation
to his image that attachment to right which would cleave
fast to it, even were its cause hopeless and its friends
dead, and that perfect love which casteth out all possible
fear.

It is not the intellect, then, but the conscience — not the
imagination, but the conscience — not the passions, but
the conscience— to which the minister is to commend
himself in the sight of God. If he speaks to the intellect,

THE MISSION 0? THE PULPIT.

:>me short
rV'liich our
ut a very
e were to
ulty, and
310 done,
ionrse ho
ifficnlties
to him if
in all tho
gn. But
citadel,
lerstand-
iith, and
nscience
e truth,
hold tlie
it there
c'h, with
pon tho
le brow,
is the
ujider
dy that
the con-
result
3iritual
of per-
ty issue
lilation
cleave
friends
ossible

lot the
, but
imend
eJlect,

tho philosopher can rival him. If ho speaks to tho
imagmation, his briglitest efforts pale before the dazzling
images of the ];oet's l)rain. If he speaks to the passions,
the political demagogue can do it better. But, in his
power over the conscience, he has a power which no man
shares. An autocrat undisputed, a czar of many lands,
he can wield the sceptre over the master-faculty of man.
Oh! very solemn is the responsibility which thus rests
upon the religious teacher. To have the master-taculty
01 man witlrn his grasp; to witness of truths that are
unpopular and repulsive ; to reprove of sin, and of
righteousness, and of judgment; to do tins with his own
heart frail and erring, with the moral conflict battling in
his own spirit tho while. ** Who is sufficient for these
things ?" breaks often from the manliest heart in its seasons
of depression and unrest. But there is a comfort broad
and 8tr->ng, and I feel that comfort now supporting
me. While pained by my own unworthiness, and by tho
trifling of multitudes over whom ministers weep and
yearn — pained by the short-sighted and self-complacent
mdifference of the '^Imrch and the world — pained by
the thousand difficulties which Satan always puts in tho
way of the reception of the truth as it is in Jesus ; I say
there is a comfort of which I cannot be deprived : that
all the while there is a mysterious something movin^^* in
you — in you all — barbing the faithful appeal, point in, ■
the solemn warning, striking the alarum in the sinner's
soul. There! listen to that! That belongs to thee.
That heart so callous and ungrateful — it is thine. That
sin that the minister reproves — thou hast committed it.
That doom so full of agony and horror — thou art speeding
to it. Plow wilt thou escape the damnation of hell'^
Many a time and oft, when the minister without has gone
sheafless to hi-^ home, and in tears h;is offered his com-
plaint, *' Who hath believed our report ?" the minister
within, by God's grace has been a successful harvest-man,
and gathered sheaves into the garner ; and often when,
to, the eye of the human m,inister, there has been no

THE MISSION OP THE PULPIT.

ripple on tho waves, deep in the depths of the soul have
swelled the billows of the troubled sea ; and in the
keenest acknowledgment of the truth he was endeavoring
to impress, men's consciences have borne him witness,
their thoughts meanwhile accusing, or else excusing one
another.

Again, the great instrumentality which God has em-
powered us to use is the truth. You will have no difti-
Gulty in understanding what the Apostle means by the
truth, because he calls it "the word of grace," and "our
Gospel." The revelation of God in Christ, the life and
teaching and wondrous death of Jesus, was the truth,
alone adapted to tlie supply of every need, and the
rescue from every peril. The Apostle was no ordinary
man. "Well-read in the literature of the times, observant
of the tendencies and the inclinations of man, he would
be ready to acknowledge truth everywhere. He knew
that there had been truth in the world before. He would
see it in Pagan systems, gleaming faintly through encum-
bered darkness. Fragments of it had fallen from
philosophers in former times, and had been treasured up
as wisdom. It had a somewhat healthy circulation
through the household impulses and ordinary concerns of
men. BuL ic was all truth for the intellect, truth for
social life, truth for the man ward, not the God ward
relations of the soul. The truth which told of God,
which- hallowed all 'morality by the sanctions of Divine
law, which provided for the necessities of the entire man,
was seen but dimly in uncertain traditions. Conscience
was a slave. If it essayed to speak, it was overdone by
clamor, or hushed by interest into silence. The higher
rose the cultui'e, the deeper sank the character. The
whole world seemed like one vast valley, fertile and gay
with flowers, but no motion in the dumb air, not any
song of bird or sound of rill ; the gross darkness of the
inner sepulchre was not so deadly still, until there came
down a breath from heaven that brought life upon its
wings, and breathed that life into the imconscious heaps

soul have
id in the
ideavoring
1 witness,
jiusing one

d has em-
3 no diffi-
ns by the

and "our
3 life and
he truth,

and the

ordinary
)bservant
he would
Te knew
le would
h encum-
'en from
sured up
i'culation
icerns of
ruth for
rod ward
of God,
\ Divine
re man,
iscience
lone by
i higher
•• The
nd gay
ot any
of the
e came
pon its

heaps

THE MISSION OP THE PULPIT.

of slain. Tlius, when.Clirist came with his Gospel of
purity and freedom, all other truth seemed to borrow
from it a clearer light and a richer adaptation. The
ordinary instincts of right and wrong were sharpened
into a keener discernment, and invested with a more
spiritual sensibility. The Gospel founded a grander
morality ; the Gospel established a more chi valrous honor ;
the Gospel shed out a more genial benevolence. All the
old systems had looked at man as a half-man ; only on
one side of his nature ; that part of liim that lay down
t^ the earth. The Gospel took the whole round of his
faculties, both as lying toward earth and as rising toward
heaven. Love to man — the ordinary, commonplace
philanthropy of every day, the pliilantrophy that wings
the feet of the good Samaritan, and that sends all the
almsgivers upon errands of mercy — love to man was not
known in its fullness until the Gospel came. " Thou
shalt love thy neighbor" was a command of old, but then
the Jews first contracted the neighborhood, and then they
contracted the affection. The Jew's neighbor was not
the Samaritan, but one within his own exclusive pale and
sphere. But when love to God came, like a queenly s
mother leading out her daughter by the hand, then men
wondered at the rare and radiant beauty that had escaped
their notice so long ; and when they loved God first, tlien
it was that from that master-love the streams of love to
man flowed forth in ceaseless and in generous profusion.
And the Gospel is just the same now. It is the great
inspiration of ordinary kindnesses, and of the every-day
.ind rippling happiness of life. It is the truth for man ;
the truth lor man's every exigency^ and for his very
peril — blessing the body and saving the soul. JJy the
truth, then, which we are to commend to ever}^ man's
conscience, we understand the truth as it is in Jesus —
the truth which convinces of sin and humbles under a
sense of it ; the truth which reveals atonement and
flashes pardon from it ; the truth which leads the par-
doned spirit upward to holiness and heaven. Now, we

THE MISSION OF THE PULPIT.

are to bring that conscience and that trutli in connection
with each other ; that is the great business for which we
are gathered here. In order that there may be the bring-
ing of the one into connection with the other, there must
be variety in all truth, suited to the various states in
which the conscience of the hearers may be found.

Now, for the sake of argument, we may take it that
there are three stages in which nearly the whole of the
consciences of humanity are ranged : those whose con-
sciences are slumbering, torpid, inert, lifeless ; those
whose consciences are quick, apprehensive, alarmed ; and
those whose consciences have passed through those former
stages, and are now peaceful, happy, and at rest.

1. Firf c, there are some consciences that hav", no appre-
hension of God — no spiritual sensiMlity at all. It is a
very sad thought that this has been, and continues to be,
the condition of the vast majority of maTikind. Think
of the vast domain of paganism, where the truth of God
is lost for lack of knowledge, with its monstrous idols,
fertile of cruelty, and its characters exemplifying every
variety of evil. You may look through universal history ;
you can see the track of passion in the light of the flames
which it has kindled ; you can see the works of imagina-
tion throned in bodiless thought, or sculptured in breath-
ing marble ; you can see the many inventions of intellect
on every hand, but for conscience placed on its rightful
seat, and exerting its legitimate authority, you look
almost in vain. Even in Christian England there are
multitudes of whom it may be said that God is not in all
their thoughts, to whom conscience is a dull and drowsy
monitor, who live on from day to day in the disregard of
plainest duties, and in habitual, hardening sin. Are
there not some here ? It may be you go to your place of
worship, but to little purpose ; you are rarely missed from
your accustomed seat, but you have trifled with conscience
until it rarely troubles you, and when it does, you pooh-
pooh it as the incoherences of a drunkard, or the ravings
of some frantic madman. Brethren, I do feel it a solemn

, THE MISSION OF THE PULPIT.

Iconnection

whicli we

the bring-

;here must

states in

md.

fe it that
>le of the
hose con-
Js ; those
med : and
>se former
t.

^ appr&-
It is a
les to be,
. Think
t of God
US idols,
rig every
history ;
[le flames
imagina-
i breath-
intellect
rightful
)u look
fiere are
ot in all
drowsy
igard of
. Are
3lace of
3d from
science
I pooh-
■avinga
solemn

duty to manifest God's arousing truth, to you. I appeal
to the moral sense within you. You are attentive to the
truth ; the Word is suffered to play around your under-
standing ; I want it to go deeper. I accuse you fearlessly
of heinous and flagrant transgression, because you have
not humbled yourselves before Heaven; and God, in
whose hands your breath is, and whose are all your ways,
you have not glorified. I charge you with living to
yourselves, or that, going about to establish your own
righteousness, you have not submitted yourself to the
righteousness of God. I arraign you as being guilty of
base ingratitude, inasmuch as when Christ was offered,
the just for the unjust, that he might bring you to God,
you refused to hearken. And you have trodden under
loot the blood of the covenant, and counted it an unholy
thing. I accuse some of you, moreover, of trying to
secure impunity by your vile treatment of God's inward
witness. You have deposed conscience from its throne ;
you have tried to bribe it to be a participator with you
in your crimes ; you have overborne it by interest, or
business, or clamor, or pleasure ; you have limited its
scrutiny to the external actions, and not allowed it to sit
in judgment over the thoughts and intentions of the inner
man. When it has startled you, you have lulled it to
sleep, and you have done it on purpose that you might
the more easily and the more comfortably sin. Brethren,
I am not your enemy because I have told you the truth.
That very consci-mce which you have insulted bears mo
witness that it is the truth which I now minister before
you. I warn you of your danger. Oh! I would not
fear to shake you rouglily if I could only bring you
to a knowledsje of vourselves. It is a sad and disastrous
thought that there are some consciences here so fatally
asleep that they may never be roused except by the peal
of the judgment trumpet or by the flashing of the penal
fires.

2. Then there are some whose consciences ars aroused^
and who are going about, it liiay be, in bitterness of soul.

THE MISSION OP THE PULPIT.

You have seemed, perhaps, hard and impenetrable, but
there has been a terrible wor in your soul. Your con-
science has been at work; ii> is at work now. Oh! I
have a power jver you from this fact — that I have got
an ally m your own bosom testifying to the truth of the
things I speak before you. You may fret against that
power, but you cannot rob me of it. You cannot get
the barb out ; all your endeavors to extract it only widen
and deepen tlie wound. My brother, oh ! let me mani-
fest Christ's redeeming truth to thee. Christ has died ;
all thy wants may be supplied through his wondrous
death. Is thy heart callous and ungrateful? He has
exalted the law and made it honorable. Hast thou dis-
honored justice ? He has satisfied its claims. Hast thou
violated law ? He has lifted up the majesty of its equity.
Is there in thy spirit unrest and storm ! Come to nim ;
thy conscience is like the Galilean lake — it shall hear
him, and there shall be a great calm. Doth the curse
brood over thee, and calamity appal thy soul ? Flee to
his outstretched arms, and as thou sobbest on his bosom
iiear his whispered comfort : " There is, therefore, now
no condemnation unto them that are in Christ Jesus, who
walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit." See the
clouds disappear, the tempest hath passed by, the storms
rage no longer ; lift up thy head, serene, peaceful, smiling,
happy. Let us hear thy experieii 3e : '' In whom I have
redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of
sin, according to the riches of his grace."

3. But some of you have got still further, and are
happrji in the sense of the Redeemer's love. You are in the
fairest possible position for the true soul-growth clay by
day. You rejoice in Clu^ist Jesus now. You have victory
over the carnal mind now. A]l antagonistic powers are
made subject now, Conscience has resumed its authority,
and is sensitive at the approach of ill, and eager for the
completed will of God. I rejoice to manifest God's dis-
cipling, training, growing, comforting, nourishing truth
to you. Self is uot the master-principle within you now ;

THE MISSION OF Tllli: PULPIT.

you are not paralyzed by craven fear. There is a good
hind and fair before you. Rise to the dignity of your
heritage. What a future awaits you ! to be day by day
more like God, to have day by day bright visions of the
throne, day hy day increased power over sin, increased
jn'ogress toward heaven, increased fellowship with the
Divine ; and then when the tabernacle falls down there
opens another scene — angelic v/el comes, the King in his
beauty, and a house not made with hands eternal in the
heavens.

III. " By nianlfcstatlon of the truth commending our-
selves to every man's conscience in the sight of God."
In the sight of God. Ah 1 that is the thought that hal-
lows it. All our endeavors for the enlightenment of the
ignorant are under the felt inspection of Almighty God.
Ilis eye marks the effort ; his voice, " I know thy works,"
is constantly in-spoken to the soul. It is necessary that
we should feel this in order to fit us for our duty. If we
do not feel this we shall have no courage. Depend upon
it, the heroism which the pulpit needs, which it never
needed in this world's history so much as it needs to-day —
the heroism which the pulpit needs, which the ministry
must have, will not be wrought in the soul unless this
thought be there. There is so much to enslave a man —
tlie consciousness of his own un worthiness and weakness,
iu his best and holiest moments ; the love of approbation
which, from a natural iustinct, swells often into a sore
temptation ; the reluctance to give offence lest the ministry
should be blamed, the anxiety as to what men think of
him and say of him — oh ! how often have these things
checked the stern reproof or faithful warning, made a
preacher • the slave instead of the monarch of his con-
gregation, and instead of the stern, strong, fearless utter-
ance of the prophet, made him stammer forth his lispiuga
with the hesitancy of a blushing child. Depend upon it,
it is no light matter ; it requires no commou boldness to
stand single hauded before the pride of birth, and the
pride of rank, and the pride of oBice, and the pride of
ci

' }

:■ I

71f

THE MISSION OF THE PULPIT.

intellect, and the pride of money, to rebuke their trans-
gressions, to strip off tlieir false confidence, and tear away
their refuges of lies. But if a man have it burned into
his heart that he is speaking in the sight of God, he will
do it — yes, he will. God-fear will banish man-fear. He
will feel that for the time the pulpit is ins empire and the
temple is his throne, and, like another Baptist, he will
thunder out his denunciations against rich and poor
together, with his honest eyes straight flashing into
theirs, " Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish."
" In the sight of God." Give him that thought, and
he will be tender as well as brave ; he will look upon his
congregation as immortal, and will see in each one before
him (oh, that thought is overwhelming !) an offs^pring of
the Divine, an heir of the Everlasting ; and in this aspect
of it he will tremble before the majesty of man; he will
be awe-struck as he thinks of trying to influence them for
eternity. There will be no harshness in his tones, there
will be no severity in his countenance. If the violated
law must speak out its thunders, it will be through
brimminfij eyes and faltering tongue. He will remember
his own recent deliverance. Like Joseph, he will scatter
blessings round him with a large and liberal hand ; but
there will be no ostentation, there will be no vanity ;
for he will remember that he is but the almoner of
another's bounty, and that his own soul has only just
been brought out of prison. He will be like one ship-
wrecked mariner who has but just got upon a rock, and
is stretching out a helping iiand to another who yet
struggles in the waters ; but he that is on the rock knows
that the yawning ocean rageis and is angry, near. Oh !
let us realize that we are m sight of God, and we shall
have larger sympathies for man, we shall have more of the
spirit of Him who came eating and drinking, who was a
friend of publicans and sinners. There will be no fierce
rebukes, no proud exclusivi&m, no pharisaical arrogance
then. The sleeper will not be harshly eluded ; the re-
monsti'ance of aflection will yearn over him, " My

eve a
"Ye
"Coil

orive

THE MISSION OF THE rULPIT.

brother, my brother !" and the tear will gather in the
eye as the invitation is given, or the regret is breathed,
" Ye will not come unto me that ye may have life ;"
" Come, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will
give you rest."

" In the sight of G od." That will help ns to persevere.
We shall be constant as well as brave and tender, if we
realize continually that we are in the sight of God.
Tliongh difficulties multiply, this will prevent us from
VoOming weary and faint in our minds ; we shall re-
member him who endured the contradiction of sinners
against liimself ; and, through perverseness or obstinacy,
whether men will bear or whether men will forbear, we
shall labor on for the cause of Christ and for the good of
souls. We shall not be satisfied with good report, with
extensive popularity, with decorous congregations, with
attention settled, and seriousness upon every countenance.
We shall want souls. We shall press right away through
to the great end of restoring the supremacy of conscience,
and bringing the disordered world bact again to its
allegiance to God. This is our life-work, and we are
doing it day by day — unfaithfully, imperfectly, but we
are doing it. Moral truth upon the mind of man is some-
thing like a flat stone in a churchyard, through which
there is a thoroughfare, and hundreds of pattering feet
go over it day after day. Familiarity with it has
weakened the* impression, and time has effaced the
lettering. But God has sent us with a friendly chisel to
bring it out again into sharpest, clearest, crispest, dis-
tinctest outline before the spirits of men. This is our
life-work ; and we are laboring on amid the driving sleet
and pelting rain ; jostled now and then by the rude and
heedless passenger ; fitfully looked at by^tliose who flit
away to the farm and the merchandise ; regarded with a
sort of contemptuous admiration by those who admire our
industry, while they pity our enthusiasm. Patient,
earnest workers, we must labor on, and v/e intend to do
it. God helping, the ministry of reconciliation will

:-■'¥,

THE MlSStON OF TllK PULPIT.

continue to 1)0 proclaiiuecl, within roach of every man in
this land, Sabbath after Sabbath, nniversally, unto those
who will come, without money and without price. And
everywhere wo shall have our reward. I, for my part,
cannot labor in vain. What think you would sustain me
under the pressure of tlie multiplied excitement and
multiplied sorrow and labor, but the thought that I cannot
labor in vain? The words I have just spoken have been
launched into your eai*s, and have lodged in your con-
scier. -• a" • I cannot recall them. Simple, well-known
Bibk ,. V.I' have gone into your conscience, audi cannot
recall ■''^. But they shall come up some day. You
and I may ne\ meet again until we stand at the judg-
ment-seat of God. They shall come up then — tken —
and, verily, I shall have my reward. I shall have it
when some fair-haired child steps out to spell out the
syllables upon the flat stone, and goes away with a new
purpose formed in his heart. I shall have it when some
weather-beaten man, bronzed with the hues of climates
and shades of years, take^ the solemn warning, numbers
his days, and applies his heart unto wisdom. I shall
have it in the welcome given to my ascending spirit by
some whom I first taught, it may be unworthily, to swell
the hosanna of praise, or to join with holy sincerity in all
the litanies of prayer. I shall have it in the smile that
wraps up all heaven in itself, and iu those tones of kind-
ness which Hood the soul Avitli ineffable music — " Well
done, thou good and faithful servant ; enter thou into the
joy of thy Lord." I leave with you and the Spirit — I
dare not trust you alone — the AV"ord of his grace, praying
that lie who alone can apply it, may give it life and
power.

m-:f>m-mM

^^^^

lY.
SOLICITUDE FOE THE ARK OF GOD.

*• And when he came, lo, Eli sat upon a seat by the "waysido watching
for liis heart trembled for the ark of God."— 1 Sam. Iy. 13.

HAT news from tlie battle-field ? — for the Philis-
tines are ont against Israel, and the'Israclitish
armies are marslialled, and have me forth nnto
the fif^ht. A few days ago a reverse bvfe them, but
they have sent for a fancied talism'; u t. 1 they are
marching now with the ark of God in ei" midst, deem-
ing that its presence in their cam]) will a live victory to
their side. There is expectation in t) ^ streets of Shiloh,
doubt and hope alternating in the spir.i.s of its townsmen ;
for though the ark is a tower of strength, yet their defeat
has disheartened them, and dark rumors, moreover, of
the Lord's kindled auger, and of sad prophecies alleged
to have been spoken, are rife among the people ; so that
many a glance is strained wistfully toward the plains of
Aphek, whence the couriers may bring tidings of the
war. There are quivering lips in the city, and cheeks
blanched with sudden fear ; for the tidings have come,
and they are tidings of disaster and of shame : the glory
of Israel have fallen upon its high places ; the shield of
the migbty hath been vilely cast away ; thirty thousand
of the people have fallen wntli a great slaughter ; and
the sacred symbol of their faith itself has been carried
off in triumph by the worshippers of Ashtaroth and
Dagon. Loud is the wail of the widows, and terrible
the anguish of the remnant that are left, oppressed by
the nafcional dishonor. But yonder, near the gate, there
is one feeble old man, with silvered hair and sightless

SOLICITUDF, FOR THE ARK OF GOD.

eyes, before whom, us each mourner passes, he subdues
his sorrow into silence, us in the presence of grief that
is mightier than his own. It is Eli, the high priest of
God ; he hears the tumult, but is yet unconscious of iU
cause. But now the messenger comes in hastily o
unfold his burden of lamentation and of weeping. "And
the man said unto Eli, I am he that came out of the
army, and 1 fled to-day out of the army. And he said,
What is there done my son ?" Oh, terrible are the
tidings that are now to come upon the heart of that old
man, like successive claps of thunder. "And the messen-
ger answered and said, Israel is fled before the Philistines"
— here the patriot mourns — " and there hath been also
a great slaughter among the people" — here the spirit of
the judge is stricken — " and thy two sons also, Ilophni
and Phineas, are dead" — here the father's heart bleeds.
Strong must have been the struggle of the spirit under
the pressure of this cumulative agony, but it bears nobly
up. Ah, but there is a heavier woe behind : "And the
ark of God is taken. And it came to pass when he made
mention of the ark of God" — not till then, never till then
— " that he fell from off the seat backward by the side of
the gate, and his neck brake, and he died." The grand
old man: he may have been feeble in restraint and
criminal in indulgence, but there is majesty about this
his closing scene w^hich redeems his errors and shrines
him with the good and true. The patriot could survive
the dishonor of his country ; the judge, though weeping
sore, could be submissive under the slaughter ot the
people ; the father, his heart rent the while with remorse-
ful memories, could have upborne under the double
bereavement ; but the saint swooned away his life when
deeper afldiction was narrated of the disaster that had
happened to the ark of God. "And it came to pass that
when he made mention of the ark of God that he fell
from off the seat backw^ard by the side of the gate, and
his neck brake, and he died."

Brethren, this is just the character, the type of charac-
ter, that we covet for the chui'ches of to-day — men oi;

SOLICITUDE FOR THE \RK OF QOD.

J Biihdues
^rief tlijit
priest of
nis of its
lastilj o
^ "And
lit of tlio
lie said,
are the
that old
B niessen-
iilistines"
)een also
spirit of
Hophni
t bleeds,
'it under
rs nobly
And the
he made
till then
le side of
le grand
lint and
•out this
. shrines
survive
weeping
' ot the
remorse-
double
fe when
hat had
•ass that
he fell
ite, and

charac-
meu ot

broad souls, large-hearted and kindly in their human
sympathy, bating not a jot in all earthly activities and
philanthropy, but re8er>ing their highest solicitudes for
the cause and service of the I^ord Jesvs Christ. " An
impossible combination," scoffers are ready to observe,
" and imlovely even if it were possible." The narrow
fanaticism will contract the human affection ; the man
will be so absorbed in the possibilities of the shall-be as
to forget the interests of the now ; he will live in a
world of the ideal, and the life that now is, and that
presses upon us so ineessantly on every side, will degene-
rate into a brief history of dwarfed charities and aimless
being. Xay, surely not so my brother. That love must
ever be the kindliest, even on its human side, which has
the furthest and most open vision. That cannot be either
a small or a scanty affection which takes eternity w^ithin
its scope and range. The Christian, the more he realizes
his Christianity, and embodies it, becomes of necessity
pervaded by an afl'ection, bounded only by the limits of
humanity.

" Pure lovo to God its members find—
Pure love to every son of man."

And this love, which the thought of eternity thus makes
indistructible, is raised by the same thought above the
imperfections which attach themselves to individual cha-
racter, so that it sees the broad stamp of humanity
everywhere, and discovers, even in the outcast and
trembling sinner, an heir of the Everlasting, an offspring
of the Divine.

And this, the perfection of character, is the character
which we covet for you. You will find very many in-
stances in Scripture in which, in words full, full to over-
flowing, of the warmest human affection, regard for the
spiritual is discovered, not in ostentatious obtrusion, but
in developments of incidental beauty, to be the reigning
passion of the soul. Who can for a moment doubt the
strong human affection of the beloved disciple, who, lov-
ing at fii'stj drank in a deeper lovingnesa as he lay upon

r'^LICITUDTC FOll THE ARK OP fJOD.

tho Mastcr'fi bosom, and to whom, as the fittest for such
a mission, was committed tlie cliari^e of tliat meek siit-
fcrer with a sword in her licart — tlio sad and saintly
mother of cm* Lord i Listen to liis sahitation to (iaius tlio
well-beloved: "I wish above all things" — this is my
c'hiefest and most fervent desire — " I wish above ail
things that thou mayest |)ros])er and be in healtli, oven
as thy soul prospereth." This is the ])rincipal thinjj; after
all. Remember David and all his aitlictions. See the
persecuted monarch Heeing from his infuriated and bitter
enemies, hunted like a hart u]ion the mountaint^, lodged,
with small estate and diminished train, in some fortress of
Eugedi or in some eave of Adullam ! Of whut dreams
he in his solitude'^ What are the memories that charge
his waking hours? Does he sigh for the palace and tli(;
purple, for the scej^tro and the crown? ^o — Hark! IJis
royal harp, long silent, trembles again into melody !
" IIow amiable i.re thy tabernacles, O Lord of Hosts !
My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth, for the courts of the
Lord ; my heart and my flesh crieth out for tho living
God." See him again when he is crossing the brook
Kedron, when the hearts of his people have been stolen
from him by his vile and flattering son ; when he has lost
his crown and is in danger of losing his life ; what is his
chieftest anxiety in that time of adversity, and in that
crisis of peril ? " And the king said unto Zadok, carry
back the ark of God into the city. If I shall find favor

, in the eyes of the Lord he will bring me again, and show
me both it and his habitation." As if he had said, '' Tho
ark of God — all that is tender and all that is sacred arc
in my history associated with the ark of God — carry
back the ark of God into the city. I am hunted like a
hart upon my own mountains ; I have no longer a spectre

^ of authority ; I am going upon a precarious expedition ; I
know not wliat may become of me. Carry back the ark.
Don't let it share our fortune ; don't let it be exposed
to insult and pillage, and the chances of war. Carry
back the ark carefully. Whatever becomes of me, carry

SOLICITUDE FOn THE ARK OF GOD.

hack tlio ark of (lod into the city; tlKUi^h I wander in
exile, lie down in sorrow, and am at lust buried in the
btranger'd pjnive." But what need of multiplying ex-
Hinplcs^ It wafl hift reli'^ious homo, the metropolis of
faith, the place which God s presence had hallowc(l, which
was referred to when the ha])])y Israelite, rejoicing in re-
covered freedom, and remeinberhin; long years of bondage,
struck his harp and sang, " ]*y the rivers ol' B;ibylon
there we sjit down ; yea, we wei)t when we remembered
/ion." And this, I repeat it, brethren, the perfection of
character, is the character Ave covet f(jr you. As Chris-
tians yon are bound to cultivate it. It is the highest
affection in lieaven : " The Lord loveth the ^ates of Zion
more than all the tiv^^ellings of Jacob." It is the highest
atl'ection oif the incarnate Son : " The zeal of thine house
hath eaten me up." It is the highest affection of the
Apostle, the highest style of man : " Neither count I my
life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course
with joy, and the ministry which I have received of the
Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God."

Oh, that God would raise up amongst ub Elis in our
spiritual Israel, who, with reverent and earnest solicitude,
would have their hearts tremble for the ark of God. His
heart trembled for the ark of God, and wherefore^
Because the ark of God was in peril. In peril from
its enemies — in greater peril from its friends. And,
brethren, the cause and kingdom of Christ, pure religion
and undefiled before God and the Father, the faith for
which we are valiantly and constantly to contend, is in
this hazard to-day. It also is in peril : in peril from its
enemies; in greater, deeper, deadlier peril from its
friends.

Tl ese are the points whi(;li I will endeavor, briefly,
God iielping me, to illustrate on the present occasion.

I. In the first place, the ark of God is in pkeil from
ITS ENEMIES. There never was a period ^ perhaps,, when
the ark of God was carried out into a hotter battle, or
was surrounded by fiercer elements of antagoniaui.

SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF GOD.

There is, for instance, idolatry^ hol(lin<^ six hundred mil-
lions of our race in thrall. Idolatry, which has succeeded
in banishing from their perceptions all thought of the
true God— which holds all that vast world of mind under
the tyranny of the vilest passions, and under the dark
and sad eclipse both of intellectual and spiritual
knowledge.

There is, again, imposture^ reigning in Mohammedan
realms over one hundred an^ forty millions of souls ;
imposture, accommodated with the most exquisite inge-
nuity to the prejudices of the population among which it
was to spread, complimenting Moses to cajole 'the Jew,
speaking respectfully of Jesus to seduce the nominal
C/hristian, offering a voluptuous heaven to the licentious
Pagan, and gathering in the indifferent by the wdiolesale
conversion of tlie sword — Imposture thus founded and
perpctiuited over some of the fairest provinces of the globe
in foul and ferocious despotism until now.

There is, again, superstition^ the corruption of Christi-
anity by Greek and papal admixtures, blinding the world
with tlie utter falsehood of half truths, dazzling the senses
and emnsculating the understanding, trafficking in sin
as in merchandise, and selling escape from its penalties
cheap. Imposture, under whose strange system atheist
and libertine, infidel and J( a', may join hands together
and with equal rights wear the sacred garments, and, in
robes upon which the cross is broiderod, may gather to-
gether to make war against the Lamb.

There is, again, skepticism^ that cold and soulless thing,
that mystery of iniquity, which doth already work, chil-
ling the ardor of the church and hardening the unbelief
of the world — skepticism, bribing intellect to sustain it
with sophistry, and genius to foster its errors, and poetry
to embalm them in song — skepticism, that travels
through the universe in search of truth and beauty, that
it may enfeeble the one by its misgivings, and blight the
comeliness of the other by its wintry breath.

Ail these^ enemies of Christianity from the beginning,

P 4

SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF GOD.

and retaining their ancient hate aprainst it, now are the
Philistines of its spiritual field. They are not content,
as in former timos, with holding their own ; thev have a
resolute purpose of aggression. They have habit, and
nninbers, and prejudice on their side; tlicy have warriors
and a priesthood, zealous and valiant in their service.
They have no chivalry about them to i estrain them from
any style of warfare. They smart under multiplied de-
feats, and they know that in the heart of every man in
the world there are interests and sympathies in their favor.
There is reason, then, is there not, for that cry, *' Men of
Israel, help !" there is reason, strong and solemn reason,
why tlie Elis of our Israel sliould sit by the wayside,
watching for their hearts tremble lor the heart of God.
It is not necessary to enhirge upon this point. I do not
want to preach specially to-night in reference to these ex-
traneous matters — matters, I mean, extraneous to the
Church of Christ, which hinder the progress of the work
of God in the world. I want to come nearer home in
discussing our second point :

II. Just as it was in the days of Israel, so it is now —

THE ARK OF GoD IS IN STRONG KR, DEEPER, DEAT>L1ER PERIL

FROM ITS FRIENDS. V\ainly might the Philistines have
fought, vainly might the foe have striven, if there had
not been in the heart of the camp the springs of dee])
and destructive evils, if the chosen children of Israel
had not been traitors and unworthy of themselves. And
there are, if you will only examine into the subject, strange
analogies subsisting between the causes which prevented
the victory of Israel of old, and the. causes which operate
with such fcsrful disaster against the progress of the truth
of God to-day.

1. In the iirst place, there was in the camp of Israel ol
old the presence of super st it lo7i^ a blind reliance upon
external forms. The Israelites, though their lives were
loose and their devotions therefore iniquity, felt safe in
the prospect of the battle, because they had the presence
pf the ark. At other times they cared nothing about it,

SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF OOD.

were indifferent altogetlier as to its welfare ; bnt 'n the
hour of danger, tliey rallied round it as an amulet of
Btrengtli, and in place of contrition before God, and in
place of liiimblings on account of sin, they vaunted that
the Lord wan in the midst oY them, and conveyed what
they deemed to be the symbol of his presence? with arro-
gant and obtrusive gladness to the cnmp. And it is to
l)e feared, brethren, that there is much of this vain and
formal confidence clogging our ])iety now. Are there not
hanging upon our skirts, ostensibly one with us in fellow-
ship and spirit, many of whom we stand in doubt before
God, and over whose defective consistency we mourn 'i
Kay, are we not all conscious, each for himst^lt — let the
spirit of searching come in — are we not all conscious of
compromise, if not, indeed, of betrayal ? Our church,
our organization, our intluence, the decorum of our ser-
vices, the activity of our agencies, an attractive ministry,
a respectable gathering, a Avell-furnished sanctuary, a
well-replenished treasury — have not these stolen our
liearts away from the Divine, the spiritual, the heavenly ^
Our spirit — bounds it after the Divine Spirit as it once
did? Our ear — listens it as intently for his whispers^
Our eye — has it as keen an insight for his coming?
Or is the very sj'mbol of his dwelling, which, in the olden
time, transformed the wilderness from the sepulchre into
the home, become an occasion of sin, if not an object of
idolatry ? Oh, for some brave old Ilezekiah to come
amongst us and write Nehushtan upon tlu; mutilated brass,
and break it into pieces before God ! Do not mistake us ;
we are no iconoclasts, to dissolve all organizations, and
mutilate the whole and perfect symiiT^try of truth, and
with distempered zeal to tear away the inscriptions on her
holy and beautiful house. We rejoice in precious oi'di-
nances, and crowded sanctuaries, and in those grand insti-
tutions of benevolence which redeem our age from lethargy.
But when the trust of the individual or of the church is
])laced in these things, God's Holy Spirit is dishonored,
und the life of our religion becomes of dwarfed growtli

SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF GOD.

and sickly habit, IVoiii the very care with which wc
screen it Iroin the breath of heaven. Brethren, are there
not in the Divine Word many intimations of the ten-
dency which we now deplore, to let the very highest and
holiest customs dc2;cncr;ite into the indifference of for-
malism ? That the brazen serpent lifted np in tho
wilderness received in after aoies idolatrous homao'c, I
have already reminded you. And nicli was the danger
of idolatry to the children of Israel, that God would not
trust any one of them to be present at the funeral of their
great lawgiver. Xo human eye must v,'itness his obsequies,
l>ut in solitary possession ot his God-prepared sc})ulchre,
the lordly lion stalked, and the bald old eagle tlew. The
coml)ined power of healing and of speech constrained the
worship of the men of Lystra for the Apostles Barnabas
and Paul. Maltese superstition, which had branded him
as a murderer whom the viper stung, in sudden reaction
deified him when he declined to die. And in the time of
the Saviour, the temple had become a house of merchan-
dise ; anise and cummin were of more account than
righteousness and truth, and enlarged phylacteries and
public prayers, and a countenance preternaturally sad,
AV^ere the low and degenerate substitutes for a renewed
heart and holy life. And, brethren, it becomes us solemnly
to be on our guard in this matter, for the same tendency
exists still. The formal and the careless will creep into
our worship, and, if we are not watchful, will eat out the
hciart of our religion. If as individuals, our trust is in
our attendance on religious ordinances, or our participa-
tion of sacramental emblems in our fellowship in church
communion, or the comeliness of our external moralities,
and it, in the strength of these, unfurnished with the
higher gifts of the Divine Spirit, we go out to dare the
dangers and fight the l)attles of our daily lil'e ; and if, as a
church, as a contedcracy of Christian people, we talk about
our nund)ers, and our asfencv, and our infiuence, what
are we doing but |)erpetrating — perpetrating, too, with
atill greater aggravation and enormity- the error and

• r

SOLICITUDE FOR THE AUK OF GOlX

' -.1

the sin of t'lc people of Israel of old ? We carry tlie ark
into the battle, but we leave the God of tlie ark behind
us; and there is strong and solemn need that the Elis of
our Israel should sit by the wayside, watching, for their
hearts tremble for the ark of of God.

2. I observe, secondly, that there was i7iconsidericy in
the camp of Israel. The times were times of apostasy
and of idolatry ; the priests, who should have been the
leaders of the people, committed abominable iniquity ;
there were sensuality and oppression in the service of the
holy shrine, so that men abhorred the offering of the
Lord, and, by consequence, the whole land became infected
with the contagion of this evil example. There was still
an affectation of reverence for the sanctuary, and of
attachment to the ark ; but the Lord of the sanctuary and
the God of the ark were not ihe true objects of worship
and of love. And is it not so largely now 'i Are there
not araongit those who habitually gather thii'n^elves for
worship, numbers, not, perhaps, consciously in-siiicere, but
strangely defective ^ and numbers more — ^spots in our
feasts of charity — who C'>me among uri like so many
whited sepulchres, all symmetry without, but all rotten-
ness within : Achans, whose rapacioi's covetonsness can
hardly hold itself from the prey : Koubons, whose unstable
souls are luring themselves to their own destruction:
Judases, with fawning U^?, .md grasping hand, but hiding
in the coward h art the gn '- ■ :.y purpose of betrayal i Are
there not such amongst us 'i Yes, there are those who
intrude themselves into our assemblies, eluding all human
scrutiny, wearing the garb of sanctity, and remaining in
their imposture, perhaps, until some overwhelmingpressurc
crushes them, and brings scandal ui)on the cause that
they have dishonored. And in public life are we not
accustomed to hear a noisy zeal for the holy name of God
on the part of men who rarely use it except in impreca-
tion and in blasphemy — ostentatious helpings on of the
ark by those in whose esteem it figures only as an
imposing thing for public procession, or as a relic of

SOLICITUDE FOR THE AIIK OF GOD.

<S7

y the ark
k behind
le El is of
for their

dene?/ in
apostasy
been the
niquity ;
ce of the
2: of the
infected
was still

and of
lary and
worship
'e there
Ives for
jere, but

in our
) many

rotten-
icss can
nstable
uction :

hiding
? Are
5e who
human
ling in
Pessurc
je that
ve not
of God
ipreca-
of the
as an
3lic of

sanctity to be unveiled to the curious in some hour of
rejoicing and of display? Brethren, this inconsistency
imperils alike our own salvation and the progress of the
cause of God. The Church must be consistent^ every
individual in the Church must be sincere and thorough
in his piety, before the work is done. It may be, or it
may not be, that there is the hj^pocrite here to-night —
the systematic and habitual impostor— who has assumed
the garb of godliness that he may the better sin; if
there be, in God's name let him forsake his hope, tor it
will perish, and let him at once, before the hail sweeps
his refuges of lies away, seek mercy of that Saviour
v^liom he has insulted and betrayed. And what is our
conditicm? Grey hairs have come upon us, signs of
feebleness, tokens of lassitude and age, and we have not
known it. Oh! a more sincere and decisive godliness is
wanted from us all, if we would either pass untarnished
through the terrible temptations of the world, or be found
worthy to bear the vessels of the Lord. Brethren, we
must resolve that whatever of insincerity may have
attached to our profession shall at once be forsaken, a/td
that we will from this time forward, God helping us,
renew our baptismal vows, and be valiant for the truth
upon the earth. If in our pursuit of pleasure there \:as
been the indulgence of frivolity, and perhaps of licon
tiousness — if in our hiijrli-reachino' ambition for reno 'rn
there have been oppression and time-serving, and the
concealment of principle, and practices tl at are corrupt,
and unworthy — if in our labor for com}' once there has
been compliance with unliallowed custom, or complicity
with wrong — if we] have followed the maxims of trade,
rather than the nuixims of truth — if there has been over-
reaching and cupidity in our comm rcial life, we have
sinned, and our profession of religion only makes our sin
more truly scandalous, and more completely sin. And
it behooves us all now, from this very hour, to put away
the sin from us with loathing, and fall humbled and
penitent before God. We must have holineiis — inner and

I '-

:.t

<S8

SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF GOD.

[*i

i:> 1

... i

mti

vital Iieart-lioliness — if wo would cleave unto the Lord
with full purpose of heart.

Brethren, when 1 see out in the broad world the
])alpablc inconsistencies of jirofessors of reli«^ion — a man
devout in the sanctuary and detestable at home, saintly
on the Sabbath and sordid all the week, ostentatious in
the enterprises of benevolence, but grinding his own
workmen and tyrannical to the poor — when I see a man
whose citizenship is ostensibly in heaven, distance the
keenest worldling around him in the race of fashion, or
in the strife lor gold — when I see a man, whose religion
teaches the divinest charity, censorious in his spirit, and
narrow in his soul — when I see a man, to whom God has
given a fortune in stewardshipj grudging to dispense to
him that is in want ; >vlien I see a man, whose Divine
Saviour rebuked his own disciples for intolerance, pro-
fessing to follow his footsteps, and yet harshly excluding
thousands from his fold; or when in the Avorld of opinion
] see religion represented as vindicating the most mon-
K Irons atrocities, as preaching eternal reprobation, as
advocating an accursed system of slavery, as upholding
iin aggressive war — whiti have I to think but, as it was
in the days of ancient Israel, the ark of God is carried
out l)y the imcircumcised to battle, an 1 there is need —
strong, solemn, and passionate need — tnat the Elis of our
Israel should sit upon, the wayside, watching, for their
hearts t -omble for the ark of God.

3. And then there was in the third place — and it is the
last particular that I shall mention — there was in the
(^amp of ancient Israel ifidifferenoe. I do not mean to
say that there was not a sort of patriotism — a natural
and CO nmon wish for victory — a desire to free themselves
iiom the .-Miiiistine thrall. But patriotism, to be real and
to ))e hr,,llo\'^.d, must have all-heartedness; and this was
iackiitjvv. Tiiey had no confidence in their leaders ; thcrv3
was at ^ ag li em the element of dis-union. The laxity
ct theii lives liad of necessity enfeebled soniewliat tlieir
moral p. hiciples, so tha!; the high and chivalrous iiispira-

C^H-.

SOLICITUDE FOR THE AIIK OF GOD.

tlons of the true lover of his country wore emotiouR that
were a])ove tliem nnfl beyond tlieni. Ilcnco, they went out
into the battlefiehl, l)Ut tliey went witli paralyzed arms;
conscience made cowards of them, and, recreant and panic-
Btricken, they fled at the flrst attack of the foe. And,
brethren, can their be any question that a hick of whole-
hearted earnestness is one of the chief sources of peril
to the ark of God to-day ? Oh, if Laodicea is to be the
type of the Churcli, it is no wonder that the world sneers
and perishes ! If religion, clad in silken sheen, has be-
come a patronized and fashionable thing — a something
that men cleave to as they cleave to the other items of a
respectable life — something that they wear as a sort of
armorial bearing for which they pay small dut;y either to
God or man — it is no wonder that the world should be
heedless of the message, and should subside into the
drowsy monotony in which the messengers dream away
their lives. Brethren, the poisonous trees do little harm
in the vineyard ; they are uprooted as soon as they are
seen. It is the barren trees, that cumber the ground and
mock the husbandman, that are the curses of the vineyard
of the Lord. Cases of flagrant apostasy but little hinder
the pi'ogress of the work ; their inconsistency is so pal-
pable and manifest. They are the true hinderers, under
the shadow of whose luxury, and idleness and frivolity,
the Church sits at ease in Zion, while they are eating out
its inner life as the vampire sucks out the life-blood of the
victim that it is all the while fanning with its wings. Oh,
brethren, we need all of us a baptism for a deeper and
diviner earnestness, that we may bear our testimony for
God. We are a witnessing Church ; this is our character
and our mission. But, alas ! our witness has sometimes
been feeble and has sometimes been false. We have been
altogether too secular and too selfish. We have not been
prophets — not we ; but stammering, hesitating, blushing
children, ashamed of the message that our Father has
bidden us deliver. We lifve sought morality ratlier than
holiness, serenity rather than sacrificCj smooth things to

SOLICITUDE FOR THE AUK OF GOT).

conciliate the world rather than strong things to conqnor
the world. We liavf; been content to grasp all the world's
wealth and honor that we could, and then, in the great
wreck, some on boards and Bome on broken pieces of the
ship, to get ourselves salb to land, rather than, Ireighted
with heavenly treasure, to cast anchor in the fair ha\eii
with colors llying, and amid the glad welcome of the
multitudes on shore. Oh, there is room, brethren, indeed
there is, for the taunt of the iniidel : " Ye Christians are
as iniidel as I am ; ye do not believe in your own system ;
if you did, like a fire in your bones, it would burn you
into action, if by any means you might save some.-'
Oh ! everything around us is rebuking this lethargic and
this professional piety. Everything is in earnest — suns
in their constant shining, and rivers in their ceaseless
flow : the breeze that stops not day nor night to bear
health upon its wings, the spring tripping up the winter,
the seed-time hastening on the harvest — all are activity,
faltering nut, any one of them, in the sure and steady
purpose of their being. Error is in earnest ; Pagans are
sell-devoted; Mohammedanism has her resolute and
valiant sons ; Popery compasses sea and land to make one
prosleyte ; intidels walk warily and constantly, scattering
the seeds of unbelief. Society is in earnest ; the sons of
enterprise do not slumber; the warriors — how they hail
the clarion call, and rush eagerly into the battle; t\w
students — liow they consume the oil of the lamp and th(»
oil of life together; Mammon's votaries — are they the
laggards in the streets ? Oli, everything around us seem^
to be lashed into intensett energy, while we — ingrate.s
that we are, God forgive us! — with the no])lest work in
the universe to do, and the most royal facilities to do it
with ; witlv the obligations of duty, and gratitude, and
brotherhood, and fellowship ; with the vows of disciple-
ship upon us ; with death at our doors and in our homes ;
and with the sad, wailing sound, as if it came from places
where men were and arc not : '' No man hath cared for
my kJoul"--w^e arc heedless and exclusive, sellish and

SOLICITUDE FOR THE ARK OF GOD.

vo some.-

) make one :

Belf-ag^randizing, and, worBt of all, as Belt-?atisfied with
our grudged obedience, and our Bcnnty eflfbrt, and our
heartless prj^iyer, as if no sinners were in peril and as if no
Christ had died. And is it really so ? Has that mightiest
motive lost its ])o\ver ? Is Mammon really more potent
than Messiah ? Has the cruciiix a holier inspiration than
the cross 'i Is it true that war can move men's passions,
and science stimulate their souls, and Irade intensify their
energies, and ambition flame their blood i! and is Christi-
anity nothing but a worn-out spell — a dim memorial of
ancient powder — an extinguished volcano, with no lire
slumbering in its mighty liearc ? Is it true? Thy cross,
Jesus, has it lost its magnetism ? does it no longer draw
all men nnto thee? Thy love, O Saviour, boundless,
unfathomable, all-embracing, doth it constrain no longer
the souls for whom thy blood was shed? It is yours to
answer these questions; do it as in the sight of God.
But, oil ! when we see the terrible indifferer.ee around
xifi — when we see the contrast between the intensity of
our beliefs and the smallness of our doings for Christ —
what wonder is it that the Elis of our Israel, who, with
all their faults, ieel their heart-strings quiver in solicitude
furtlie interests of Zion, slioul 1 sit by the wayside, watch-
ing, because their hearts tremble for the ark of God ?

May God the Holy Ghost come down, and write these
truths upon the hearts of all, for his name'* sake !

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

'•Forasmnchtlion as tho children aro partakers of llesh and blood, Uo
also himself likewise took part of the same."— Hed. ii. 14.

1*11

OME eighteen hundred years ap^o, in the land
of Judah, and in tlie city ot Jerusalem, a strange
restlessness had come upon the puhlic mind. If
a stranger just about that time had visited the
Holy City, and had made himself acquainted with the
inner life of its inhabitants, he would have found them
ail engrossed with one absorbing theme. It had super-
seded, as a matter of interest, commerce, and conquest,
and the intrigues of faction, and the subjects of or-
dinary politics. It had become the unconfessed hope
of matrons, and the deep study of earnest men. So
prevalently had i'; spread, that it became identified
with every thinking of the Hebrew mind, and with
every beating of the Hebrew heart. This topic was
the advent of a Deliverer who had been promised of
God unto their fathers. Their holy books contained
circumstantial directions, both as to the signs of his
coming, and as to the period about which he might be
expected to appear, and these various prophecies con-
verged to their fulfilment. There were rumours,
moreover, of certain meteoric appearances, which in
Eastern countries were deemed the luminous heralds
of die birth of a great king ; and the heart of many a
patriot Jew would 'throb more quickly, as in his vain

I Sav
I

THE INCAUXATION OF CIIRTST.

nd blood, ho

dream of material cmpini lie saw the Messiah, already,
in vision, triumpiiiiii^ over his onemies, and his follow-
ers flushed with the spoil. In the midst of this national
expectancy, events of strong significance were occurring
in a quarter from which the eyes of the world v/ould
jiuve turned heedlessly or in scorn. The national cen-
sus was decreed to he taken throughout the Jewish
provinces of the Roman empire in the time of Augus-
tus Csesar. In obedience to the imperial enactment,
each man, with his household, went up for enrollment
to his own — that is, his ancestral city. The unwonted
influx of strangers had crowded the little inn in tho
little city of Bethlehem, one of tlie least among the
thousands of Judali ; so that the out-huildings were
laid under tribute to furnish shelter to later comers.
In the stable of that mean hostelry a young child was
born. There was nothing about him to distinguish
him from the ordinary otispring of Jewish mothers,
and yet, at the moment of his birth, a new song from
aiigel harps and voices rang through the plains of Beth-
lehem, and ravished the watchful shepherds with celes-
tial harmonies. Small space had passed ere wondering
peasants beheld a star of unusual brightness hovering
over that obscure dwelling; and by and by the inn
was thrown into confusion by the arrival of a company
of foreigners from afar oft — swarthy and richly appar-
elled, who made their way to the stable with costly
gifts and spices, which they presented to tho new-born
babe, and bowed the knee before him in homage, as to
a voyal child. Rapidly flew the glad tidings of great
joy — passed from lip to lip, until the whole city was
full of them — scorned by haughty Pharisees with scofts
and doubting — hailed by the fViithful few who waited
for the consolation of Israel — agitating all classes of
the people — startling the vassal monarch on his throne
— " Unto you is born this day in the city of David a
Saviour who is Christ the Lord."
Brethren, it is ours in this day to rejoice in the bless-

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THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

ing which on that day descended on mankind. Blind-
ness, indeed, hath happened unto Israel, so that they
see not the glorious vision. And there are many
among ourselves to turn away their eyes from the
sight. But the advent of the Saviour has been the
chiefest joy of the multitudes whj once struggled like
ourselves on earth, and who now triumph through his
grace in heaven ; and multitudes more, rejoicing in his
true humanity, and happy in their brotherhood with
Immanuel, cease not to thank God for the unspeak-
able gift that " forasmuch as the children are partakers
of flesh and blood, he also himbelf likewise took part
of the same."

The great fact, of course, which the Apostle wishes
to impress upon us, is our Saviour's assumption of hu-
manity. And there are certain salient characteristics
of that incarnation, upon which, in order that we may
have it presented in all its aspects of* blessing before
our minds, we may not unproiitably dwell.

I. We observe, in the first place, then, that the
Saviour's assumption of jiumanity was an act of
INFINITE condescension. It is obviously impossible
that- the language in which the Apostle here refers to
Christ could be used legitim.ately of any being possessed
essentialy of the nature of flesh and blood. The lan-
guage b afore us, applied to any mere man, even the
holiest, even the most heroic, would be impertinent
and without meaning. There is obviously implied the
fact of his pre-existence, and of his pre-existence in a
nature other and higher than that which he assumed. In
a subsequent verse the implication is further made, that
this pre-existence was in a nature other and higher than
the angelic. For in his descent from the highest to re-
cover and save, he took not hold on angels — they per-
ished without redemption and without hope ; but he
took hold on the seed of Abraham. In the former
chapter the Apostle rather largely illustrates his supe-
riority to the angel: "When he bringeth in the first-

., J

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

l)Ogottcii into tlic world, ho saitli, Lot all the angels of
God worship him." Just as when a crown jrince goes
a travel into some foreign realm, all the choicest of the
nobility are selected to wait upon his bidding, and fol-
low in his train, so when He bringetli his first-begotten
into the world — a foreign realm to him — he says, "Let
all the angels of God " — all the principalities and powers
in heavenly places — worsldp, bow down to, wait upon,
minister to him. Again, "of the angels he saith. Who
niaketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of
lire. But unto the Son he saith. Thy throne, O God,
is forever and ever; a sceptre of righteousness is the
sceptre of thy kingdom." From the scope and tenor
of these passages — indeed, from the scope and tenor of
the Apostle's entire argument, we are swift to conclude,
and we are bold to affirm, the proper and unoriginated
Godhead of the Saviour; that it was God made man
for man to die. Yes, brethren, that stoop of illimitable
graciousness was from the highest to the lowest. And
in mysterious union with the child-heart of that uncon-
scious babe the veiled Divinity slumbered, That weary
and hungry traveller along the journey of life — it was
Jehovah's fellow! That meek sufferer, whose head is
bowed to drink the cup of bitterness to the dregs — it
was the true God, and eternal life ! Strange marriaicre
between the finite and the infinite ; incomprehensible
union between the divine and human !

There are scoffers in the world, I know, who dismiss
the mystery of the incarnation, and deride it as the fig-
ment of fancy, or as the vision of fanaticism. They are
of two kinds mostly: some who try everything by the
standard of their own ideas, and who exalt their own
reason — at best of no great tallness, and which prejudice
has dwarfed into yet pigmier stature — into absolute
dictatorship over the realm of mind; and others more
degraded, who seek a license for their desperate wicked-
ness amidst the scepticisms of a still more desperate
infidelity, who dismiss the narrative of the incarnation

THE INCARNATION OP CHRIST.

r 1

iliiii

because it is a mystery, something that is not patent to
the senses, which they aver to be the only means of
knowledge. All the while they live in a mysterious
world where there are thousands of secrets which their
hearts cannot unravel. In the ordinary resources of life,
in the daily benefits which Providence poui's forth un-
grudgingly, they take their churlish share of blessings
whose wherefore they understand not. They are them-
selves a mystery, perhaps, greater than aught. They
cannot, anyone of them, understand that subtile organism
which they call man, nor how that strange essence or
principle, which they call life, floods them every moment
Avith rapture; and yet, with marvellous inconsistency,
credulous on matters where no mystery might be expected
to abide, they are sceptical in matters where mystery
exists of necessity, and where the absence of it would be
a suspicious sign : " For canst thou by searching find out
God : canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection ?"
Brethren, the incarnation of Christ is a mystery — an
inexplicable and solemn mystery. But were there no
mystery, on the other hand, think you, in the event of
Christ being a mere man ? How stands the case ? There
is an individual obscurely born ; reared in village humble-
ness ; looked on by his kindred according to the flesh with
coldness, if not with dislike ; with no aristocratic connec-
tions, with no noble patronage ; telling to all to whom he
ministered, with a strange candor, that he required absolute
service ; that he had no preferments in his gift ; that he
had no bribes to win the allegiance of the sordid ; that it
was more than likely, if they followed him, that they
would have to forsake all else, to part at once with all that
was lucrative and all that was endearing ; to be secluded
from ecclesiastical privilege ; to be traduced by slander ; to
be hunted by persecution ; nay, to hold life cheap, for
whosoever killed them, in the blind zeal of his partisan-
ship, thought he had done God service. Now, look at that
individual. In spite of all these disadvantages, by the
mere force of his teaching and of his life, he gathers a

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

patent to
means of
lysterious
lich their
!S of life,
forth un-
blessings
tre them-
t. They
organism
jsence or
moment
Lsisteney,
expected
mystery
rould be
find out
ection ?"
ery — an
here no
Jvent of
There
lumble-
!sh with
connec-
hom he
bsolute
ihat he
that it
it they
ill that
icluded
ier; to
ip, for
rtisan-
it that
)y the
lers a

multitude of followers ; charms the fisher from the lake ;
charms the soldier from the standard ; charms — strangest
of all — the publican from the loved seat of custom ; and
not only these, who might, perhaps, be imagined to risk
little by the venture, but charms the physician from his
practice, the scholarly student from the feet of his master,
the ruler from his pride and* luxury, the honorable coun-
sellor from the deliberations of the Sanhedrim. The chief
authorities combine against him ; but his doctrine spreads.
His name is attainted as a traitor ; but he is held dearer
than ever. His death gratifies his bloodthirsty and
relentless foes ; but his disciplfes rally, and his cause lives
on. His tomb is jealously guarded and hermetically sealed,
but it is somehow found empty notwithstanding. He
shows himself alive by many infallible proofs. He soars,
after forty days, from the crest of a mountain, and he has
established an empire in the minds of thousands upon
thousands, which promises to be extensive as the world,
and to be permanent as time. And you ask us to believe
that all this could be accomplished by the unaided resources
of a mere man like ourselves ? Were not that a mystery
than all other mysteries greater and surpassing far ? Then,
look at that individval in the days of his flesh. He exerts,
on the testimony of numerous and unexceptionable wit-
nesses, miraculous power. He has power over the
elements, for the winds are still at his bidding, and the
lawless sea obeys him. He has power over inorganic matter
and over vegetable life, for he blasts the fig-tree by a
syllable, and five loaves and two fishes swell up, as he
speaks, into a royal repast for full five thousand men. He
has power over the ferocious passions, for he strikes down
the advancing soldiery, and at his glance the foul demoniac
is still. He has power over sickness, for the numbed limbs
of the paralytic quicken, as he speaks, into strengthened
manhood, and the leprosy scales off" from its victim, and
leaves him comely as a child. He has power over death,
for at his word the maiden rises from her shroud ; and the
young man stops at the gate of the city to greet his mercy

TJIfi tl^CARNATlON OF CIlRISt.

on his way to burial ; and weeping sisters clasp their
ransomed brother, a four hours' dweller in the tomb. And
you ask us to believe that all this can have been accom-
])lished by the unaided resources of a mere man like
ourselves ! Were not that a mj^stery than all other
mysteries greater and surpassing far? "Ah," but say
some, "he was a good man', we acknowledge; a great
teacher, a model man, a representative man, the highest
man, God specially honoured him. He may almost be
said, indeed, to have had an inferior and derived Divinity.
It is no wonder, therefore, that he should thus perform
miracles, and that he should' thus have founded a domin-
ion." Nay, pardon me, but this only deepens the mystery
for this model man, whose frown was dismissal from his
presence, of whose imitable morals, Kosseau, the infidel,
said, that if the life and death of Socrates were those of an
angel, the life and death of Jesus were those of a God —
this mcdel man claimed all his life to be Divine, made the
impression of his pretensions upon the minds of the Jews
so strong that they stoned him for blasphemy, received
Divine honors without once rebuking the offerers,
" thought it not robbery to be equal with God," and dis-
tinctly predicted that he should come again in the clouds of
heaven. Oh, Jesus of Nazareth cannot possibly be simply
a good and benevolent man. There is no escape from this
alternative — no middle position in which he can abide — he
is either an imposter or God. Now, unbeliever, you who
dismiss the mystery of the incarnation, and treat it with
solemn scorn or with derisive laughter,*solve this mystery of
your own. You pass through life in your pride and in
your scepticism, scouting this mystery of Godhead, and
yet shut up to the far greater mystery — either a good man
who has spoken falsehood, or an imposter who has cheated
the world. But we, with reverent trust, and from the low-
est depth from which gratitude can spring, can say,
" Great is the mystery of godliness, God manifest in the
flesh."
^ II. I observe, secondly, the Saviour's assumption op

;

TOK INCARNATION OP CHRIST.

HUMANITY WAS NOT ONLY CONDESCENDING, BUT VOLUN-
TARY. This, indeed, follows inevitably from the foregone
conclusion of his Divinity. Being Divine, he could be
under no restraint of overwhelmning necessity. To
accommudate the theological language to human infirmity,
we are apt to speak of God sometimes as if influenced by
external things. But really it is not so ; every Divine act
is spontaneous and self-originating. Jesus Christ, there-
fore, could be under the bond of no possible obligation.
Law was himself in spoken precept. Justice was himself
engraven on the universe. Mercy was himself, the
radiation of his own loving-kindness upon his people.
Every decision of wisdom, every administration of physical
goveriiment, every act of omnipotence, was his own ; not
in independent action, but in the harmonious ur '^nofthe
Divine nature. It is manifest, so far as his Divine nature
was concerned, that his assumption of humanity must have
been disinterested and voluntary ; the strong upwelling of
his tenderness for the hapless creatures he had made.
There is something in the spontaneity of his offering which
redeems it from the suspicion of injustice, and which
vindicates the Father from the accusations of those who
charge him with vindictiveness and cruelty. It would
seem, indeed, as if the Saviour had foreseen, in the days of
his flesh that there would rise audacious rebels, who would
thus cast a slur upon his Father's kindness, for he defends
him by anticipation: "Therefore doth my Father love me,
because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No
man taketh it from me, but I lay it dow n of myself. I
have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it
again."

But as to the human nature which vicariously suffered,
you remember that at the time there was the proposition
of incarnation, there was also the proposition of equivalent
recompense. The promise of the joy was coeval with the
prospect of suffering. Hence the Apostle : "Who for the
joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising
the shame." A world ransomed from the destroyer, a

100

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

mediatorial kingdom erected upon the ruins of caith's
spoiled thrones, a name that is above every name, honored
in heaven by prostrate obedience and undying song,
honored on earth by every confessing lip and every
bending knee — this was the joy set before him ; and for
the sake of all this he endured patiently the cross, de-
si)ised, looked down with holy contempt upon, mysterious
and inconceivable shame. Besides, there can be no
availableness in exacted suffering. There ,is something in
the voluntariness of the incarnation which at once exalts
our reverence and augments our affection for our Surety
and Friend. We judge of the excellency of virtue by the
willinghood with which it is practised. We cannot enter
into a proper comparison, because we are all und^r the
bond of one common obligation ; but we all know that
the virtue shines the most brightly which is practised
amidst hazard and suffering, rather than that which is
accorded where duty is inviting, and where obedience is
profitable. Viewed in this light, what a wealth of disin-
terested generosity there is in the incarnation of Christ.
The voice was heard from the midst of the throne : "Here
I am ; send me. Lo I come. In the volume of the book
it is written of me, fo do thy will, my God." In another*
passage : " I delight to do thy will." Now, just think of
what the will of God in this instance comprehended. The
veiling the essential glory, the tabernacling in human
flesh, the homeless wandering, the pangs of desertion and
treachery, the abhorred contact with evil, the baptism of
fire, beside the crown of sorrow, the dread hiding of the
Father's countenance in portentous eclipse. And into this
more than Egyptian darkness Jesus delighted to enter, for
the sake of fallen man. When he assumed the form of a
servant, and, actually incarnate, entered upon the work of
redemption, it was with no reluctant step, in no hireling
spirit. It was his meat and his drink ; as necessary and
pleasing to him as his daily sustenance, to do the
will of his Father which was m heaven. Steadily
pursuing one purpose, he was heedless of all that hindered;

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

101

he felt iiTcprcssiblo longings for its accomplislimcnt; and
his soul was like a prisoned bird, that dashes itself for
freedom against the grating of the cage: "I have a baptism
to be baptised with; how am I straitened till it be ac-
complished*" Steadily pursuant of that purpose, he was
heecQess of all that hindered. Now passing through a
threatening mob, now turning from an offered crown, now
resisting wisely the temptations of the enemy, now casting
behind him the more dangerous, because more affectionate
remonstrances of his disciples, and now repelling the sug-
gestive aid of twelve legions of angels from heaven. Oh,
as sinners like ourselves, at far off, reverent distance,
watch him in his redemptive course — as, one wave after
another wave, the proud waters go over his soul, and he
dashes of the spray, and holds on his course, unfaltering
and steady, to the end — with w^hat depth of gratitude
should we render him the homage of our hearts, and with
what earnestness and self-accusation should we take to
ourselves the burden of every melancholy sigh!

"For all his wounds to sinners cry —
' I suflfered this for you. "

III. I observe, thirdly, the Saviour's ASSUMPT19N of

HUMANITY WAS NOT ONLY CONDESCENDING AND VOLUN-
TARY, BUT IT WAS COMPLETE. It was no mock assump-
tion of humanity. The whole nature was taken on. He
had a human body with all its infirmities; he had a
human soul with its completeness of faculty, and its ca-
pability of endurance, with its every capacity, with its
every affection. There were three reasons which seemed
to render this entire assumption of human nature neces-
sary. It was necessary, first, because the man had sinned,
and upon the man, therefore must come the brand of Jeho-
vah's displeasure. It was necessary, secondly, that the
world might have the best, and utmost manifestation of
God, and that humanity, too gross and bewildered to com- '
prehend ideas that were purely spiritual, might see in the
Incarnate Son the highest embodied possibility of being.

102

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

It was necessary, thirdly, that the felt need of the people
in all ages of the world's history might be supplied — the
need of perfect pureness, allied to perfect sympathy — of
the strength y^hich was omnipotent to deliver, married to
the tenderness that was brave and deep to feel. The com-
plete humanity of Jesus has been attested by abundant
authentications. In every legitimate sense of the word
he was a man with man. He did not take our sinful
nature upon him; that is only an inseparable accident of
humanity; it came in after the creation, and it should go
out before the end. Therefore in every legitimate sense
of the word, he was man with man. He was born help-
less as other children are. His early years were spent in
the house of his reputed father, working at his handicraft
for bread. He grew in wisdom and in stature as other
children grow ; not at once, but by the slow ripening of
years developed into the maturity of man. When he en-
tered on his public ministry and went out among his
fellows, he sustained, as they did, the relationships of
mutual dependence and help. He was no self-elected re-
former. He was no turbulent inflamer of unholy passions.
Faulty as was the government under which he lived, he
was a loyal subject, paid the tribute money without mur-
murihg, and submitted himself to every ordinance of man.
He was no dark ascetic ; he was a brother of the multi-
tudes, mingling in all the grief and cheerfulness of life.
If men invited him to their houses, he went and sat down
with them at their boards. If they asked him to their
marriage festivals, he graced them with his presence, and
turned the water into wine; and mingled his tears with theirs
when the light of their homes was quenched, and when
some loved one was suddenly withdrawn. His care for
them who trusted him ceased not with his own danger, for,
having loved his own, he loved them to the end. His filial
affection was conspicuous throughout every part of his life,
and shone radient as a star through the darkness of his
agony. He was the man Christ Jesus. How is it that
you identify him with our nature ? What are the peculiar

I* ■:?■■■■

THE INCARNATION OF CimiST.

103

cliaractoriatica .)ywhicliyou understand that such a ono
is pai-taker of humanity? Does human nature hunger^
He hungered in the ])lnin when? the dekisive fig-tree grew.
Does human nature tliirst? He felt the pang sharply on
the cross. Is human nature wearied under the |)ressure
of travelling and of toil? He sat thus upon the well.
Does human nature weep unbidden tears? Pity wrun^
them from him as he gazed upon the fated and lost Jeru-
salem; and sorrow wrung them from him at the grave
where Lazarus lay. Does human nature shrink and fear
in the prospect of impending trial, cowering beneath the
apprehended peril, and pray that dread pangs may be
spared it? In the days of his flesh, when he poured out,
his supplications with strong crying and tears, "he was;
heard, in that he feared." He was the man Christ. Come,,
ye seekers after the sublime, behold this man — marred
enough by sorrow, but not at at all by sin ; decorated with
every grace, yet disfigure^ by no blemish of mortality; ray-
ing out warmth and life into the hearts and homes of men;
with not an act that you can trace up to selfishness, and
not a word that you can brand as insincere; with his
whole life of kindness, and his death an expiation — behold
the Divine Man ! Talk of the dignity of human nature —
it is there, and you can find it nowhere in the universe be-
side. "The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power," the
skill to make canvas speak, or marble breathe, or to play
upon men's hearts as upon harp of many tune^ the mad
ambition that would climb to fame, by slopes where the
trampled lie, and where the red rain drops from many a
heart's blood — what are claims to his ! Hush, ye candi-
dates for greatness, and let him speak alone. Erase meaner
names from thy tablets, thou applauding world, and chron-
icle this name instead. Shrine it in your living hearts,
those of you who trust in his atonement, and who come by
his mediation unto God; grave it there deeper than all
other names — the man Christ Jesus.

IV. I observe, fourthly, The incarnation of the
Saviour was not only condebcending. anp vqlijntaby,

104

THE TNf!ARNATTON OF CHRIST,

i' i

AND f'OMPLETE, HUT IT WAS AF.SO, AND f'TTFEFTT, ATONTNO. —
The ^rcat pui-poHo for vvlilcli lu; caiiio into tlui world
could not !)(' piopci'ly acconi])lish(>d but tlirouf^di d(»ath.
Jt was through death that lie was to destioy lilni that had
the power of death, tliat is, tlie devil. IntiniatiouH of this
had come previously into the world, in the visions of seers,
from the lips of })ro[)hets, in the adumbrations and typical
shadowings of some great Offerer, who, in the end of the
world, should appear to put away sin by the sacrifice of
himself All other purposes, however seperably noticeable,
because subordinate and subsidiary to this. Hence Christ
did not become partaker of flesh and blood that he might
give to the world a spotless example. Although holiness,
illustrious and unspotted, does beam out from every action
of his life, he was not incarnate in order that he might im-
press upon the world the teachings of pui'e morality;
although such were the spirituality of his lessons, and the
power with which he taught them, that, "never man spako
like this man." He did not assume our nature merely that
he might work his healing wonders, showing' before the
bleared vision of the world, omnipotence in beneficent
action. All these things, however seperably noticeable,
were not vast enough or grand enough to have brought the
Saviour from heaven. Miracles, precepts, kindnesses, all
these were collateral blessings — flowers that sprung up, as
at the tread of the fabled goddess, wherever he appeared.
Large and full in his sight, through all the years of his
incarnate life, more distinctly, more vividly, in the last
years of his ministry, loomed the shadow of the figure of
the cross: "That is the end of my toil; that is the consum-
mation of my purpose. I am straitened till I get to that;
I have not fulfilled my mission, and expressed all the
Divine energy that I am to pour out upon the world, until
I reach that. There is the goal of all my endeavours ;
there I see my true ofldce before me — the surety of insol-
vent humanity, the friend of a forsaken race, the refuge
and succour of endaiigered man." If you will think for a
while, you will see how all the other characteristics of the ,

THE INCAUNATION OF CHRIST.

105

incarnation convor/^od liere, tinJ were each of them
necessary in order to give this, the niaster-piirpoflo, its
efficacy and its power. It was necessary tliat a being of
lioly estate should condescend, Divinity sustaining
humanity under tlie pressure of agony, and inipartirig
to humanity a plcntitude of atoning nieritoriousness.
It was necessary that the offering should he vohintary,
hecause there could be no availableness in exacted suf-
fering; and the offering must be profoundly willing
before it couhl ho infiuitely worthy. It was necessary
that the whole nature should bo taken on, because the
man had sinned, and the man must die ; and as huma-
nity, in its federal representative, the first Adam, had
been drawn to death, so humanity, in its federal repre-
sentative, the second Adam, might have the free gift
coming upon all men unto jus'tihcation of life.

Now, you see how far we have got in our search for
an accepted propitiation. We have got a willing vic-
tim. We have got a willing victim, in the nature that
had sinned ; we have got a willing victim, in the nature
that had sinned with no obligation of his own, and all
whose merit, therefore, could be to spare for the redemp-
tion of the sinner. Justice herself required only
another exaction, and that is, that this willing victim
should be free from taint, whether of hereditary or ac-
tual crime. N'ow, the miraculous conception freed
from the hereditary taint of human nature ; and, thus
freed from hereditary defilement, he was born, not of
blood, not in the ordinary method of human generation,
nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but
of God. And he moved about in the midst of his fel-
lows in an atmosphere of impurity, yet escaping its con-
tagion. Like the queenly moon shining down upon
the haunts of beggars, and dens of thieves, yet preserv-
ing its chastity and its brilliance unimpaired, he movcvl
among the scum and oftscouring of human society, and
could say, " Which of you convictethmeof sin ?'' He
was holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners ;

I !■

II.

106

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

evoking from heaven its attesting thunders ; charming
the wondering earth with spotlessness which it had
never seen before; and (crown of triumph!) wringing
from baffled demons the reluctant acknowledgement,
" We know thee who thou art, the Holy One of God."
Here, then, is the perfected oiFering — a willing victim ;
r. willing victim in the nature that had sinned, and free
from taint, free from obligation, man's eternal Saviour,
God's incarnate Son. Follow him in the shadow of
his passion. Close upon the agony of Geihsemane
came his arrest by the treachery of one whom he had
honored. Patiently he bears the ribaldry and insult in
the dishonored judgement-hall of Pilat J. Wearily he
treads the pathway to Calvary, bearing his own cross.
Now, the cross is reared. The multitude are gathered
about the hill of shame. The nails are fastened into
the quivering flesh ; and in agony and torture ebbs his
pure life away. The last ministering g-ngel leavej him,
for he must tread the wine-press alone. Darkness gath-
ers suddenly round ; and — oh, mystei y of mystery ! —
the Father hides his face from the Beloved. Darkness
deepens in the sky and in the mind — how long, the
affrighted gazers know not. A cry bursts through the
gloom, sharp, shrill, piercing. All is silent — it is fin-
ished ! The night, that had climbed up strangaly to
the throne of noon, as suddenly dispersed. The mul-
titude, that eager and wondering had gathered round
the hill of shame, separated to their several homes,
talking about the tradgedy they had witnessed.
The moon rose on high as calmly as if the sun had not
set on a scene of blood. But, oh ! what a change those
few hours had wrought in the fortunes of the world.
Christ had died, the just for the unjust, that he might
bring us to God. Go, tell it to that despairing sinner
.^that man, I mean, who has the cord about his neck,
and the pistol at his throat, who is just about to escape
from the terrible harrowings of an alarmed conscience,
by the dreadful alternative of self-murder. Go to him ;

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

lOT

iharming
3h it had
wringing
igement,
of God."
^ victim ;
and free
Saviour,
tiadow of
hsemane
n he had
insult in
3arily he
vn cross,
gathered
led into
ebbs his
vej him,
ess gath-
stery ! —
)arknesfl
ong, the
)ugh the
-it is fin-
ngaly to
he mul-
d round
. homes,
tnessed.
had not
ge those
e world,
le might
g sinner
is neck,
) escape
science,
to him ;

be quick; tell him he need not die, for Christ has died,
has died to bear his sins away. Proclaim salvation
from the Lord for wretched dying men. Sound it out
from the summit of tliat hill-side of Calvary, and let the
sister hills echo it, until round the earth has spread the
rapturous hosanna — Salvation ! Go v/ith it to the
wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and
naked ; it is just the thing they need — Salvation !
Ring it out through every avenue of this vast metropo-
lis of a world, till it rouse the slumbering dust, and
awake the coffined dead — Salvation! Take it to your
own hearts — be sure of that ; and, in the fullness of
your own experience, let us hear your song : " There
is, therefore, now no condemnation to them that are in
Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after
the Spirit."

How is it with you, brethren ? How is it with you
to-night ? Have you any personal interest in the in-
carnation of the Saviour ? Has the realizing change
by which you are enabled to understand the purposes of
the Saviour's advent come upon your heart ? Have the
purposes of his advent been fulfilled in your experience?
He came " to destroy him that had the power of death,"
that is, the devil — to counter-work him on his own
ground ; is hs slain in you — vanquished and overcome
in you ? He came " to deliver +hem who through fear
of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage ;"
are you freed trom the tyranny ? Have you entered
into the liberty wherev/ith Christ has promisee) to make
you free ? He has accomplished his purpose. Many
a one has gone blithely to the s+ake in the name of
Jesus ; many a one has marched steadily with eyes
open to meet the last enemy, trusting in Jesus. No,
not much fear of death about Stephen, when in the
gloom of that fierce council he looked up and saw
heaven opened, and the Son of Man standing at the
right hand of the throne of God, and all that were in
the council, looking steadfastly on him, saw his face as

!,'.:

108

THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST.

li ' ' '■■

\k !

it had been the face of an angel. ^N'ot much fear of
death in Paul. That is more patent to your experi-
ence, perhaps ; for he was a blasphemer onoo, y^e know
— a persecutor once, an injurious man once ; but he
obtained mercy, and he is presented in what I take to
be one of the sublimest passages of Scripture ; "I am
in a strait betwixt two" — frail, erring, sinful, mortal
man poised, so to speak, in balance between both worlds,
having the choice of either, and not knowing which to
take — " I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to
depart and to be with Christ, which is far better ;" but
to remain in the flesh is more needful for you." Not
much fear of death there. He came " to deliver them
who, through fear of death, were all their life-time sub-
ject to bondage." How is it with you ? Does the
Spirit take of the things of Christ and show them to
you ? Does he witness to you of your own personal
adoption into the family of God ? If yon hesitate to
say that, can you say, as the old woman in Scotland said,
when questioned upon the fact of her adoption : "I
can say this : either I am changed or the world is
changed." Can you say that ? Has the cautery begun
its work i Is the proud flesh getting eaten out by the
live coal from the altar ? Are you ceasing to do evil
and learning to do well — bringing forth fruits meet for
repentance? Do you hate sin with ev-^r-increasing
hatred, and press forward to the cultivation of the things
that are of good report and lovely ? Alas ! it will be
sad for you if the incarnation of Christ should be to you
a mystery forever, if there be no light coming upon nis
purposes, no experience of the fulfilment of them in
your own hearts. Oh, seek first the kingdom of God
and his rigteousness. Hallow this dedicatory service by
the dedication of your own hearts to God. Let there be
this sacrifice, a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable,
which is your reasonable service.

.»>

L fear of
expen-
se know
but he
take to
"lam
mortal
worlds,
^hicli to
lesire to
but
liTot
er tliem
me sub-
>oes the
them to
)ersonal
jitate to
nd said,
on : "I
vorld is
Y begun
b by the
do evil
leet for
Teasing
3 things
will be
e to you
pon nis
ihem in
of God
[•vice by
there be
3ptable,

)y''''

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-Jy. V^

VI.

ZEAL m THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

"For -whether we be beside ourselves, it is to God; or whether we be
sober, it is for your ctjuse. For the love ot Christ constraineth us ; be-
cause we thus judge, that if one died for all,', then were all dead; and that
he died for all, that they who live should not henceforth live unto them-
selves, but unto him who died for them, and rose again."— 2 Cok. v. 13-15.

T is always an advantage for the advocate of
any particular cause to know tlie tactics of his
adversary. He will he the better prepared for
the onset, a^id repel the attack the more easily. Fore-
warned of danger, he will intrench himself in a position
from which it will be impossible to dislodge him. The
Apostle Paul posessed this advantage in a very eminent
degree. In the earlier years of his apostlesliip, the Jew
and the Greek were the antagonists with whom he had
to contend. Having been hiniself a member of the
straitest sect of the Jews, he knew full well the
antipathy with which they regarded anything which
set itself by its simplicity in contrast with their
magnificent ritual; and he knew also the haughty
scorn with which they turned away from what
they deemed the unworthy accessories of the
Kazarene. And, well read as he was in classic literature,
and acquainted with all the habits and tendencies of the
Grecian mind, he could readily understand how the
restraints of the Gospel would be deemed impertinent by
the voluptuous Corinthian, and how the philosophic
Athenian would brand its teachers mad. And yet,
rejoicing in the experimental acquaintance with the
Gospel^ he says, for his standing-point of advantage:

110

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

■ . ■ )

11 ■ ;

- '•

\ ■ :

■■ ■ ■ ■■•.

b-' t

{

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" We preach Christ crucified, to the Jews a stumbling-
block and to the Greeks foolishness, but to them that are
calle;d, the power of God and the wisdom of God." And
in the words of the text, addressing some of those very
Corinthians upon whom the Gospel had exerted its power,
he seems to accept the stigma and vindicate the glorious
madness : " For whether we be beside ourselves, it is to
God : or whether we be sober it is for your cause. For
the love of Christ constraineth us ; because we thus judge
that if one died for all, then were all dead : and that he
died for all, that they who live should not henceforth live
unto themselves, but unto him who died for them, and
rose again." The great purpose of the Apostle in these
words is to impress upon us the fact that the cause of
Christ in the world, sanctioned by the weight of so many
obligations, fraught with the destinies of so many millions,
should be furthered by every legitimate means ; that for
it, if necessary, should be employed the soberest wisdom ;
and for it, if necessary, tlie most impassioned zeal. He
vindicates the use of zeal in the cause of Christ by the
three following considerations ; First, from the condition
of the world; secondly, from the obligations of the
Church ; and, thirdly, from the master-motive of the
Saviour's constraining love. To illustrate and enforce
this apostolic argument, as not inappropriate to the
object which has called us together, will be our business
for a few brief moments to-night.

I. The Apostle argues and enforces the use of zeal in
the cause of Christ, in the first place, from the condition
OF THE WORLD. The Apostle speaks of the world as in
a state of spiritual deatli. He argues the universality of
this spiritual death from the universality of the atone-
ment of Christ. " For the love of Christ constraineth
us, because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then
were all dead" — dead in sin, with every vice luxuriant
and every virtue languishing ; dead in law, judicially in
the grasp of the avenger ; nay, " condemned already,"
and hastening to the second death. We need not remin,d

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

Ill

tumbling-
n that are
d." And
hose very
its power,
i glorious
s, it is to
use. For
bus judge
1 tliat lie
forth live
hem, and

in these

cause of
fso many
millions,

that for
wisdom ;
eah Ke

by the
condition

of the
of the

enforce

to the

business

zeal in

JNDITION

d as in
sality of
atone-
traineth
11, then
xuriant
ially in
ready,"
remii^d

you that this is by no means the world's estimate of its
own condition. It is short-sighted, and, thei'cfore, self-
complacent. There is a veil over its eye ; there is a
delusion at its heart. In that delusion it fancies itself
enthroned and stately, like some poor lunatic, an imagi-
nary monarch under the inflictions of its keeper. The
discovery of its true position comes only when the mind
is enlightened from on high. " We thus judge," not
because there is in us any intuitional sagacity, or any
prophetical foresight, by which our judgment is made
more accurate than the judgment of others ; but the
Holy Spirit has come down, has wrought upon us — has
shov/n us the plague of our own hearts — and from the
death within we can the better argue the death which
exists around. And that this is the actual condition of
the world. Scripture and experience combine to testify.
The Bible, with comprehensive impartiality, concludes
all " under sin ;" represents mankind as a seed of evil-
doers—" children that are corrupters ;" — sheep that have
wandered away from the Shepherd and Bishop of their
souls. In the adjudication of Scripture there is no
exemption from this common character of evil, and
from this common exposure o danger. The man of
merciful charities, and the woman of abandoned life
— the proudest peer, and the vilest serf in his barony
— the moralist observer of the decalogue, and the man-
slayer, red with blood, all are comprehended in the broad
and large denunciation : " Ye were by nature children
of wrath, even as others." And out in the broad world
wherever the observant eye travels, you have abundant
confirmation of the testimony of Scripture. You have it
in your own history. The transgressions and^sins which
constitute this moral death abound in our age no less
than in any former age of mankind. There are thousands
around you who revel in undisguised corruption. The?e
are thousands more externally reputable who have only
a name to live. You have this confirmation in the nations
of the Continent — some safely bound by the superstition

112

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

■ill

tm i

of ages ; others subsidiiifij into a reactionary skeptic'sm.
You liave this confinnation further away in tlie countries
which own Mohammedan rule, and cherish the Moham-
medan's dream — where you have unl)ridled lust, and a
tiger's thirst for blood. You have this confirmation in
the far-oflF regions of heathenism proper, where the nature,
bad in itself, is made a thousand-fold worse by its religion
— where the man is the prey of every error, and the
heart the slave of every cruelty — where men live in
destruction, and where men die in despair. Travel where
you will, visit the most distant regions, and search under
the shadow of the highest civilization — penetrate into the
depths of those primeval forests, into whose original
darkness you might have imagined the curse would hardly
penetrate, and the result is uniformly the same. Death
is everywhere. You see it, indeed, in all its varieties ;
now in the rare and fading beauty which it wears just
after the spirit has fled from the clay, when its repose
seems the worn-ouj casket, w^hich the soul has broken, and
thrown away ; now, when there is shed over it a hue of
the sublime, and it is carried amid tears to burial ; and
now, when corruption has begun its work, and its ill odor
affects the neighborhood, and spreads the pestilence — you
see it in all its varieties, but uniformly death is there.
We gather from our melancholy pilgrimage no vestige
of spiritual life. Mourners go about tlie streets, and there
are mourners over many tombs.

Although, as we have observed just now, a thorough
and realizing estimate of the world's condition comes
only when the judgment is enlightened from on high,
the wise men of the world, the minds that have in all
ages towered above their fellows, have felt an unsatisfac-
toriness for which they could hardly account ; they have
had a vague and morbid consciousness that all was not
right somehow, either with themselves or with their race ;
they have met with disturbing forces, signs of irregularity,
tokens of misery and of sin that have ruffled, somewhat,
the philosophic evenness of their minds. Each in his

a a ^w i.

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OE CHRIST.

113

own way, and from his own standpoint, lias guessed at
the solution of the problem, and has been ready with a
suggested remedy. The peoples are imbruted ; educate
them. The nations are barbarous ; civilize them. Men
grovel in sensual pleasure ; cultivate the {esthetic faculty ;
open up to them galleries of pictures ; bring them under
the humanizing influences of art. Men groan in bond-
age ; emancipate them, and bid them be free ! Such are
some of the tumultuous cries that have arisen from earnest
but blind philanthropists, who have ignored the spiritual
part of man's natu' "j, and forgotten altogether the God-
ward relations of his goul. All these, as might have been
expected, valuable enough as auxiliaries, worth some-
thing to promote the growth and comfort of a man when
life has been once imparted, fail, absolutely fail to quicken
the unconscious dead. In all cases the bed has been
shorter than that a man could lie on it, and the covering
narrower than that he could wrap himself in it. The
inbred death lay too deep for such superficial alchemy ;
corpses cannot by any possibility animate corpses ; and
the compassionate bystander fi'om other worlds, sickened
with the many inventions, might be constrained to cry,
" Amid all this tumult of the human, O for something
Divine ! And the Divine is given — Christ has died for
all men. There is hope lor tlie world's life. This is a
death whereby we live ; this is a remedy commensurate
with existing need, and intended entirely to terminate
and extinguish that need.

That squalid savage, whose creed is a perpetual terror,
and whose life is a perpetual war — Christ hath died for
him. That fettered and despairing slave, into whose soul
the iron has entered, valued by his base oppressor about
on a par with the cattle he tends, or with the soil he
digs — Christ hath died for him. That dark blasphemer,
who lives in a familiar crime, whose tongue is set on fire
of hell, whose expatriation would be hailed by the
neighborhood around him as a boon of chiefest value —
Christ has died for him. That dark recliise, whom a^

114

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

|,l

til

awakened conscionce liarappes, nnd who, in tlio vain hope
of aoliievinpf iriorit by Biiifcrino;, wastes himself with
vip:ilant penance woll-niffli to the <rravc — Christ lias died
for him. Oh, tell those tidin^js to the world, and it will
live. Prophesy of this name in the motionless valley,
and the Divine Spirit who always waits to do honor to
Je8ns,will send the afJatvs from the fonr winds of heaven,
and they shall leap into life to his praise.

Now take these two points. Think, in the first place,
of the condition of the world — a condition so disastrous,
that nothing hnt death can ilhistrrite it — a condition
which prostrates every facnlty, which smites the body
with nnnnmbercd cruelties, which dwarfs the mind with
prejudices or distorts it into unholy passion, which
banishes the soul and mind within a man in hopeless
estrangement from happiness and God ; and then think
of the death of Christ, providing for the furthest need,
overtaking the utmost exile, pouring its abundant life
upon the sepulchred nations, diffusing light, liberty, hope,
comfort, heaven : and I appeal to your enlightened judg-
ment whether you are not bound, those of you who believe
m Jesus, to labor for the world's conversion with intensest
energy and zeal. Oh, if temporal miseries elicit sympathy,
and prompt to help ; if the anxieties of a neighborhood
gather around a dro\^ming child, or are fastened upon the
rafters of a burning house, where, solitary and imploring,
Btnnds a single man, already charred by the flame, how
much of sympathy, of effort, of liberality, of zeal, of
prayer, are due to a world lying in the wicked one, and
panting after the second death ! You will agree with
me, that there is more than license for the poet's words :

" On such a theme,
. 'Tis impious to be calm!"

And you will rejoice — will you not ? — to take your stand,
to-night by the Apostle's side, and to cry, when men
deem your zeal impertinence and your efforts fanaticism,
" If we be beside ourselves, it is to God : and it we be
^ober, it is for your cause."

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

115

IT. The Apostle ai'iiiiies the neccHsity for zeal in tho
cause of Christ, soeoiidly, from the oblk^ations ok the
(nruKCH, in thnt he died for id), that they sliould live —
should not henceforth live unto themselves, hut for him
who died for them and rose a^ain. The Ajiostle's argu-
ment is this — none of us has life in himself; if we live at
all, we live by im]nirted life ; we live heeause life has been
drafted into our spinrs from on high. Then it is not our
own ; it belongs to Him who has purehased it for us with
his own blood, and we are bound to employ it in his
service, and for his glory. This also is the c(^nclusion of
an enlightened judgment. We judge this ns well as the
other, and this is in accordance with the whole tenor of
Scripture. Time would fail us to mention a tithe of the
passages in which devotion — the devotion of the heart and
of the service of God, are made matter of constant and
of prominent demand. I will just mention one passage
that may serve as an illustration of all : " I beseech you
therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye give
your bodies as a living sacrifice." Have you ever gauged
the depth of conse(;ration that slumbers in the heart of
those words — " a living sacrifice ;" to be absolutely and
increasingly devoted to God, as if the knife were at the
throat, and the life-1 dood streamed forth in votive offering ?
Nay, better than that ; because the life-blood could stream
out but once, but the living sacrifice may be a per[)etual
holocaust, repeated daiW for a lifetime — a living sacrifice,
holy and acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable
service. From the doctrine of this passage, and of num-
berless others kindred to it, it would appear that the
regenerate heart is not at liberty to live for itself, nor to
aim supremely at its own gratification ; it must live for
him who has " died for it, and who has risen again."
You cannot fail, I think, to perceive that compliance with
this exhortation is utterly antagonistic to the ordinary
procedure of mankind.

In an age of organization against idolatry, there is one
proudj rampant idolatry which retains its ascendency

IIG

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

^^■•■' i

■M

amongst up. Selfislmcpfi is the most patronized idolatry
in the world. It is the great image whoso brightness is
exceedingly terrible, and beforo which all men bow; it
is a tlirone, and an empire, and the likeness of a kingly
crown ; it equips armies and mans armaments to gratify
its lust of power. Fastnesses have been explored and
caverns ransacked to appease its thirst ior gold. It pre-
sides over the council of kings and over the diplomacy of
cabinets; for it the merchant-man grindeth down his
manhood, for it the treader-under-foct of nations marcheth
in its might and in his shame ; its votaries are of all
handicrafts — of the learned professions, and of every
walk in life. It hath sometimes climbed on to the
judgment-seat, and perverted judgment there, The
cowled monk hath hidden it beneath his robe, and it
hath become for him an engine of oppression, and it hath
occasionally robed itself in holy vestments, and entered
the priest's office for a morsel of bread. No grace nor
virtue of humanity is free from its contamination. It
has breathed, and patriotism has degenerated into partis-
anship ; it has breathed, and Iricndship has been simu-
lated for policy ; it has breathed, and charity has been
blemished by ostentation ; it has breathed, and religion
has been counterfeited for gold ; its sway is a despotism
— its territory wherever man hath trodden, and it is the
undisputed anarch of the world. Now it is against this
principle in human nature, throned within us all, dog-
gedly contesting every inch of ground, that Christianity
goes forth to combat. The Gospel absolutely refuses to
allow self to be the governing power, and assaults it in
all its strongholds with precepts of sublime morality. To
the selfishness of avarice it goes up boldly, even while
the miser clutches his gold, and says : " Give to him that
asketli of thee, and from him that would borrow of thee
turn not thou away." To the selfishness of anger it ad-
dresses itself, even when the red spot is yet on the brow
or the angry : " Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath ;"
" Bless tliem that curse you, pray for them that despite-
fuUy use you and persecute you." To the selfishness of

ZfiAL IN THE CAUSE 01? CHRIST.

117

prklc, even in its Imufjjlitinesa and arronjanco, it saya : " In
honor pi'otcrring one another, be clothed with humility,
let each catccni another better thark himself." To the
selfishness of inditterence to the concerns of others,
"Look not on thine own things, but likewise upon the
thiuf^s of others ;" and to the selfishness of souls and
criminal nep;lect of the great salvation, it speaks in tones
of pathos which that must be a callous heart that can
withstand, " Ye know the graces of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who, though he was rich, yet for our sins he became poor,
that wo, through his poverty, might be made rich." Oh,
how small, alongside of august and heavenly precepts
like these, are the sublimist maxims of any merely ethical
morality I

It is said that, once, during the performance of a comedy
in the lloman theatre, one of the actors gave utterance
to the sentiment, " I am a man ; nothing, therefore, that
is human, can be foreign to me," and the audience was
so struck by the disinterestedness, or so charmed by the
novelty, that they greeted it with thunders of applause.
How much greater wealth of kindly wisdom and prompt-
ing to unselfish action lies hidden in the Gospel ot Christ,
shrined there is every-day utterances passed by the most
of us very slightingly by ! Ob. ! let there be anything
like the genial practice of this divine morality, and the
world would soon lose its aspect of desolation and of blood ;
oppression and over-reaching, and fraud and cruelty,
would be frowned out of the societies of men, and this
earth would be once more an ample and a peopled paradise.
By selHshness, as we have thus endeavored to describe it,
we mean that grasping, monopolizing spirit which gets
all and gives nothing ; heedful enough of its own fortunes,
careless of the concerns and interests of others. This is
the principle in our nature which Christianity opposes, and
with which it ceaselessly wages war. But there is a sort
cf selfishness which, lor the sake of distinction, we may
call self-love, which is instinctive, and therefore innocent
— that merciful provibion by which we are prompted to

118

2EAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

\l- !

the care of our own lives and to the avoidance of every-
thing that would disquiet or abridge them. This principle
in our nature fhristianity encourages ; to this principle
Christianity addresses itself: and hence it lias connected,
married in indissoluble union, man's chieftest duty and
man's highest pleasure. Godliness is profitable unto all
things, having the promise of the life that now is. What
has the dark, morbid, unhappy sensualist to do with it ?
Godliness hath the promise of the life " that now is," as
well as ''that which is to come." In keeping thy com-
mandments there is a present reward. " Take my yoke
upon you and learn * of me, for I am meek and lowly in
heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls ; for m/ yoke
is easy and my burden is light." " In thy presence there
is fullness of jo} : at thy right hand there are pleasures
for evermore." Just as it is in man's physical organiza-
tion, and its adajDtation to the material world around him,
when body and mind are alike in health, we can neither
eat, nor drink, nor talk, nor walk nor sleep, nor sing, nor
perform any of the commonest actions of life, without a
sensation of pleasure ; so it is in the spiritual life ; there
is pleasure in its every motion. There is pleasure even
in the sting of penitence ; it is

* "A godly grief and pleasing smart,

That melting of a broken heart."

There is pleasure in the performance of duty; there is
pleasure in the enjoyment of privilege ; there is pleasure
in the overcoming of temptations, a grand thrill of hap-
piness to see trampled under foot a vanquished lust or slain
desire ; there is pleasure in the exercise of benevolence ;
there is pleasure in the opportunity of prayer. Hence
it is that tlie Apostle seeks to rivit the sense of personal
obligation, by the remembrance of personal benefit.
"We thus judge, that he died for all, that they
which live should not henceforth live unto themselves,
but unto him who" — owns them? 'No. Claims them?
No. Will judge them ? Ko; but — "to him who died
for them and rose aijain." Gratitude is to be the best

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OP CHRIST.

110

)f Gvery-
principle
principle
nnected,
luty and
unto all
J. What
witli it ?
►w is," as
:liy coni-
mj yoke
lowly in
in/ yoke
ice there
)leasures
•rganiza-
ind him,
L neither
iing, nor
ithout a
3; there
re even

there is
)leasiire
of hap-
or slain
olence ;

Hence
ersonal
benefit,
they
iselves,

them ?

o died
lie best

prompter to our devotion. Those who live to Christ,
those who live by Christ, will not tamely see his altars
forsaken, his Sabbaths desecrated, his name blasphemed,
the blood of the covenant wherewith he was sanctified
accounted an unhcly tiling. Brethren are you of that
happy family ? Have you obtained life from the dead
through his name ? Then you are bound to spend it for
his honor, and, watching with godly jealousy for every
possible opportunity of doing good, to spend and be spent
for them who have not yet your Master known. I call on
you to answer this invocation ; it belongs to you. There is
no neutrality, believe me, in this war —and if there be some
of you that would like to be dastardly and half-hearted
trimmers, you will find by and by that you have got the
hottest place in the battle, exposed to the cross-fire from
the artillery of both parties. I call on you decisively to-
night to answer this invocation. Call up before your
minds the benefits you have individually received ; think
of the blessings which the death of Christ has procured
for you — the removal of the blightjiig curse which sha-
dowed all your life, the present sense of pardon, mastery
over self and over sin, light in the day of your activity,
and songs in the night of your travail ; the teaching
Spirit to lead you into still loftier knowledge, and the
sanctifying spirit to impress upon you the image of the
heavenly ; that Divine fellowship which lightens the
present, and that majestic hope wliicli makes the future
brighter lar. Think of the benefits which the resurrec
tion of Christ has conferred upon you ; light in the sha-
dowed valley, the last enemy destroyed, support amid the
swellings of Jordan, a guide upon the hither side of the
flood, angelic welcomes, the King in his beauty, and "a
house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."
And then, as the sum of favor is presented, and gratitude
arises and the fire barns, and the heart is full, and the
frame quivers with the intensity of its emotions, just
rem mber that there is a^ world lying in the wicked one,
that there are multitudes, thousands upon thousands, in

120

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRI3X.

!• . '

your owft city, at your own doors, for whom tlie Saviour
died, wlio never heard his name ; that there are multi-
tudes for whom he has abolished deatJi who have never
felt his resurrection's power. Let your tears flow ; better,
far better a tear for God's sake and the world's sake than
the hard-heartedness and darkness of sin. Lift up your
voice in the midst of tliem ; lift it up, be not atr lid. Say
unto the cities of Judah, " Behold your God." Men will
call you mad, but you can give the Apostle's answer, " If
we be beside ourselves, it is to God ; if we be sober, it
is for your cause."

III. The Apostle argues the necessity of zeal in the
cause of Christ, in the third place, from the master motive
of THE Saviour's coNSTRAiifiNa love. "The love of
Christ constraineth us " — forces us along, carries us away
as with the impetuosity of a torrent, or rather as when
cool heavens and favoring air speed the vessel steadily to
tl' 3 haven. Love is at once man's most powerful motive
and his highest inspiration, both in tlie life that now is
and that which is to come. From love to Christ spring
the most devoted obedience, the most untiring efforts in
his service. There are other springs of action, 1 know,
by which men are influenced to a profession ot religion.
Interest can occasionally affect godliness from sordid
aims, and behave itself decorously amid the respectabili-
ties of the temple-going and alms-giving religion ; but it
will give its arm to any man that goes down to the house
of Eimmon ; and if there is a decree that at the sound
of all kinds of music they are to fall down before another
image which has been erected in the plains of Dura, they
will be the most obsequious benders of the knee. Men
sometimes practice obedience under the influence of fear.
A sudden visitation, a prevailing epidemic, an alarming
appeal, will strike into momentary concern ; but when the
indignation is overpast, and the craven soul lias recovered
from its paroxysms of terror, there will often be a relapse
into more than the former atrocities of evil. Convictions
of duty may and sometimes will induce a man, like an

■'i

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

121

honest Pharisee of the olden time, to observe rigidly the
enactments of the law ; but there will be no heart in hi«i
obedience, and no holy passion in his soul ; but let the
love of God be shed abroad in his heart by the Holy
Ghost given unto him, let there be a perception of love
in God, let there be a sight of the Crucified as well as
of the cross, and there will be a disinterested, and cheer-
ful, and hearty obedience. Zeal for God will become at
once a passion and a principle, intensifying every purpose
into ardor, and filling the whole soul with the vehemence
of absorbing desire. This is the emotion from whose
natural and inevitable outflow the Apostle vindicates
impassioned zeal.

Opinions are divided as to whether the constraining
love spoken of in the text, refers to Christ'b love to us or
to our love to him, which the sense of his love has
enkindled in the soul. I do not think we can go far
wrong if we take both meanings, inasmuch as no prin-
ciple of exposition is violated, and as we need the pressure
of a combination of motive, that we may be zealously
aftected always in this good thing. Ye, then, if there
are any of you here who need rousing to energy in the
service of 'Christ, think of his love t( > you ; how rich its
manifestations, and how unfeigned; how all other love of
which it is possible for you to conceive shrinks in the
comparison ! There have been developments in the
histories of years of self-sacrificing aifection, which has
clung to the loved object amid hazard and suflfering, and
which has been ready even to ofier up life in its behalf.
Orestes and Pylades, Damon and Pythias, David and
Jonathan, what lovely episodes their histories give us
amid a history of selfishness and sin ! Men have canon-
ized them, partly because such instances are rare, and
partly because they are like a dim hope of redemption
looming from the ruins of the fall. We have it on in-
spired authority, indeed, '• Greater love hath no man
than this" — this is the highest point which man can
compass, this is the culminating point of that affection
d2 ■

122

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OP CHEIS'^.

:• i'

which man can by possibility attain, the apex of his
loftiest pyramid goes no higher than this — " greater love
hath no man than this, that a man lay down nis life for
his friend ; but God commendeth his love toward us, in
that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us." A
brother has sometimes made notable efforts to retrieve a
brother's fortunes, or to blanch his sullied honor ; but
there is a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother. A
father has bared his breast to shield his offspring from
danger, and a mother would gladly die for the offspring
of her womb ; but a father's affection may fail in its
strength, and yet more rarely a mother's in its tenderness,

" I saw an aged woman, bowed
* Mid weariness and care;
Time wrote in sorrow on her brow,
And 'mid ber frosted hair.

" What was it that like sunbeam clear
O'er her wan features ran,
As, pressing toward her deafened ear,
I named her absent son ?

" What was it ? Ask a mother's breast,
Through which a fountain flows,
. Perennial, fathor^less, and blest,

, ' By winter never froze.

"What was it? Ask the King of kings.
Who hath decreed above,
What change should mark aU earthly things
;- Except a mother's love! "

And " can a woman forget her sucking child, that she
should not have compassion on the son of her womb ?
Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee." O
Jesus of Nazareth, who can declare thee ? " Herein is
love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and
sent his Son to be a propriation for our sins." Think of
that love — love which desertion could not abate — love
which ingratitude could not abate — which treachery
could not abate — ^love which death could not destroy —
love which, for creatures hateful and hating one another,
stooped to in jarn^tion, and suffered want, and embraced

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHIllST.

123

deatli, and slirark not even from the loathsomeness and
from the humiliation of hurial ; and then, with brimming
eye, and heart that is full, and wonder " Why, snch love
to me ?" you will indeed be ungrateful if you are not
stirred by it to an energy of consecration and endeavor,
which may well seem intemperate zeal to the cool
reckoners with worldly wisdom. Then take the other
side of the argument ; take it as referring to your love to
Christ, which the sense of his love has enkindled in the
soul. The deepest affect^'^n in the believing heart will .
always be the love of Jesus. The love of home, the love
of friends, the love of letters, the love of rest, the love of
travel, and all else, are contracted by the side of this
master-passion. " A little deeper," said one of the
veterans of the first Napoleon's old guard, when they
were probing in his bosom for a bullet that had mortally
wounded him, and he thought they were getting some-
where in the region of the heart — " a little deeper and
you will find the Emperor." Engraven on the Christian's
heart deeper than all other love of home or friends, with
an inefi'aceable impression that nothing can erase, you
find the loved name of Jesus. Oh ! let this afifection
impel us, and who shall measure our diligence or repress
our zeal ! Love is not bound by rule ; there is no law
that can bind it ; it is never below the precept, it is
always up to the precept, but it always has a margin of its
own. It does not calculate, with mathematical exacti-
tude, with how little of obedience it can escape penalty '
and secure recompense ; like its Master it gives in princel/
style ; it is exuberant in its manilestations ; there is
always enough and to spare. And if meaner motive can
prompt to heroic ac tion — if from pure love of science
astronomers can cross ocean familiarly, and dare encounter
dangers, just that they may watch in distant climes the
transit of a planet across tlie disc ot the sun — and if
botanists can travel into inhospitable climes and sojourn
among inhospitable men, only to gather specimens of their
gorgeous flora — and if, with no motive but love of country,

It.

124

ZEAL IN THE CAUSE OF CHRIST.

and no recompense save bootless tears and an undying
name, a Willougliby could sacrifice liimself to blow up
a magazine, and a barkeld could fire the Cashmere Gate
at Delhi, surely we, witli obligations incomparably liigher,
with the vows of profession on our lips, with death busy
in the midst of us, and souls going down from our doors
into a joyless and blasted immortality, ought to present
our life-blood, if need be, for tlie cause of Christ, and for
the good of souls. Let the scofters spurn at us as the
will ; we are far superior to such poor contumely. Heave
applauds our enthusiasm, and we can vindicate it in the
Apostle's words : " If we be beside ourselves, it is to God ;
and if we be sober, it is for your cause."

:"M

YII.

THE CHRISTIAN'S INIIEEITANCE.

••Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that
I desire beside tliee. My flesh and my heart failcth: but God is tho
strength of my heart, and my portion for ever."— Psalm Ixxiii. 25, 20.

Y flesli and my heart failotli." Wlio does not
understand that? It is the common lot — the
uniform and continual experience of the race.
" The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry ?
All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the
flov/er of the field ; the orass withereth, the flower fadeth,
because the spirit of tli . Lord bloweth upon it : surely
the people is grass." This almouncement of mortality,
coming thus solemnly in a voice from heaven, finds its
echo in the experience of mortals themselves ; for how-
ever they may attempt to disguise it — with whatever
study, perseverance, and hypocrisy they may conceal their
feelings — it is an undeniable and startling truth that the
living know that they must die. Death, my brethren, is
a theme of mighty import. El oquence has been exhausted
upon the wide-spread magnitude of its desolation ; there
is not a place where human beings congregate which
does not tell them that they are mortal. Is it a family ?
Death enters and makes household memories painful, and
turns home into the dwelling of the stranger. Is it a
market-place ? It is a busy, stirring throng which fills it
as ever, but they are new faces that meet the eye, new
voices which fall upon the ear. Is it a congregation ?
Our fathers, where are they? The prophets, do they

126

THE CHRISTIAN rf INHERITANCE.

live forever? I« it a world? Every thirty years its
mighty heart is changed in continual supercession ; one
generation comes upon the heels of another, and the
bones of our fathers form the dust on which we tread.
And yet, strange to say, there is an almost universal
listlessness upon the subject, and the saying of the poet
seems well-nigh to be verified, tiiat

"All men think all men mortal but themselves.

»>

\r'

,. .j

Look at the man of the world — does not he seem as if
he thought he should live forever — as if he thought only
on the paltry, perishable matters with which he happens
to be surrounded? Circumstances may indeed now and
then occur in his history which may compel a transient
recognition of eternity : his eye may perhaps rest upon
the Bible, or a fimeral procession may cross his path as
he walks the streets of the city, or a passing bell, with
its slow and solemn tolling, may break suddenly upon his
ear, and the thought comes on his mind for a moment
that there may possibly be such a thing as death. But
it was but for a moment ; it was a stray thought of eternity
— one whose advances are at once forbidden as an unwel-
come intruder ; he was ruffled for awhile — taken aback for
an instant — but time passed away, and he has become as
still, and as slumbering, and as senseless as before.
Brethren, we might rebuke that insensibility from the
records of ancient history. It is recorded of Alexander,
the conqueror of one world, that he wept because there
was no otiier world to conquer. Alas ! men now-a-days
have sadly degenerated ; they have no such ambition, they
mourn over no such cause of grief. However, there is,
brethren, whether men reck ot it or not, there is another
world to conquer. The battle is not with the confused
nohie of war, or garments rolled in blood ; the enemies
are not flesh and blood, but principalites and powers, and
the rulers of the darkness of this world, and spiritual
wickedness in high places. The prize is not an earthly

THE CJIRISTIAN S INHERITANCE.

12T

^ears its
on; one
and the
tread,
niversal
he poet

ni as if
:ht only
lappens
ow and
•ansient
it upon
path as
1, with
ipon his
noment
. But
iternity
unwel-
ack for
3me as
before.
)ni the
ander,

there
a-days
i, they
3re is,
lother
ifused
emies
3, and
iritual
irthly

crown, but a kingdom of wliose l)rilliancy the Macedonian
never knew. Yet many never enter this battle-lield, and
many who do, after a few brief and ineffectual struggles,
grow tired, and inglorioualy lay down their arms.
Brethren, we are anxious that you should not be thus
cowardly in the day of battle ; we wouid have you quit
yourselves like men and be strong; and we know of
nothing that is better calculated to arouse your fortitude
and brmg into play that high and fearless heroism which
we are exhorted by the Apostle to add to our faith, than
tlie consolation of the words of the text, bringing before
us, as they do, the Christian's personal inheritance, and
hope, and future prospects : '' Whom have I in heaven
but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire
])eside thee. My flesh and my heart faileth : but God is
the strength of my heart, and my portion forever."

We need not spend time in endeavoring to prove to
you, that it is one characteristic of the wicked that " God
is not in all his thoughts," He may not go so far as
openly to deny either his being or intelligence, but could
you search his heart you would discover it to be a matter
of the supremest indifference. A faint whisper of the
Divine existence never obtrudes itself into his schemes,
whether of aggrandizement or pleasure ; and he is content,
so far as he is concerned, to enjoy the uncared-for inheri-
tance of this world. Nay, oftentimes his presumption is
more galling and flagrant still : aspiring to be his own
deity, he pays homage to himself, and with Eastern devo-
tion does he worship at the shrine of his idol.

How, then, was this stray spirit to be won back to
God ? This was the question which engaged the Divine
attention, and the answer to which became to the angelic
host a matter of mystery and wonder. The law was un-
doubtedly powerless ; it had been broken, its require-
ments flagrantly violated, and wherever man went it
proscribed him a fugitive and a rebel. Moreover, it is
the tendency of the law rather to irritate than to heal —
rather to beget unfriendliness than tenderness toward the

128

THE CHRISTIAN ri INIIERITANf'E.

...^■j^-

law-givcr in the breast of tlie criminal, llcncc yon may
l)ring God before the sinner's mind in liis cliaracter of a
God of judgment ; you may manifest to tlie sinner the
frowns of his angry countenance; you may collect all
the arguments of terror which language can t^ather ; and
you may arm these arguments of terror with pdditional
energy by descanting on the thunder of his power ; you
may set before him the horrible spectacle of his own im-
pending death, and the unknown horrors of that eternity
which is on the other side ; you may disquiet him with
all these appliances (and it is ouite right he should
be disquieted) ; you may induce a partial reformation of
life and cliaracter (and it is necessary that he should re-
form) ; you may set him trembling at the power of the
lawgiver (and a thousand times rather let him tremble
than sleep) ; but where, in the midst of all this, is there
obedience to the first and great Ck. mmandment 'i Is the
love of God shed abroad in his heart 'i Has it dawned upon
the darkness of his mind ? has its gentle influence acted
like a salutary and composing charm over his alarmed
breast 'i l^o ; all your appliances have failed, there has
been no conviction implanted except the conviction of
fear. The thunders of executive justice and the power
of judicial vengeance have failed to impress his heart ;
thei'e it is, like a fortress, firm, impregnable, granite-like
on its adamantine rock ; and that which was intended to
draw the soul into closer communion ^o God has only
driven him to a more hopeless distance from God. How,
then, was the stray spirit to be won back to God ? Oh,
brethren, '^ what tlie law could not do, in that it was weak
through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the like-
ness of sinful flesh " — mark the words ; not in the reality
of sinful, but in the Uke^iess of sinful, though in reality
of human — '' in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin,
condemned sin in the flesh." By the mysterious incavna-
tion of the Mighty One all difficulties were removed.
The dignity of the throne remained unsullied, while the
milder beams of mercy were mad^ to fall upon it ; and

God (
justifi^

!:• *

THE CilRISTIANS INUEUITANC I'.

129

God could at once be just, and yet tlio free and generoiifl
justlfier of them that believe in Jer^us. The all-eompris-
ing offering of the Saviour'^ blood made at once an
atonement, an at-one-ment between God and man. The
moment the man exercises faith in Chrirtt the reconcilia-
tion is complete. The Lord is hi^ defence ; the holy one
of Israel his refuge ; and he who a while ago was an alien,
unredeemed and desolate — a worthy companion of the
beast in his lair, a fit follower on the serpent's trail — is
now clothed, in his right mind, careering along in the
enterprise of godliness, a fellow-citizen of saints and of
the household of God. And this brings us immediately to
speak of our present meditation, God as the recompense of
the believino; soul. " Whom have I in heaven but thee."
and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee ?

We find three thoughts my dear brethren, which tend
forcibly to impress this matter upon our minds.

I. In the first place, God is the Curistian's inherit-
ance AS THE LIGHT OF HIS INTELLECT. There is nothing
for which man is more accountable than for his posses-
sion of mind — for his improvement and abuse of those
powers with which the mind is gifted. It is a beneficent
gift from a beneficent Being, but, then, by partaking of
the nature of the immortal, it entails upon him the respon-
sibilities of an immortal also. Few are the subjects which
it cannot penetrate ; difficulties but urge it to a course of
loftier efforts, and, like the avalanche of snow, it gains
additional momentum from the' obstacles that threaten to
impede it. Our position is this ; Mind never finds its
level, never finds its rest, until it is fixed upon the things
above ; active, inquiring, speculative, impassioned ; like
the eagle towering from his erie on the cliff, its course is
right upward to the sun, and in the beams of uncreated
light alone it finds its home, and its kindred, and its joy.
The great purpose of man in the present world is to pass
from a passive to an active state ot being. And it is, in
fact, this transition, effected by the agency of the Holy
Spirit, which is that regeneration of which Scripture speaks.

130

THE christian's INHERITANCE.

t 1

By nature, man is under the doniinion of habit ; the
Spirit brings him under tlio dominion of principle. By
nature, a man exercises himself in all his doing without
reference to God ; in j^race, the Spirit dwells in the heart
as the sanctifier and the guide. By nature, a man, under
temporary impulses of master-passions, may put forth
energies which awe the world, but they are of tne earth,
earthy; but the Spirit, so to speak, implants heavenly
ideas in his mind, and he gets power and capacity to think
of God. By nature, the man cleaves to the dust, is con-
versant only with what is contemptible and low, and at
last sinks into perdition ; in grace he draws himself up to
his full stature, asserts his native royalty, and, as a heaven-
born and heaven tending subject, claims kindred with the
King of the other world. In iine, by nature the man
walks in darkness, the shadows of the night are around
him, and he knoweth not whither he goeth ; in grace, the
morning has broken delightfully on the steps of the travel-
ler, and he is revived and invigorated by the light of day.
Brethren, there is one point here which, if you are all
like-minded with myself, you w^ill hail with no common
satisfaction. I am loth to part with those I love ; I am
loth to regard them as strangers, because they change their
residence, and are just gone to live on the other side of
the stream. I won't pay death the compliment of telling
him he has divided the Churc'i He cannot do that.
There is only one army of the liv^ing God : .

•Tart of the host have crossed the flood,
And part are crossing now ; "

but it is one army ; there is but one body growing up into
Christ — its living head. The head and the upper mem-
bers in heaven and lower members on earth ; but it is but
one system and one body ; and at no very distant period
the whole body shall be drawn into the upper sanctuary,
and stand out to the gaze of the admiring universe in the
full stature of the perfect man. I hail with joy, therefore,
anything that has a tendency to bring me even in thought

.,»

THE CHRISTIAN .S INHERITANCE.

131

near to tlio loved iuu\ (rona bofarc. T welcome us the
iiiinisteriii<ij iin<f(i\ the voice of kindnefts which brings mo
tidings from the realms wliere my friends are reposing.

The thought, then, that gives me such satisfaction, is
this, that now, even now, clogged as wo are by tho frailty
and weakness of tho body, wo and tlioso departed ones
who hav« died in tho faith are walkinf^ in tho same light.
Wo are told that the Lord is tho liglit of his people in
heaven ; we know that tho Lord is the light of his people
on earth. Wo are told that tho glory of tho Lord is tho
sole illuminat'on of tho heavenly Jerusalem ; we know
that the glory of tho Lord illummates the earthly Zion ;
tho lamp of light above, tho spirit of light beneath — the
same light, for they are both God. There is a beauty in
this conception — don't you see it ? — because it gives us
the notion of alliance ; it repudiates the idea of this earth
of ours as cast off from God's fatherhood, a shrouded and
forgotten thing. It takes hold of it in its degradation,
and fastens round it one end of the chain, the other end
of which is bound to the throne of the Everlasting himself.
And, oh ! is it not a beautiful thought, ay, while here to-
night in the sanctuary we are opening our Bibles, and
imploring^ the Spirit of God to shine down upon the
truth, faith looks through tho clouds — and they are very
thin ones —and sees a host of bright spirits above, engaged
in the same employment, desiring to look into the same
things. We are one with them after all. Tho light may
fall, the light does fall, with a more gushing flood-tide
upon their eyes, but it is the same light. There they are,
with the Great Teacher in the midst of them, poring
everlastingly upon the tale of pleading love. Such
students and such a teacher, who would not join ; and,
as the light of the intellect, adopt at once and forever
the words of the text : " Whom have I in heaven but
thee ? and there is none upon the earth that I desire beside
thee."

II. And then again, God is tee Christian's inherit-
ANOB, not only as the light of his intellect, but as the

132

THE christian's INHEIUTANCE.

rl!

ill

KEFUQE OF HIS CONSCIENCE. Wlieiievei* liuman nature
reflects on God, it must reflect on him as an object of
distrust and dread. We think of him as a being of
unimagined power, of enormous power ; we are ignorant,
moreover, how he stands afiected toward us — and the
fancy ot ignorance will always be found to be the fancy
of fear. The uncertainty in which the manner of his
existence is shrouded, the vast extent of his creation, the
wise and sage policy of his government, the retirement
in which he dwells, the clouds and darkness that are
round about his footstool, the inscrutable majest^^ which
surrounds his throne — all these things have a tendency to
inspire us with alarm, so that we may say with Job,
" When I consider, I am afraid of him." The case might
have been different in the primeval paradise, when the
Lord walked in the garden in the cool of day ; but ever
since he has withdrawn himself from mortal society,
mortals view him with dismay ; and the Athenians only
spoke the language of unassisted reason, when they
reared their altar " to the unknown God."

And if we appeal to nature, to the external world, to
remove this dlstrustfulness of God, we shall find ourselves
but little benefited. This, you know, is one of the very
tritest prescriptions of the Theophilosophers and Latitu-
dinarians of the present day. " Go to nature," they say ;
" look at the external world ; see everything around you ;
look there, and see written with pleasing characters that
one great lesson of the universe, that God is love." Well,
I will go to the external world, if such is to be the theme.
I look around me, and I discover many things upon which
the eye can gaze, to which the ear can listen, upon which
the heart can dwell, which rejoices me when 1 think that
the God that made them all is surely a God of love.
There are the smiling landscapes, and beautiful enamelled
earth, and soft music of the summer's breeze, and the
loud laugh of the bounding stream, and the innocence of
domestic enjoyments and ennobling principles, and the
peace and love and animation which cluster around th^

THE christian's INHERITANCE.

133

nature
>ject of
)emg of
■norant,
md the
e fancy
I* of hi's
on, the
rement
lat are

which
ency to
th Job,
■ might
en the
it ever
ociety,
IS only
i they

rid, to
rselves
le very
Latitu-
y say ;
i you ;
s that

Well,
ilieme.
which
which
k that

love,
tielled
d the
ice of
d the
d the

hearth-stone of many a cottage home. Oh, it is a delight-
ful thought that the God who made all these things, is
surely a God of love ! Ah, but then there are the sweep-
ing floods, and the resistless tempests, and the mighty
thunder, and the jealousies and heart-burnings of domestic
society, and the wholesale slaughters of aggressive war,
and the wrath of the devouring pestilence, and, to crown
all, death, grim and ghastly death, crushing the genera-
tions as the moth is crushed. What am I to believe, but
that the God of the universe is a mighty judge ? Nature
can tell me nothing then. She just tosses my poor mind
about in the most distressing alternations, first of confi-
dence, and then of dread. And yet often when the mild
voice of Christianity — rather of natural religion — assures
me that God is love, I am not disposed to believe it. But
then there is a reason for this. 'Oiisisnot, like the other,
conjured up out of the land of shadows, the mere result
of man's intellect or of speculatian and theories ; it has its
base and origin in the secrecies of his own nature. The
fact is, in every mind there is a law of right and wrong,
and along with it a consciousness that that law has been
habitually violated. There is a restless apprehension of
the law and the Law-giver, a dread foreboding of guilt
and judgment ; and a man cannot believe that God is
love, while his conscience tells him 'bat that God is to be
viewed as an enemy. The comforting voice of reason
and of religion may testily to the benevolence of God in
heaven ; but so long as there is a secret misgiving within —
so long as there is the yet unsettled controversy between
his Maker and himself, all ideas of confidence are banished
from his mind, and, like Adam of old, in the very slyness
of his crime, he would hide himself from his Maker
among the trees of his garden.

And here it is that Christianity comes to our assist-
ance, just as she always does when we most need her,
and one feels the force of those deep and thrilling words
— " Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins
of the world." This told of a Saviour, and a Saviour

134

THE christian's INHERITANCK

W'i

who has borne his cross and carried his sorrow, the man
looks about him for the unwonted spectacle, puts off his
fainting for awhile, gazes at the illustrious victim, and
" Who is it ?" he cries : " who is that mighty one that
has come down to the rescue? Who is it that has ago-
nized in the garden, that has bled under the scourge,
and died upon the cross? Who is it?" Why, who
should it be but the very Being whom he has so basely
and so ungratefully insulted ? and with the grace of love
and the tenderness of the man Christ Jesus, there is
blended the majesty of the King of kings. Oh, he
cannot doubt after that ; that is an argument likely to
overturn all his skepticism. He looks at the cross, and
sees that God is righteous ; but he looks at the Crucified,
and he sees that God is love ; and, with clasped hands
and streaming eyes and grateful heart, he sings, " Whom
have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth
that I desire beside thee."

III. And then, again, God is the Christian's Inherit-
ance, ALSO AS THE REST OF HIS SOUL. The restlcssness of
human ambition has become proverbial. It is grasping
as the leech, insatiable as the grave. The moment one
scheme has succeeded, it pants for the enjoyment of
another. The moment it has scaled one eminence of
fancied bliss, its cry is '' up," ay, from the summit of the
Alps. " O that I had the wings of the dove, and then
would I fly away and be at rest." This restless craving
for something better than earth, although it is the com-
panion of our fallen nature, very plainly tells us an
important truth — that the earth and its concerns can
never satisfy an immortal spirit. It pants for something
higher, something more refined, something more intel-
lectual, something more like God. That which alone
can satisfy, can fill the immortal mind, must be some-
thing in which it can feel secure, and something with
which it can be satisfied ; for to be secure is to be safe,
and to be satisfied is to be happy.

1. Take tl e first thought, then — that of securliy. We

are m

feel th(

tutelar

us from

—not i

but int(

our hes

of Isra

Omnip

idea sh

likely

of aflli(

swiftly

tents o:

in the

what 3<

bittern

belove<

domesi

bleedii

have {

paralle

saying-

aw a ' •

wina,

Blesse<

roll up

him, t'

but e^

" Thoi

have I

that I

2. i

The c

specul

the su

consis

That

h >

THE christian's INHERITANCE.

135

are in a dangerous world ; at every step of our track we
feel the necessity of celestial guardianship, and that
tutelary and sustaining influences should be shed upon
us from on high. Well, let us once get it into our hearts
— not into our heads simply by an intellectual conviction,
but into our hearts as a happy alliance — let us get it into
our hearts that the Lord is our defence and the Holy One
of Israel our refuge, and what can make us afraid ?
Omnipotence pledged in our behalf! Why, the very
idea should make heroes of us all ! He may, he most
likely will have to pass through the f-irnace ; the hand
of affliction may be laid upon him ; the wind may sweep
swiftly over the desert, rocking to and fro the canvas
tents of his earthly shelter ; but you can hear him crying
in the pauses of the storm— " It is the Lord ; let him do
what seemeth to him good." He may have to suflfer the
bitterness of bereavement ; death may deprive him of the
beloved of his soul ; there may be the breaking up of the
domestic homestead ; the fresh laceration of the already
bleeding spirits, and the tearing asunder of hearts that
have grown together ; but, in the midst of this un-
paralleled suffering, you can hear his unmoved faith,
saying — " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken
awa ^ - not the Chaldaean, nor the Sabean. nor the whirl-
wina, nor the flood — " The Lord hath taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord." A fiercer flood may
roll upon him, a heavier wave may threaten to overwhelm
him, the fires of vengeance may be poured on his head,
but even in death's grasp his failing voice is heard —
" Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him. Whom
have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth
that I desire beside thee." \»"

2. And then take the next thought, that of hajppiness.
The question of man's chief good haslbeen in all ages
speculated upon and determined. All the theorizers on
the subject have been convinced of this — that it could
consist in nothing inferior. And so far they are right.
That which alone can fill the immortal mind, must have

•>*'.

l!" ■ '

THE CIimSTTAN'S INHERITANCE.

some analogy to tlie constitution of that mind ; and it
must therefore be steadfast, proof against the fitfulness
of ever-changing circumstances ; not here to-day and
vanished when we need it to-morrow ; not present in the
summer time when the breezes blow, and failing in the
winter time wdien the blast of the hurricane comes down;
but steadfast, always the same and always available.
And it must be progressive, keeping pace with the soul,
lasting as long as the soul, keeping abreast with it in its
triumphal march to holiness and God. Well, there are
many candidates in the field. Just bring them to the
test-stone for awhile. Pleasure is a candidate, and she
brings before the soul a very glov/ing description of her-
self and her ways. She tells him that the voice of the
siren shall make music in his ears, and that the loud
laugh of festivity shall be heard in his dwelling, that the
voice of song and dance and carnival shall yield him suc-
cession of delight. But he asks, " Is she steadfast ?"
And he hears that she never enters the chambers of sor-
row, has no comfort for the dark slumber and hopeless
winter of age. A bird of passage, she flaps her giddy
wings in the sunshine, but at the first approach of the
stormy season speeds her flight into more favored climes.
Then honor is a candidate, and she tells him of a wreath
of laurels, of the swellings of the heart as it listens to its
own praise, and of the untold happiness of being the
conversation of the w^orld. But he asks, " Is she stead-
fast ?" And they tell him that chaplets of distinction
often fade in a night ; they tell him that the most fickle
thing in the fickle universe is popular applause — ^liow the
same lips that shouted " Hosanna to the Son of David !"
shouted shortly afterward, " Crucify him ! crucify him!"
and how the mob-idol of. to-day has often been the mob-
victim of to-morrow. Then wealth is a candidate ; and
she tells him of the pleasure of hoarding, of the joys of
possession, of the pomp, and power, and flattery, and
obsequiousness which money can procure. But he asks,
" Is she steadfast f He hears that she brings with her

1;. '■

THE CfHRISTIAN'S INHERITANCE.

137

^cl; and it
e fitfulness
0-day and
sent in the
ng in iho
fies down •
available!
the soul,
1 it in its
there are
'in to the
, and she
>n of her-
ce of the
the loud
, that the
liim sue-
iadfast ?"
!i's of sor-
hopeless
er giddy
3h of the
cl climes,
a wreath
Jns to its
eing the
ie stead-
itinction
St fickle
how the
)avid !"
yhim!"
le mob-
;e; and
joys of
y, and
le asks,
ith her

her own discontent ; that the cares of keeping are worse
than the cares of getting ; that often in times of panic,
like the scared eagle, wealth takes to itself wings and
flies away ; and even if a man enjoy it all his life long,
though failure and panic may not come to strip the lord
of his property, death shall come and strip the property
of its lord.

Well, then, 'after all these, the joys of earth, have
been tried and severally found wanting, God brings his
claims before the mind, offering to be the soul's refuge
and everlasting home. True itself, it does not shrink
from the test. God's aids are steadfast, they avail in
the winter as well a. in the summer ; in the dark sea-
son of adversity as well as when the sun shineth on the
path ; when frost depresses the spirit as well as when
sunshine fills it with laughter ; when friends troop up
and when friends forsake equally ; when fortune smiles
and when the world turns the cold shoulder. Are they
always the same ? Are they not ? Oh ! if the decorums
of the sanctuary would permit it to-night, are there not
many of you who could rise up in your deep baptism
of sorrow and sing in the words of the poet ? —

' " When our sorrows most increase,

Then his richest joys are given ;
Jesus comes in our distress,
And agony is heaven." ^

Are they progressive ? Will they last as long as the
soul ? Will they keep young as it does, and keep
pace with it as it travels along toward holiness and
God ! Oh, yes 1 for before all the immense and varied
landscape of blessings upon which the eye can rest,
existed the fullness of Deity ; beyond it, stretching
forth, a broad, fathomless infinity —

"An ocean of love and of power.
Which neither knows measure nor en J."

3. Passing over several topics that might be worthy

of our meditation, just let us glance for a moment at
si

138

THE christian's INHERITANCE.

the stipport offered to the Christian in the hour and article
of death. Come with me, then, will you ? it will do
you good. Come with me to the Christian's death-
bed ; and if there is a cold-hearted and skeptical infidel
of your acquaintance, bring him with you, that he may
learn at once the worthlessness of human pride and the
glory of the God of love. Stretched upon a couch lies
the poor sufferer —

" Whose weak, attenuated frame
Shows naught of being but a name."

. ■ *

Is this the man — is this the being who but a little while
ago towered in all the strength of his pride ? Is this
clenched hand that which clasped yours in friendship
but a little while ago ? Ah, how true it is that he
cometh forth as a flower and is cut down ! But what
is it fills that closing eye with such unw^onted bright-
ness ? "What is it that kindles that pallid cheek into
such angelic animation ? Ah ! there is a mightier than
you, and a mightier than deatli ; there is God in that
death-chamber. There is an awe and a solemnity
which tells of the presence of God. Listen ! listen to
the unfaltering firmness with which that voice sings :
** My flesh and my heart faileth ; but God is the
strength of my heart, and my portion forever." Is that
enthusiasm ? Are these the accents of frenzy ? Does
madness talk so calmly ? Has the prospect of dissolu-
tion no chilling influence ? Can a fictitious excitement
support the soul at such an hour ? Ah ! that is a
stout-hearted hypocrisy that can brave the agony of
dying. But here is triumph in death. Stoicism boasts
of her examples ; patriotism has a long list of worthies,
for whom the world has woven garlands of undying
bloom. But here is a man, a poor, frail, erring, insig-
nificant man, going with his eyes open, with the full
consciousness of his position, down the dark valley, to
meet, to grapple with, and to master his last enemy.

There is

accessio

And th(

music a

mysteri

awhile,

nation c

on his h

suffered

takes th

giver, a

hear, fo

Lord, tl

palm, 'v\

append

thou ar

thee ?"

break c

is filled

unto us

glory."

me die

be lik(

pray tl

the rig

righte(

THE christian's INHERITANCE.

139

There is a spectacle of the morally sublime ihat I
challenge the wide universe to equal. And this sublime
Bpectacle is not of the wisdom of men ; it is just the
power of God. But Avhile we have been talking about
him, the man has died ; the last convulsion is past ;
the last breath is drawn ; the last pulse has completed
its feeble throb —

" Oh cbans^e, oli wondrous cliauge !

There lies the soulless clod ;
The sun eternal breaks : the new immortal wakes—

Wakes with his God.'^

There is high festivity in the realms of the blest at the
accession of another member to the rejoicing family.
And the harpers harping with their harps rest in their
music awhile, and the angels, who pry forever into the
mysteries of God, take holiday from their researches for
awhile, and all heaven is gathered to witness the coro-
nation of the rejoicing believer as the crown is placed
on his head by the Master for whom he has done and
suffered so much. Ah ! what strange act is that ? He
takes the crown and casts it again at the feet of the
giver, and he says, assigning his reason — listen, we shall
hear, for the music is still just now — vv^hat is it ? ** Ah,
Lord, the harp, and the robe, and the crown, and the
palm, what are all these to me ? These are only the
appendages of the recompense. Thou art my reward ;
thou art my portion ; whom have I in heaven itself but
thee ?" And then the harpers harping with their harps
break out again, they can hold in no longer, and heaven
is filled as Avith an irrepressible gush of melody, " Not
unto us, not unto i.o, l)i;t unto thy name be all the
glory." And that is tiie end. Who does not say, " Let
me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end
be like his ?" Ah, but there are many people that
pray that prayer, who would like to die the death of
the righteous, but who do not like to live the life of the
righteous. But they go together ; believe me they go

140

THE christian's INHERITANCE.

i. ' I

li I

Ji'

>' JMriinliil') '

together. If yon would die the death of the righteous,
you must live the life of the righteous, even a life of
faith in the Son of God, " who hath loved you and
given himself for you." There are some in this
assembly to-night, who are not living the life of the
righteous : you have not given yourselves unto Chriat
and his people, and there is no hope of that death for you.
There is another death which I dare not trust myself
to describe — scenes of agony over which I draw the
veil — the very thought of which freezes the vitals and
curdles the blood ! Oh ! come to Jesus ; do not tempt
upon yourselves any such doom as that. Get Christ for
you all. "I live," as says the rejoicing Apostle ; " yet
not I, but Christ liveth in me" — so shall everything
lead you up to God. It could not lead you to under-
value the life you now live ; it would not make you
love less this beautiful world ; everything around you
will only have mystic meanings which will be inter-
preted only by Christ ; you will be led thus Irom
nature up to nature's God. Then, as you pass through
scenes of beauty and blessedness, your full heart,
taking refuge in the language of poesy, will sing —

'* Lord of earth, thy forming hand

Well this beauteous frame hath planned :

Woods that wave, and hills that tower,

Ocean rolling in its power ;

All that strikes the gaze unsought,

All that charms the lonely thought.

Yet, amid this scene 60 lair.

Oh! if thou wert absent there, . >

What were all those joys to me ;

Whom have I on earth but thee V"

Then, travelling through the path of your pilgrimage,
God, your own God, will bless you, and will wipe away
all tears from your faces, and will uplift you in the
endurance and prepare you for the duties of life ; and
your pilgrimage will go on calmly ; mellow eventide
will come upon you, yet at eventide there shall be
light. The last stroke will be struck, the last enemy

en count
ranks o

l^Iiy
his uac

THE CHRISTIAN S INHERITANCE.

141

?hteous,
life of
rou and

in this

of the
Christ

for you.

myself
^aw the
tals and
)t tempt
hrist for
B ; " yet
rything

uiidei"-
iko you
ad you
p inter-
is iroin
throng] I
i heart,

encountered, the last change realized, and amid the
ranks of the ransomed you pass to pay your first hom-
age to the throne, and even then, taking refuge again
in the language of poesy, will your thoughts be the
same —

" Lord of heaven, (Jt-yon^l our sight
Rolls a world of purer li}?ht ;
Where, in loves's unclouded reign,
Parted hands arc clasped afjain ;
Martyrs there and seraphs high,
Blest and glorious company !
While immortal music rings
From unnumbered seraph strings.
Oh, that scene is passing fair !
Yet if thou wurt absent there,
What were all those joys to mc V
Whom have I in heaven but tliee ?"

^fay God bring us all to sing that song forever, for
his name's sake.

•image,
•e away
in the
i ; and
^entide
lall be
enemy

yi^Sfl, . :' '

HaWBMA™^ ^''jy

sasisn

y/^|k.»!^

Kill

ja^J

VIII.

THE HEAVENLY CON^QUERER.

iii

III

" And I saw, and behold a ^yliitc horse ; and he that sat on him had a
bow ; and a erown was Kiven unto him ; and lie went ibrth conqueriiiL;
andtoconquer."— Rev. vi.,2.

I OW animating is the sound of war ! How easily
can it awaken the ardors of the unrenewed and
unsanctified heart of man ! There is no pro-
fession in which he can gain more renown and apphause
than in the profession of arms It is the birthplace of
what men call glory. Custom has baptised it honour-
able; it carries with it a pomp and a circumstance of
which other professions are destitute ; it has nerved
the arm of the patriot, it has fired the genius of the
painter, it has strung and swept the poet's lyre ; nations
have bowed before its shrine, and even religion has
prostituted herself to bless and consecrate its banners.
Yet it must not be forgotten that for the most part
human conquerers are just murderers upon a grand
scale — mighty butchers of human kind. Their victories
are won amid extermination and havoc ; their track is
traced in ruin ; there is human life upon their laurels ;
and if they wish to acquire a name, they have got one ;
let them glory as they can in its possession — the voice
of blood proclaims it from the ground,-and it is vaunted
from earth to heaven by the wailings of orphaned hearts,
and by the deep execrations of despair. The sacred
writings, however, tell us of one conquerer whose vic-
tories were peacefully achieved, whose battles were

h '

THE HEAVENLY CONQUKUOll.

118

liim Jiad a
JOiiqiuTlii-j

w easily
ved and
no pro-
pplause
5lace of
honour-
ance of
nerved
of the
nations
on has
mners.
't part
grand
ctories
"aok is
lurels;
t one ;
voice
unted
earts,
acred
J vic-
were

l)loodlessly won; or if his onward maroli waw discoloured
hy blood, it was his own. It i.s tlie Lord Jesus Christ
who is thus evidently set l)cfore us; he wlio "died the
just for the unjust, that he niij^ht bring us to God." h\
the fulfillment of the various duties connected with the
mediatorial office which he had undertaken, he is fre-
quently represented as gohig out to battle against his
adversaries, as routing them by the w^ord of his mouth,
and returning in exultation and triumph. Instances of
tliis you will easily and at once remember. Thus, in
the forty-fifth Psalm: " Gird thy sword upon thy thigh,
O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty. A^nd
in thy majesty ride prosperously because of truth, and
meekness, and righteousness ; and thy right hand shall
teach thee terrible things." Again, in the eleventh chap-
ter of Luke: "When a strong man armed keepeth his
palace, his goods are in peace : but when a stronger than
he shall come upon him and overcome him, be taketh
from him all his armor wherein he trusted, and dividetli
his spoils." And yet, again, according to the mysterious
apocalypses of the Book of Revelation, "Then shall all
make war with the Lamb, and the Lamb shall overcome
them." It matters not how numerous or how power-
ful his enemies may be — alike over the powers of dark-
ness with their legioned hosts of foes — alike over the
corruption of the human heart with all its ramifications
of depravity — alike over the false systems into which
the corruption has retreated, as into so many garrisoned
and fortified towns, " a crown is given unto him, and
he goeth forth conquering and to conquei*." It is not
my intention to enter into all the details of this iuter-
esting and absorbing strife, I should just like to con-
centrate your attention upon one phase of the conflict
— the battle of the old serpent the devi}, the great Oi'igin
of evil, under whose generalship the otners are mustered
and to whose commands they submittingly bow. Be-
hold, then, the combat beyond all others important —
the combat between Christ and Satan for the human soul,

144

THE HEAVEXLT CONQUEROR.

and, as you trace the progress of the fight, rcTnembcr
with encouragement, and nay that "lie goeth fortli con-
quering and to conquer." It will be necessary, in
order that we have the whole matter before us, that wc
introduced the cause of strife, the battle, and the victory,

I. As to the cause of strife. You know that when
the all-comprising benevolence of God found heaven
too small for the completion of his vast designs, this
earth arose in order and in beauty from his forming
hands. After by his Spirit he had garnished the
heavens, and scattered upon the fair face of nature the
labor of his hand and the impress of his feet, as the
fairest evidence of Divine workmanship, the last and
most excellent of his works below, he made man in his
own image, after his own likeness. The soul then, was
the property of him by whom it was created, who
imparted to it its high and noble faculties, by whom,
notwithstanding its defilement, it is still sustained, and
from whom proceed the retributions which shall fix its
doom forever. Man was created in possession of that
moral purity, that absolute freedom from sin, which
constituted of itself assimilation to his Maker's image.
And so long as he retained that image, so lon^^j was lie
the Divine property, and the Divine portion alone.
But the moment he sinned, the moment of the perver-
sion of his nature, of the estrangement of his faculties,
of the alienation of his heart, he came under a different
tenure, and became a vassal of a different lord.

Satan himself, once an inhabitant of the high realms
of glory, but hurled from that giidy height for diso-
bedience and pride, was mysteriously permitted to
tempt our first parents in the garden, with the full
knowledge, on their part, that, standing as they did in
their representative, and public character, if they fell
the consequences of that one transgression were en-
tailed upon all their posterity With the circumstances
of the original temptation you are of course familiar,
siud the issud of it you have in that one verse in the

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEUOR.

145

I'omembcr
forth con-
3S8ary, in
', that wc
le victory.
lat when
i heaven
?n8, this

forming
}hed the
iturc the
t, as the
last and
in in his
len, was
5d, who

whom,
ed, and
I fix its
of that

which
image,
was he

alone,
perver-
mlties,
fferent

•ealnis
diso-
Bd to
e full
id in
Y fell
i en-
inces
liliar,
. the

book of Genesis: ^^BecuUfiO thou hast done thit^, thou
art cursed above all cattle, and above every beast of the
field; upon thy belly sbalt tlioufro, and dust shalt thou
cat all the days of thy life." This tells us of the con-
travention — the direct contravention — of a known law:
a law which God, as the supreme Creator, hnd a per-
fect right to institute ; a law which man, as a dependent
creature, was under binding obligations to obey. It
was instituted avowedly as a test of obedience ; and this
is all we would answer to the labored sarcasms of
foolish infidelity. Any wayfaring man though a fool,
can curl his lip and declaim against the insignificance
of the act from which such mighty issues sprang; but
he forgets that the moment the temptation was yielded
to, there was in human nature a very incarnation of the
devil. Under that demoniacal possession the man was
prepared for any infraction, from the eating of the for-
bidden fruit to the subversion of an almiglity throne ;
and he who, under such circumstances, would violate a
known command, however trifling, would not, if the
circumstances had been equal, have shrunk away from
the endeavour to scale the battlements of heaven, and
pluck the crown of divinity from the very brow of the
Eternal. Hence it was, by yielding to the suggestions
of the tempter, and to his infamous temptation, that the
portals of the palace were flung wide open for the strong
man armed to enter ; and hither, alas ! he came with
all his sad and fearful train, enthroning himself upon
the heart, setting up his image, as Bunyan hath it, in
the market-place of the town of Man-soul ; fortifying
every avenue, filling every chamber, corrupting every
faculty, enervating every inhabitant and announcing
every moment the symbols of his own resolve to grasp
and hold it forever. Here then is in brief the cause
of this celestial strife. The soul, a colony of heaven,
had been taken usurped possession of, by the powers of
hell, and the effort to restore it to * *
main cause of this celestial war.

allegiance was the

146

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROR.

Still further to impress you with the weighty causes
of the strife, let us remind you for a moment of the
character of the government, thus by daring usurpation
acquired. The dominion which Satan exerciser c»ver
the human soul is despotic in its character. He is, not a
monarch, he is an autocrat ; he admits no compromise,
he brooks no rival, he pours his uncleanness upon every
part, and reigns supremely over every power and every
faculty of man. True, the man is not always conscious
of his slavery ; that is one of the cunningest secrets of
his power, that he persuades his vassels that they are
free, and their offended language to any one who
questions the fact is, " We be Abraham's children that
were never in bondage to any man.'' He brands them
as his own, and then, content to wear his badge, they
may choose their own trappings. He has no uniform.
Some of his soldiers are in rags and others in purple,
and his very choicest veterans have stolen the livery of
heaven. There is not one within the compass of the
whole human family who is not subject to his authority,
naturally led captiv6 by the devil at his will. And
then, this government of Satan over the human soul is
not only despotic but degrading. Slavery in any form
is essentially connected with degradation, and in the
case before us the connection must be regarded as the
most palpable and emphatic of all. The essence and
exaltation cf moral dignity are assimilations to the
image of God. Whatever recedes from that image
must of necessity debase and degrade. Now the course
of man's life, as it has been, ever since the fall, a course
of contrast and increasing recession from God,
presents a spect^icle of moral degradation which is
grievous to behold ; the whole nature has fallen ; the
understandiug has become darkened, and is conversant
onljr with what is contemptible and low; the affections,
which once soared sublimely upward, now cleave to
worldly objects, objects that perish in the using; the
passions have become loyal servants ot the usurper, and

!• f

THE IlEAVENLf CONQUEROR.

147

keep their zealous patrol in the court-yard of his
palace; the will, which once inclined to good, is now
fierce and greedy after evil; imagination revels in
fondest dalliance with sin for its paramour ; and con-
science intoxicated with opiate draughts, and in that
intoxication smitten with paralysis, gazes hopelessly
upon the desolation ; or if at times stirred by the spirit
within, it breaks out with a paroxysm and terrifies the
man with its thunder, he is persuaded to regard it as
the incoherence of some meddling drunkard, or the
ravings of some frantic madman. Such is the condi-
tion to which the usurpation of the evil one has re-
duced the human soul. It is first earthly, scraping
its affluence or its pleasure together ; and then, yet
more degrading, there is the transformation that hap-
pened to I^ebuchadnezzar, the heart of a man is taken
out, and the heart of a beast is put in ; and then, as like
grows to like, and as a process of assimilation is
constantly going on, it grows into its master's image;
the mark of the beast becomes more distinct and pal-
pable, every feature stands confessed of Satan's obscene
and loathsome likeness, and there is a living proof of
the truth of the scale upon which Scripture has
graduated man's increasing degeneracy. First earthly,
then sensual, then devilish. This is a fearful picture ;
is it not? Ah ! you see the man, or his bacchanalian
orgies, or his midnight prowl, but you do not see the
fiend that dogs his steps and goads him to destruction.
You see the degradation of the nature that once bore
the image of God, but you do not see the jibing,
mocking demon that is behind. You trace intelligibly
enough the infernal brand, but you cannot hear the
peals of infernal laughter as the arch-devil, looking
down upon the soul that he has stormed, exults in the
extremity of the disgrace and glories in the pollution
of the fallen.

The government of Satan over the human soul is not
only despotic and degrading, but destructive. Sin and

148

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROR.

punishment are inseparably allied ; the powerrf of dark-
ness, although mysteriously permitted a certain aiuonnt
of influence, are themselves in punishment, "reserved
in chains under darkness until the judgment of the
great day." A man who transgresses, since no coer-
cion comes upon the freedom of his will, must necessarily
be regraded as willful ; he is under the curses of a violated
law, nay, condemned altogether, for " the wrath of God
abideth upon him." God will "pour out indignation,
and wrath, and tribulation, and anguish upon every soul
of man that doeth evil; upon the Jew first, and also upon
the Gentile ;" for '■ c-'e is no respect of persons with God.
I am speaking to unconverted sinners to-night ; to some
of refined and delicate sensibility, shocked at the ribaldry
of the vulgar, and at the licentiousness of the profane.
I tell you there is no respect of persons with God. If
you flee not to a high and mighty Redeemer, if you re-
pose not in present reliance upon Christ, for you there
remaineth nothing but a death whose bitterest ingredient
is that it can never die, but that it has eternity about it,
eternity beyond it, and eternity within it, and the curse of
God, upon it, fretting it and following it forever.

Thank God, there is a promise of a perfect and delight-
ful deliverance from this thraldom under which man has
been groaning. Christ has come down en purpose to
'deliver and ransom him, and he goeth forth conquering
and to conquer. In the counsels of the eternal Godhead,
in foresight of the temptation of Satan and of the thrall-
dom and depravity of man, Christ was induced to work
out a counteracting scheme, by which the beautiful lan-
guage of ancient prophecy, the prey of the mighty should
be taken away and the lawful captive delivered. The
first intimation of this scheme was given just when the
first shadow of sin swept over the world. " The seed of
the woman shall bruise the serpent's head." From that
time there was a continued series of operations, in the
good providence of God perpetuated for thousands of
years, all tending to the fulfillment of this original pro-

THB HEAVENLY CONQUEROR.

149

of dark-

1 ainonnt

reserved

Qt of the

no coer-

scessarih^

I violated

h of God

ignation,

very soul

also upon

vithGod.

to some

J ribaldry

profane.

God. If

f you re-

^ou there

[igredient

about it,

e curse of

i delight-
man lias
urpose to
mquering
jrodhead,
be thrall-
l to work
liful Ian-
:y should
ed. The
fvhen the
e seed of
rom that
s, in the
sands of
;inal pro-

mise, and the achievement of this original plan. At
last in the fullness of time — the time by prophet seers
foretold, and by believing saints expected — in the full-
ness of time, the Son of God was incarnated in the nature
that had sinned, and then it was that the battle in earnest
be^an.

II. Look, then, at the Divine Saviour, " stronger than
the strong man armed," invested with far higher qualifi-
cations, and wielding far mightier power. And how is
this ? He is the babe in Bethlehem, the rejected wanderer,
the arranged rebel, the scourged and spit upon, the
Nazarene, the crucified. But these are only voluntary
submissions, and in the deepest humiliation there slumbers
Omnipotence within. " All power is given unto Me, both
in heaven and in earth," and this power is all enlisted
upon the side of salvation and of mercy. It is not the
power of the lightning, that blasts while it brightens ; it
is not the power ol the whirlwind, whose track is only
known by the carnage and desolation that it leaves behind
it. It is the power of the water rill, that drops and drops,
and in its dropping melts the most stern and difiicult of
nature's forces. It is the power of light ; it flows in ener-
getic silence, you cannot hear it as it flows, and yet it
])ermeates and illumines all. He is strong, but he is
strong to deliver ; he is mighty, but, in his own powerful
language, he is " mighty to save." It often happens — it
used to do so more frequently than it does now — in the
history of the strifes of nations, and of the harsh scenes
of .war, that the interests of spectators was drawn aside
from hostile ranks to two courageous champions, who
separated themselves Irom opposing armies for single com-
bat with each other, and the fate of armies appeared to
the spectators as nothing compared with who should be
the victor in this individual strife. O! conceive, if it
were possible ; a single combat between the rival princes
of light and darkness, the grand, the transcendent, the
immeasurable issue of which shall be the ruin or redemp-
tion of the human soul ! I cannot limn it ; I cannot bring

150

THB HEAVENLY CONQUEROR.

I'i

it fairly be.^ > e you ; the subject is too mighty : and yet a
thought or two may not inaptly illustrate the battle that
is now before us.

See, then, the lists are spread ; the champions are there.
Eager angels crowd around, for they have an interest in
the strife, and they are anxious to tune their harps to the
anthems of regeneration again. Exulting demons are
there, flushed with the high hopes they dare not name,
that vaunt of a mined universe and of a peopled hell.
This is no gentle passage-at-arms ; this is no gorgeous
tournament, or mimic light, or holiday review ; the
destines of a world of souls are trembling in the balance
now — depend for weal or woe upon the issue of this
mortal strife.

The first grapple seems to have been in the temptation
in tUe wilderness ; for at the commencement of our
Saviour's public ministry the enemy endeavoured to tempt
the second Adam after the same fashion as he had tempted
the first ; and when wearied with labor, and exhausted
with endurance and suffering from the pangs of hunger
and of thirst, he brought before him a similar order of
temptation to that which had been successful in the gar-
den of Eden. Ah ! but there was a mightier Adam in
human flesh this time with whom he had to deal. Grasp-
ing the sword of the spirit, with its trenchant blade, he cut
asunder the flimsy sophistries of the tempter's weaving,
and the discomfitted demon went baffled away; and
angels came and ministered unto Jesus — fanned with
their ambrosial wings his burning brow, and poured their
ofiices of kindness upon his fatigued and sorrowing
soul.

Defeated, but not conquered, the enemy returned to
the charge ; and the next grapple was in the pe7]formance
of miracles. It is customary in ordinary warfare, you
know, whenever a fortress is taken, for the conqueror to
garrison it with his own soldiers, and leave some trusty
captain in charge. The enemy appears to have acted
upon this plan, and in token of his usm'ped authority

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROE.

151

: and yet a
battle that

'< are tliere.
interest in
arps to the
emons are
not name,
)pled hell.
» gorgeous
iew ; the
le balance
Lie of this

emptation
it of our
d to tempt
d tempted
exhausted
)f hunger
order of
\ the gar-
Adam in
1. Grasp-
de, he cut
weaving,
^ay ; and
Qed with
ired their
orrowing

urned to
formance
are, you
^ueror to
fie trusty
ve acted
luthority

over the human race, he caused certain of his servants to
enter into the bodies of men. When Christ came into
the world they brought unto him those that were grievously
vexed wdth the devils. He sat down before some of their
Sebastopols of the evil one, and as speaking by that high
exorcism, he at once dislodged the intruders ; and as, some
in moody silence, and others with piteous cries, they rushed
out from the places they had agonized, we can trace in
their complaining the confession of their defeat : " What
have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God. Art
thou come to torment us before the time V

The next was the death gra^le. And was the cham-
pion smitten ? Did he bend beneath that felon's stroke ?
was there victory at last for the powers of hell?
Imagine, if you can, how there would be joy in the
breast of the evil one when the Saviour expired ; how he
would exult at that victory which had more than recom-
pensed the struggle of four thousand years. Hours roll
on ; he makes no sign ; day and night succeed each other;
there is no break upon the slumber — their victory appears
complete and final. Shall no one undeceive them ? No ;
let them enjoy their triumph as they may. It were
cruel to disturb a dream like that, which will have so
terrible an awakening. But we, brethren, with the light
of eighteen hundred years streaming down upon that
gory field, understand the matter better. He died, of
course, for only thus could death be abolished ; he was
counted with transgressors, of course, for thus only could
sin be forgiven ; he was made a curst for us, of course,
because thus only could he turn the curse into a blessing.
! to faith's enlightened sight there is a surpassing glory
upon that cross. He was never so kingly as when girt
about with that crown of thorns ; there was nover so much
royalty upon that regal brow as when he said, " It is
finished," and he died.

There only remains one more grapple, and that was in
the rising from the dead and ascension into heaven. It
is considered the principal glory of a conquevor, you

152

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROB-

r i

know, not merely that lie repels the aggressive attacks of
his enemy, but when he carries the war into that enemy's
camp and makes him own himself vanquislied in the
metropolis of his own empire. This Christ did by con-
cealing himself for a while within the chambers of the
grave. We cannot tell yon much about the battle, for it
was a night attack, it took place in darkness ; but we can
tell the issue, because on the morning of the third day
the sepulchre was empty, and the Redeemer had gone
forth into Galilee. This was cnly like the garnering up
of the fruits of the conflict. The cross had settled it. It
was finished when he said it was, upon the cross; but
this was a sudden surprise in the camp, when rue guards
were drawn off, and the soldiers carousing in the flush
of fancied victory. By death ho had abolished death—
him that had the power of death. By his resurrection
he spoiled principalities and powers ; and then ne went
lip that he might " make a show of them openly." You
can almost follow him as he goes, and the challenge is
given as he rises and nears the gates of the celestial city :
" Who is this that cometh-from Edom with dyed garments
from Bozra ? this that is glorious in his apparel travelling
in th^ greatness of his strength ?" And then comes the
answer : " I that speak in righteousness, mighty to save.''
^' Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; and be ye lifted up ye
everlasting doors ; and tlie Sing of glory shall come iu.
Who is this King of glory ? The Lord strong and mighty,
the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye
gates ; even litt them up ye everlasting doors ; and tide
'ing of glory shall come in.'"

" And through the portals wide outspread
The vast procession pours."

And on he marches through the shining ranks of the
ransomed, until he gets to the throne and pointn to the
captives of his bow and spear, and claims hit recom-
pense. And " there is silence in heaven ;" and there is
given unto him "a name that is above every name; that

T attacks of
hat enemy's
alied in the
lid by con-
bers of the
battle, for it
bnt we can
3 third day
r had gone
imering up
ttied it. It

I cross; but
. the guards
n the flush
ed death—
L'eaurrection
3n lie went
nly." You
challenge is
ilestial city ;
3d garments
3I travelling

comes the
ity to save.''
lifted up ye

II come in.
md mighty,
eads, ye
's; and the

ink? of the
ante to the
hib recom-
tid there is
lame; that

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROR.

153

jit the name of Jesus every knee should bow, and every
tongue confess that he is Lord, to the glory of God the
father." It is finished. Now he restb from his labors,
and now he sheathes his sword, and now he wears his
crown.

III. Just a word or two upon the victory that he
irained. It was complete, it was benevolent, it was

unchanging.

The attack which the Saviour made upon the enemy
was such as to tear away the very sources and energies
of his power. Mark how each fresh onset, whether from
earth or hell, has only enhanced his glory and brightened
the conqueror's crown. He vanquislied in his own person
by dying, and in the person of his followers he has con-
tinued to manifest that indestructible energy which was
always manifest just when it seemed to be overthrown.
Why, at the commencement of Christianity would not
any one have thought that a breath would annihilate it
and exterminate the name of its founder forever ? And
there they were — Caesar on the throne, Herod on the
bench, Pilate in the judgment hall, Caiaphas in the tem-
ple, pi'iests and soldiers, Jews and Komans, all united
together to crush the Galilean, and the Galilean over-
came. And so it has been in all ages until now. Perse-
cution has lifted up her head against the truth; war-
wolves have lapped up the blood of God's saints, and for
a time silenced the witness of confessors, and the testimony
of the faithful has gone upward amid the crackling of
fagots, and the ascendina: iiame has been the chariot of
lire in which rising Elijahs have mounted to heaven.
And not merely is the completeness of this triumpli
manifested in the aggregate, but in the individual. Not
only is every man brought into a salvable state, but
every part of every man is redeemed. The poor body i&
not forgotten : it is taught to cast off the grave clothes
and anticipate an everlasting residence in heaven. The
mind crouches no longer ; it emancipates itself from its
vassalage and stands erect in the liberty wherewith Christ

154

THE HEAVENLY .CONQUEROR.

I! ■■ i

nificle it free. And tlie whole man, who waB a while ago
an alien, degraded and desolate, a fitting companion of
the boast in his lair, a worthy follower m the serpent's
trail, is now " clothed and in his right mind,"^ careering
along in the enterprises of godliness, a fellow-citizen with
saints and the household of God.

And then the triumphs of the Saviour are benevolent
too. Tell me not of human glory, it is a prostituted
word. Tell me not of Agincoiirt, and Cressy, and
Waterloo, and of the high places of Moloch worship,
where men have been alike both priests and victims.
One verse of the poet aptly describes them all : . ,,.

•' Last noon beheld them full of lu9ty life,

Last eve in beauty's circle proudly p:ay, ' '

The midnight brought the signal sound of strife ;

The morning marsballing in arms ; the day

Battle's magnificently stern array,
The thunder clouds close o'e^^ it, which when rent,

The earth is covced quick with other clay, *

Which her own clay suall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse, friend and foe, in one rude burial blent."

But what is it to be seen in the time of the Lord's victory ?
Plains covered with traces of recent carnage, and of recent
havoc ? What is there to be heard in the time of the
Lord's victory ? Orphans wailing the dead, widows be-
moaning those that have departed? No, but a voice
breathing down a comfortable word to men: "They
shall neither hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain,
saith the Lord." The procession of this conqueror con-
sists of saved souls, and eternity shall consecrate the scene.
And then the triumphs of the Saviour are not only
complete and benevolent, but unchanging. The things
, that are now are very transitory. The sand of the desert
is not more unstable ; the chaff of the summer threshing-
floor is not more helpless on the wind ; but the Saviour's
triumphs brighten with the lapse of time ; their lustre
time can tarnish not, nor death itself destro}^. O ! think
of the multitude, that have been already saved ! think of
the multitude who went up in the early ages of the

THE HEAVENLY CONQUEROR.

■^ «^ k«

Clnircli with its enrichments of blessings ; think of those
who had been taken off to lieaven before they ever had
time to sin after the similitude of Adam's transgression —
souls ransomed by the blood of atonement taken from
birth under the wing of the quivering cherub right away
into the realms of blessedness and rest ; think of those
from the time of the Saviour's incarnation until now who
have passed through death triumphant home ; think of
the multitudes now upon earth tiuit are working out their
salvation with fear and trembling ; think of the still
f];reater multitudes that shall yet press into the Church in
the times of its millennial glory, when the gates of it shall
not be shut day or night, because there diall be no chance
of shutting them, the people crowd in so fast. O what a
Jubilee in heaven I O gathering of emancipated spirits !
Limit the extent of the atonement ! Who dares do it 'i
Talk about Christ dying for a few scattered families ot
the sons of men merely ! Why, it is to charge my Saviour
with cowardice, and bring a slur upon his conduct in the
lield. If there be one solitary soul the wide universe
through for whom Christ did not die, over that sonl death
has triumphed, and the conquest of my Saviour is imper-
fect and incomplete. O ! he seems to stand in his
triumphal chariot, in the very centre of the universe, with
exulting heaven before and with tormented hell behind ;
and there is not an nnconquered rebel there but the glad
hallelujahs of the one, and the solemn accjuiescences of
the other, peal out the universe's anthem, " He is Lord
of all."

And now which side are you ? Pardon the abruptness
of the question, but answer it to your consciences and to
your God notwithstanding. Which side are you ? There
is no neutrality in this war, or if there be one here that
intends to preserve a dastardly neutrality, he will get the
hottest of the battle, and be exposed to the cross-fire of
both sides. Which side are you 'i Do you belong to the
Lord, or the Lord's enemies 'i Ask yourselves that ques*
tion in the sight of God. I never knew, until I looked

150"

TJIK HKAVENLV CONQUEIIOR.

upon it ill tJiirt }is])cct, tlio force and ])0"\vcr of n certain
question Avliicli tlie Saviour presented in tiic days of In's
nesli. 1 liave admired tlie capacities of tlie human soul,
that it has a memory tliat can recall the past, imagination
that can penetrate the future : that it has a will that no
man can tame, that it has immortality as its heritage.
But I see all heaven in earnest there, and all hell in
earnest yonder, and the prize of the coniiict is one poor
human soul ; and tlien I see, as 1 never saw before, what
an intensity of emphasis there is in the awful inquiry :
*' What shall it profit a man if he shall "jain the whole
worjd, and lose his own soul T Brethren,how shall it be
with you '( " Whosoever therefore will be a friend of the
world, is the enemy of God ;" and the doom of the
enemies of God is brought before as in the Bible : " Bring
hither those mine enemies that would not I shouid reign
over them, and slay them before me." On which tide are
you ? There is one passage that I should just like to
bring before you, which has always appeared to me to be
one of the most fearful in tlie whole cdnpass of the book
of God : " When the unclean spirit is gone out of a
]nan" — mark it, it does not say when he is driven out, it
does not say when he is dispossessed by superior powers ;
but the awful idea, almost too awful to be entertained, is
that there are some people in this world of ours of whom
Satan is so sure that he can leave them for a while,
per:jBctly certain that they ,vill sweep and garnish his
house ill his absence, and prepare it for SQven other spirits
more inveterate and cruel — " When the unclean spirit is
gone out of a man he walketh through dry places, seek-
ing rest, and findeth none. Then he saith, i will return
unto my house." O mockery of that quiet empire ! " To
'jjiij house." The tenancy has not clip.iiged ; he knows
full well there is too much love of the master's service in
the heart of the man for tliat. "I w4il return into my
house from whence I came out ; and when he is come he
lindetb it empty, swept and garnished. Tlien goeth he,
and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked

THE HEAVKNLY CONQUITtOR.

tiian himself, and they enter in and dwell tlicre ; and the
laftt state of th.it man is worse than the tirst," Oh
liorrihle ! horrihle ! Not merely to have Satan a^i a i>'uest,
but to sweep and i^arnish the house that he may come in,
and that he may bring with him seven other S])irrt8 more
wicked than himself. And are you doing that i Is there
one in the presence of God to-night to whom this awful
passage will apply ? Oh, I thank God I can preach to
you a present salvation in the name Jesus. Be delivered
from that bondage of yours, for Christ has come down on
purpose that he may deliver, and that he may rescue, and
lie goeth forth conquering and to conquer. " Ask, and
it shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock,
and it shall be opened unto you." There s salvation for
you from the power of death, and from the thralldom
and ascendency of besetting sin, and from the grasp of
the destroyer. There is salvation for you in Christ Jesus
the Lord. Wherefore he is able to save to the uttermost
of human guilt, to the uttermost of human life, to the
uttermost of human time. May God help you, for
Christ's sake.

h; J ''III

IX.

THE ClIRTSTIAN'S DEATH, LIFE, PEOSPECTS,

AND DUTY.

•' Set your afTectlons on tlilnt,'s above, not on things on the earth. For
vearo dead, and your lifo U liid wlflj Chiist in God." Wlieu Clirlst, wlio
U our life, shall appear, then shivll ye also apj)ear with him in glory."— Coi.-
L03SIAN3 111. y, ;i, 4.

N the former part c>f this deliglitlul and valual)lo
epistle, tlie Apostle has been reminding the Col-
lossiaiis of their privileges, and the covenant
blessings wliich they inherited in Christ. He tells them
that they have entered upon a new dispensation, that the
system of types and shadows has accomplished its purpose,
and has been fulfilled, that their circumcision was of the
heart, in the spirit, and not in the letter, and that they
were " complete in Christ, who is the head of all princi-
pality and power." Lest, however, by these considerations,
any of them should be exalted above measure, he urges
them that they live unto God, tells them that although freed
from the yoke of ceremonial observance, their obligation
to obey was as strict and as binding as ever, and though
no longer impelled by slavish and spiritless fear, the love
of (vhrist should constrain them to closer evangelical
obedience. There is no antinomianism, brethren, in the
Gospel ; it tells us that faith without works is dead ; that
however largely it may talk about its knowledge of the
better land, however it may imagine itself to be exalted
through the abundance of its revelations, if it do not
work by love and purity of heart, if it do not exert a

THE CTIRISTTAN'S DEATH, LIFE, ETC.

loO

transforming influence upon the character and life, there
is no Boundnoss in it, and it is but u specious and delusive
mimickry of the faith whicli saves. The Apostle, in im-
pressing this fact upon their minds, takes haUowed
la'ound ; hefccems to remind them of tlunr pi ivilegos, tliat
he may the more etfectually insist upon their duty , and
for the grandeur of their blessings, ho urges tlieir entire
conseciration to God. "If ye then be risen with ('hrist,"
if ye be merged from the obscurity of the old dispensa-
tion unto the strength and beauty of the new, if ye huvo
power over sin, if by virtue of communion with you'*
(Saviour, ye are justified by faith, sanctilied by the Spirit,
and travelling to heaven, " seek those things that are
above ;" be at home in heaven ; let yonr desires cluster
there, and let there be a gathering of your hopes around
the throne ; let your afiections fasten upon that radiant
seat " where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God."
He then repeats the exhortation, and assigns reasons for
its performance, in the language of the text, " Set your
affections on things above, not on things on the earth.
For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.
When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye
also appear with him in glory."

There are four things presented to us in these Avords :
the Christian's death, the Christian's life, the Christian's
prospects, and the Christian's duty ; an ineffable blending
of precept and promise, upon which, for a few moments,
it may profit us to dwell.

I. ^Ihe first thing that strikes us is the Christian's death.
" For," says the Apostle, " ye are dead." Is not this
somewhat of a paradox ? Does not Christ say expressly,
that he came not to destroy men's lives, but to save them i
"Was it not one of the purposes of his coming, that we might
have life, and that we might have it more abundantly?
Was it not one of the designs of his incarnation, that
from the fountain of his own underived existence, he
might replenish the veins of man, even to life everlasting ?
And yet, when we enter upon his service, the very fii-st

160

THE christian's DEATH,

! il

I' 1

tiling we are told to do is to die. Who shall solve the
enigma ? Only the Scripture, by becoming, as it always
does, the authorized and satisfactory intei'preter of itself.
In St. Paul's Epistle to Timothy, you Und this remark,
able expression : " She that liveth in pleasure is dead
while she liveth." You have no difficulty in imderstand-
ing that to mean dead in spiritual things. In that
pleasure -loving heart there beats no pulse for God ; in
that spirit, around which the world lias flung the spells of
its witchery, there is no desire for heaven ; the pleasures
of sense engross it, and, although compassed by the re-
alities of the other world, its very existence is treated as
a question or a fable. Now, just the reverse of this
morally considered, will explain to us the state of the
Christian when the Apostle tells us he is dead. The fact
is, that between the flesh and the spirit, there is a bitter
and irreconcilable enmity ; the one cannot exist in the
presence and by the side of the other. That which has
been garnished for the temple of the Lord, must not be
profaned by an idol. Distinct and solemn, and authori-
tative is the inspired announcement, " "Whosoever will
be the friend r.'" the world is the enemy of God." Impiety
has entered into an unholy compact to amalgamate thes<'
two, to adjust their claims, to give them a division of
service ; but it is a covenant with death — it shall be dis-
annulled; it is an agreement with hell — it shall not
stand. Religion peals out her refusal of such reluctant
allegiance, lays the grasp of her claim upon the entire
nation, and tells us in tones of power, " Ye cannot serve
God and mammon." The Christian, then, who is a
Christian indeed, regards the world as if it were not, and
continually endeavors to exemplify that his life and con-
versation are in heaven. His differences from the world
may not, indeed, be apparent to a superficial observer ; he
goes to and fro among the people like other men ; he
takes an interebt in the ever-shifting concerns that are
passing in the world around him ; and yet he is dead to
the world all the while. Ilow are you to find it out 'i

LIFE, PROSPECTS AND DUTY.

IGl

Try liim witji some question of difficulty ; set his duty
before him, and let that duty be painful, and let it involve
some considerable deprivation of gain or of pleasure ;
and with self-sacrificing devotion, he will obey the truth,
and glory in the trial. Mark him in the midst of circum-
stances of discouragment and woe, when waters of a full
cup are wrung out to him ; he is sustained by an energy
of which the world wotteth not, nerved with a principle
to which it is an utter stranger ; richer blood animates
liim, loftier inspirations sparkle from his eye, and though
surrounded by the things of sense, and of course in some
sort influenced by their impressions upon him, he tells
you plainly that lie seeks a country, nay, that he has
already " risen with Christ," and that he lives in the land
which is at once his treasury and his home.

We may illustrate the Apostle's meaning again by a
reference to another passage ; that in which he speaks of
" always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord
Jesus." The primary reference of the Apostle is to the
sufferings which himself and his compatriots were called
upon to undergo in attestation of the resurrection of
Christ. The enemies of the cross, those who were doing
their utmost to destroy Christianity, were perplexed and
baffled by the disappearance of the Saviour from the
tomb ; and to account for the mystery, they charged the
apostles with the felony of their master's body. Thus
two statements were put forth directly opposite in
character and tendency ; the rulers said the body was
stolv.. : ; the apostles said the body had risen. The latter
could not be disproved ; but so intense was their hostility
against the Nazarene, that persecution and power were
made use of — compendious, but, happily in this case,
ineffectual arguments — to silence the proclaimers of the
truth. The Apostle refers to this in the words that are
now before us, and tells them in effect that though
famine might draw the fire from his eye, and long-
continued suffering might repress and undermine the
buoyancy of his spirit, and though his flesh might creep

1G2

THE christian's DEATH,

and quail beneath the pressure of these agonies, and
thongh in all these ways he might bear about in the body
the dying of the Lord Jesus, yet, by the patience with
which those sufferings were borne, by the consolations
which abounded in the midst of them, nay, by the fact
of the sufferings themselves, he could point to hiS marred
and shattered body, and say that not the dying only, but
the life, the immortal life of Jesus was every moment
manifested there. But we are not disposed to limit this
bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus to
apostolic times. It is not a thing of one generation
merely. We -ire not now called upon, as were oui fathers,
to do it in the furnace ; the fires of outward persocutiou
have well-nigh forgotten to burn ; but it has an e: Jstence
still as actual and as constant as in days of yoie. The
Christian does so every moment of his life, because every
moment of his life he exercises faith in Christ. And his
faith is not only active and appropriating, but realizing
in its tendency : it not only unfolds to him the riches and
confers on him the blessings of the mighty offering ; it
paints it as a living vision before the eye of his mind.
Darting back through two thousand years ot past time,
it places him in the midst of the crowd gathered at the
crucifixion, aye, at the very foot of the cross. He sees the
victim ; there is no delusion in the matter ; he walks
along the thronged and bustling streets ; men cross his
path in^ haste, speeding away, the one to his farm and the
other tc his merchandise ; he converses with a thousand
beings, he transacts a thousand things ; but that scene is
ever before him ; as the magnet of his highest attractions,
his eye always trembles to the cross, and in the midst of
evidence fresher every moment he joins in the centurion
language, his glad language too, " Truly this man was
the Son of God." With such a spectacle as" that before
him, how can he live unto the world ? With the glances
of so kina an eye constantly beaming upon him, how can
his desires be on earth ? Heaven claims him, for liis
treasure and his heart are there. Nay, so entirely does

LIFE, PROSPECTS AND DUTY.

les

this death unto sin — for I suppose you have found out
that is what we mean — take possession of the Christian,
that, as the Apostle in another place expresses it, he is
"crucified with Christ." He is not only an anxious
spectator, he is something more, he is a living sacrifice.
He has his cross. As Christ died for sin, he dies to sin,
and they both conquer by dying. As by the dying of
the Saviour, the power of death was destroyed, and the
world was freed from his dominion, so by the dying of
the sinner, the principle of evil is dethroned, the new
heart is gained, and the man becomes " a new creature
in Christ Jesus."

This is what we imagine the Apostle to mean when he
says of Christians, " Ye are dead ;" and as it is only
when we have thus died that we can be truly said to live,
allow us to ask you if you are thus dead unto sin and
alive unto God ? Have you realized this death unto sin,
or this birth unto righteousness ? Has this deep, abiding
change passed upon you? Or are you still living to the
world, the circle of tliis life your bounded prospect, and
its fleeting enjoyments your only reward ? Examine your-
selves, brethren, and may the Spirit help you to a right
decision !

!^",II. We pass upward from the truth of death to the
truth of life. " For ye are dead," says the Apostle,
*' and your life" — a life that you have notwithstanding
that seeming death — " is hid with Christ in God." In
the creation of God there seems to be nothing absolute
or final ; everything seems rather in a rudimentary
state — a state in which it is susceptive of increase,
development, expansion, hnprovement. It is so in
nature. The seed is cast into the earth ; years elapse
before there are the strength and shadow of the tree.
The harvest waves not in its luxuriant beauty at once ;
" there is first the bl&de, then the ear, after that the full
corn in the ear." And what is thus possible in the ordi-
nary processes of nature is capable of spiritual analogies.
Man ends not in his present condition. The very imper-

164

THE christian's DEATH,

fections with which it is franglit, shadow forth a miglitior
being. It would seem as if glimpses of this great truth
shot across the minds of the sage« of ancient Greece and
Rome. It is interesting to watch their minds in their
various and continual operations, especially when, as it
were, brought out of themselves, to see them strugglinir
with some great prin^^iple just glowing upon them from
the darkness of previous tliouglit, to see them catching'
occaBional glimpses of truth in the distance, and pressiiii;
forward, if haply they might comprehend it fully. It
must have been in one of those very ecstasies that tlie
idea of immortality first dawned upon them ; for, after
all, crude and imperfect as their notions were, they must
be regarded rather as conjecture than opinion. It was
reserved for Christianity, by her complete revelations, to
bring life and immortality to light, to unfold this master-
purpose of the Eternal Mind, and to give permanence
and form to her impressions of the life that dies not.
You remember that the inspired writers, when speakiiify
about the present state of being, scarcely dignify it with
the name of life, compared with the life to be expected ;
but they tell us there is provided for us, and awaiting u;^,
a life worthy of our highest approbation, and of our most
cordial endeavor; a life solid, constant, and eternal.
This is the promise " which he hath promised us " — as if
there were no other, as if all others v' ere wrapped up in
that great benediction — " this is the promise which he
hath promised us, even eternal life ;" and of this life they
tell us that it is "hid with Christ in God."

It is hidden, in the first place, in the sense of secrecy ;
it is, concealed, partially developed; we do not know
much about it. Kevelation has not been minute in her
discoveries of the better land. Enough has been revealed
to confirm our confidence and to exalt our faith. The
outlines of the purpose are sketched out before us, but
the details are withheld. Hence, of the life to come the
Apostle tells us that " we know in part, we see as through
a glass darkly;" through a piece of smoked glass like

It ..

r .

LIFE, PROSPECTS AND DUTY.

1G5

that tlirou<;'li wliicli wc look at an eclipse of the sun ; our
senses cuu tcive lis no information concerning it, lor it is
beyond their province; reason cannot find it out, for it
liatHes her ])roudest endeavors. We may go to the depth
in search of this wisdom : " the depth saith, It is not in
me." Imagination may plume her Huest pinion, and
level in the ideal nnigniticence she can bring into being ;
,lie may so exalt and amplify the images of the life that
is as to picture forth tlie life that will be ; it is a hidden
life still, for it hath not entered into the heart of man to
conceive it ; shadows dense and impervious hang on its
approach ; clouds and darkness are round about its throne.
And we are equally destitute of information from experi-
ence. None of those white-robed co i^panies, who have en-
joyed this life from the beginning, have been commissioned
to explain to us its truths ; none of those now venerable
uiies, who have travelled the road, who have experienced
the change, have returned ; they come not full fraught
with the tidings of eternity to tell to the heedful multi-
tudes tales from beyond the grave. Those dark and
silent chainbers effectually cut off all communication
li8tween the mortal and the changed. "We may interro-
i^ate the spirits of the departed, but there is no voice, not
L'ven the echo of our own. We do not complain of this
secrec}', because we believe it to be a secrecy of mercy.
The eye of the mind, like the eye of the body, was daz-
zled with excess of light; and if the full realities of the
life to come were to burst upon us, we should be dazzled
into blindness ; there would be a wreck of reason, and
the balance of the mind's powers would be irrecoverably
li'one. Moreover, we Avalk by faith, not by sight, and a
fuller revelation would neutralize some of the most
elHcient means for the preservation of Sjuritual life, and
bring anarchy and discord into the beautiful arrangements
of God. Thus is this hiding beneficial to believers. Yes,
and I will go further than that: to the sinner it is a
secrecy of mercy. Wonder not at that. Imagine not
that it this vacant area could be filled to-day witli a spirit

166

THE CHRISTIAN S DEATH,

of perdition, with the tlnmder scur of the Eternal on his
brow, and liis heart writhing; under the bhisted immor-
tality of hell, then surely if lie could tell the secrets of
liis prison-house those who are now among the impeni-
tent would he affrighted, nnd repent and turn. " I tell
you nay, for if they hear not Moses and tlit propliets
neither would they be persuaded though one ivere to rise
from the dead."

Just anotlier thought here on this head. Especially U
this life hidden in the sense of secrecy, in the hour and
the article of death. An awful change passes upon one
Ave love, and who has loved the Lord" Jesus Christ. lie
^ooks pale and motionless; we see not the glances of liis
eye, we hear not the music of liis voice, and as he lies
stretched breathless in his slumbers, it is very difficult to
believe that he is not dead. " But he is not dead, but
sleepeth." Can you credit it, O ye mourners ? Is there
no chord in your stricken hearts, ye bereaved ones, that
trembles responsive to the tone, '' he is not dead, but
sleepeth f His life is with him yet as warm, and as
young, and as energetic as in days gone by ; only it is
hidden " with Christ in God.'' AVe moul'n you not, ye
departed ones that have died in the faith, for ye have
entered into life. ^Natural affection bids us weep, and
give your tombs the tribute of a tear, but wc dare not
recall you. Ye live ; we are the dying ones ; ye live in
the smile and blessing of God. Our life is "hid with
Christ in God.;'

And tlien it is hidden, secondly, not only in the
sense ot secrecy, but in the sense of security, laid up,
treasured up, kept safely by the power of Christ. The
great idea seems to be this : the enemy of God, a lion
broken loose, is going round the universe in search of
the Christian's life, that he may undermine und destroy
it; but he ciinnot lind it; God has hidden it; it is jiid-
den w^itli Christ in God. It is a very uncertain and pre-
carious tenure upon wdiich we hold all our possessions
here ; everything connected with the present life is fleet-

LIFE, PROSPECTS AND DUTY

167

ing ; plans formed in oversight and execnted in wisdom
are, by adverse circumstances, rendered abortive and
fruitless ; gouids grow for our shade, and we sit under
them with delight ; the mildew comes, and they are
withered ; friends twine themselves around our affections,
and as we come to know them well and love them, they
are sure to die ; and upon crumbling arch, and ruined
wall, and battlemented height, and cheeks all pale that
but awhile ago blushed at the praise of their own love-
liness, olr" Time has graven in the word of the preacher,
tliat there is nothing unchangeable in man except his
tendency to change. But it is a characteristic of the
future life, that it is that which abideth ; the lapse of
time affects not those who live eternally ; theirs is im-
mortal youth ; no enemy, however organized and mighty,
can avail to deprive them of it; no opposition, however
subtile and powerful, can wrest it from him with whom
it is secure. Where is it hidden ? With Christ ; the
safest place in the universe surely, for any thing belonging
to Christ's people. Where he is, in that land irradiated
with his presence, and brightening under the sunshine of
liis love; on that mountain whose sacred inclosure Gou's
gloiy pavilions, and within which there shall in nowise
enter anything that shall hurt or destroy. Where is this
hidden ? In God, in the great heart of God, who is
never faithless to his premise, and whose perfections are
pledged to confer it npon persevering believers. Oh,
we will not fear. Unbelief may suggest to us its thoughts
of suspicion and warning ; fear may shrink back appalled
from a way so untried and dangerous ; passion may stir
our unruly elements in our too carnal minds, and pre-
sumptuously light against our faith ; our ancient enemy
may do his best to aggravate into intenser force the giant
Avar ; but we will not fear ; our life shall be given to us,
for it is hidden with Christ in God. Even now, in the
prospect, we feel a joy of which the world wotteth not —
heart-warm, fervent, entrancing, a joy which we may
suffer to roam unchecked in its raptures because it is
based upon the truth divine.

168

THE CHRISTIAN S DEATH,

III. We jmss on, thirdly, to the Cliristiun's prospects.
"When Christ, who is our life, bliall appear, then Bhall
ye also appear with him in glory."

These words imply two things : iirst, enjoyment ; and
secondly, manifestation.

They imply, first, enjoyment. We observed before,
that revelation has not been minute in her discoveries ol
the better land ; we have the outlines of the purpose
before us, but the details are withheld ; and yet enough
is revealec' 'lot Teiy to fulfill, but to exalt our liighep.t
hopes. T].?iirinitudes under which the recompense is
presented in Scilj_ ture cannot fail to fill us Avith antici-
pations of the mosi lightful kind. It is brought before
us, you remember, ns an inheritance, incorruptible, and
undefiled; as a paradise ever vernal and blooming ; and,
best of all, amid tliase trees o^ life there lurks no serpent
to destroy ; as p country through whose vast region we
shall traverse with 'intired footsteps; and every fresh
revelation of beauty w'ill augment our knowledge, and
holiness, and joy ; as a city whose every gate is of jewelry,
whose every street is a sun-track, whose wall is an im-
mortal bulwark, and whose ever-sj)reading splendor is
the glory of the Lord ; as a temple through which gusts
of praise are perpetually sweeping the anthems of undying
hosannas ; above all, as our Father's house where Christ
is, where our elder brother is, making the house ready
for the younger ones, where all we love is clustered, where
the outflowings of parental afl:ection thrill and gladden,
and where the mind is spell-bound, :for aye, amid the
sweet sorceries of an everlasting home. Is there no
enjoyment in images like these? Does not the very
thought of them make the fleet blood rush the fleeter
through the veins ? And yet these and far more are the
prospects of the Christian : knowledge without the shadow
cif an error, and increasing throughout eternity ; friend-
ship that never unclasps its hand, or relaxes from its
embraces; holiness without spot or wrinkle, or any such
thing ; the pyesence of God in beatific and imperishable

LIFE, PROSPECTS AND DUTY.

1G9

vision, combine to make liini happy each moment, and
to make him happy furever.

Then these words imply manifestation as well as
enjoyment. " When Christ, wlio is our life, shall ap-
pear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory."
The world says : " You talk about your life being I'lid-
(Icn ; the fact is, it is lost ; it is only a gloss of yours to
say it is hidden." But it is not lost, it is only hidden ;
and when Christ, who has it, shall appear, " then shall
ye also appear," to the discomfiture of scoffers and to the
admiration of all them that believe ; then shall ye also
appear with him in glory. The worldling looks at Chris-
tians now, and, in some of his reflective moods/ o iinds a
i^reat difference between them, but it is a diu a*( ce ho
caii hardly understand. With his usual short-^ '?hl ness,
and with his usual self-complacency, he ' 'Hj. ines the
advantage to be altogether upon his own side , ho looks
at the outside of the man, and judges fool' >h judgment.
Perhaps he glances at his garments, and the ^ ^ e tattered,
it may be, and homely, and he turns away with affected
disdain. Ah ! he knows not that beneath that beggar's
robe there throbs a prince's soul. Wait a while ; bido
your time ; stop untd the manifestation of the sons of
God. With what different feelings will earth's despised
ones be regarded at the bar of judgment and before the
throne divine ! How will they appear when they are
confessed, recognized, honored, in the day when he is
ashamed of the wicked, and when the hell beneath and
the hell within will make them ashamed of themselves i
" Beloved," says the rejoicing Apostle, " now are we the
sons of God ; " that is something, that is no mean gift,
that is no small bestowment, to have that in hand; "now
are we the sons of God," "Salvation," it is as if the
Apostle had said, " is a small thing, a thing unworthy of
God ; " it is a small thing to take a captive out of a dun-
geon and turn him loose upon the cold world's cruel
scorn ; it is a grand thing to take a captive out of a dun-
geon, and set him on a throne ; and that is done with all
pi

17(9

THE christian's DEATH,

those who believe on Jesns : being justified by faith, they
liavc peace witli God throup^h our Lord Jesus Christ.
" And if children " (for they have received the adoption
of sons), "then heirs, heirs of God, and joint-heirs with
Clii'ist." Oh ! salvation is not to be named in connection
witli the p'and, the august, the stately splendor, the son-
ship, which is given unto those who put their trust in
Christ. " Beloved, now are we the sons of God ; but it
dotli not yet appear what we shall be ; so transcendant,
so surpassing is the recompense, that we cannot conceive
it now ; " it doth not yet appear what we shall be ; " it
doth not yet appear even to ourselves ; we shall be as
much astonished at the splendor of the recompense as
any one beside. Oh ! when we are launched into the
boundless, when the attentive ear catches the first tones
of heaven's melody, when there burst upon the dazzled
eye the earliest glimpse of beatific vision, how shall we
be ready almost to doubt our own identity — " Is this I ?
It cannot be the same. Is this the soul tliat was racked
with anxiety and dimmed with prejudice, and stained
with sin? Is this the soul whose every passion was its
tempter, and that was harassed with an all-absorbing fear
of never reaching heaven ? Why not an enemy molests
it now ; not a throb shoots across it now ; those waters
that nsed to look so angry and so boisterous, how peace-
fully they ripple upon the everlasting shore ; and this
body, once so frail and so mortal, is it, can it be, the
same i Why, the eye dims not now ; the cheek is never
blanched with sudden pain ; the fingers are not awkward
now ; but, without a teacher, they strike the harp of
gold, and transmit along the echoes of eternity the song
of Moses and the Lamb. This is conjecture you say ;
not, we hope, unwarranted ; but even now, dark as our
glimpse is, unworthy as our conceptions are of the pro-
mised recompense, there is enough to exalt us into the
poet's ecstasy, when, throned upon his own privilege, he
sings:

tIFE, PROSPECTS AND DUTY.

171

•• On nil tho klncjs of cnrth

Witli pity wd look down ;
Ami clului in virtue d our birth,

A ncvcr-failini; crown."

IV. And now, tlicii, you aie roady fur the duty, I am
sure. *' For ^yuur litb is hid with Christ iu God. AVhen
Christ, who is our life, shall ai)pear, then shall ye also
appear witli him iu glory/' "Set your affection on
things above." Oh* how solemnly it comes, with all this
exceeding weight of privilege to back it ! It silences the
question urged, it overrides gainsay ; it is emphatic and
solemn, and to tlic Christian resistless. **Set your affec-
tions on things above." For a Cliristian to be absorbed
ill the gainfnlness of the world, or fascinated by its
pleasures, is at once a grievous infatuation and a sin. It
is as if a prince of high estate and regal lineage were to
demean himself in the haunts o^' !)cggars, to the loss of
dignity and imperilling the honor of his crown. What
have you, the blood-royal of heaven, to do with this vain
and fleeting show i Arise, depart ; this is not your rest ;
it is polluted. And yet how many of you have need of
the exhortation this morning, " Set your affections on
things above ?" Have you not — now let the spirit of
searching come unto you — have you not, by your cupidity,
avarice, and huckstering lust of gain, distanced the world's
devotees in what they had beeu accustomed to consider
their own peculiar walk ? Have you not trodden so near
the line of demarcation between professor and profane,
that you have almost trodden on it, and almost trodden
it out ? Have you not, strangely enauiored of visions of
distant joy, postponed as uniniiuential and unworthy, the
joy that abideth, or, like the man in the allegory, raked
up with a perseverance that in aught else might have
been laudable, the straws beneath your feet, while above
your head there glittered the diadem of glory i Oh,
awake! arise! this is not your rest ; it is polluted. "Set
your affections on things above, and not on things on the
earth." If riches be your pjt)S8ession, be thankful for

172

THE CinilSTIAXS DKATll,

mi-'

I. -1

tlicm; do all tlio ^'ood with tliom yoii can ; if friends
iiiako mnsic iiiyuur dwell in-;-, regard them as rose-leaves
Bctattcrcd upon life, and hy and by to dron from life away.
Seek for ])ags that wax not okl, friends that neither ween
.lor change in the unintermitting reunions of lieaven s
own glory. •

How ('loea this prospect of glory hrcathc encourage-
ment to the soul in the sad season of bereavement ! " He
that believeth in Jesus'" — this is the promise — " though
he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and
believeth on .Fesus shall never die." Still sounds that
ijreat utterance of the Mhster ruunino; aloncj the whole
line of beini^, heard over the graves of the loved, amid
rustling leat and fading Hower, and withering grass, and
dying man, " He that liveth and believeth in tJ esiis shall
never die.'' Orphan, believest thou this 'i Widow, from
whom the desire of thine eyes has been taken away with
a stroke, believest thou tliis^ Ah ! some of us have got
friends safe-housed above the regions of the shadow and
the storm, but we would not bring them back again.
We would sing for them the hallowed pivian :

'•By the bright waters now thy lot is cast,
Joy l^r thee ! happy frieud ; thy bark hath passed
The rough aea'a loam.
Now the }ong yearnings of thy soul arc stilled,

Home, home !
Tliy peacc! is Avon, thy heart is lillod !
Thou art gene home."' '

J3ut we can listen to the voice which they iind time to
whisj^er to us in some of the rests of the music : " Beyc
therefore followers of us who now, through faith and
l)atience, are inheriting the promises."

Sctme of you have not got, perhaps, to the realization
of this promise yet. There is a misgiving within ; there
is a yet unsettled controversy between your Maker and
yoiu'self. You have not seen Jesus ; you have not heard,
the pardoning voice or felt the i)owcr of the reconciling
plan. Oh, come to Christ. To-day the Holy Spirit of

TJFE, rn0Sl'KtT« AND DUTY.

i7n

Chris^t is here, "waitiiij^ to take of tlio pvcciVm?* lhiiii;« <»t'
Chri?^t, and to ylu»w tliom unto you ; ^vultill;j,• this luorn-
iiii^ to do honor to Jon^i. Ilallcnv tho consecration (»f
this house l)y theconsccrution of the living teni])le ofyonr
licarts. God is no Uni^er the unknown (iod, to hv viewed
with Hervile apju'eliension, or followed with slavish dread ;
he is God in Christ, reconeiliiijji: the world unto himself.
Redemption is no longer a theorem to be demonstrated,
a problem to be Bohed, a riddle to bo guessed by the
wayward and the wandering: it is the great tVict of tho
universe that Jesus Christ hath, l)y the grace of God,
tasted death once for every num. Mercy is no longer a
fitful and capricious exc cise of benevolence; it is tho
very power, and justice, and truth of (rod. A just God :
look that out in the Gospel dictionary, and you will find
it means a Saviour. Heaven is no longer a fortress to bo
besieged, a city to be taken, a high, impregnable elevation
to be scaled ; it is the grand metropolis of the universe,
to which the King, in his bounty, has thrown up a royal
high-road for his people, even through the blo(jd of his
Son. Oh, come to Jesus with full surrender of heai t, and
all these blessings shall be yours. Some do not hold this
language ; tliey l)elong to this world, and are not ashamed
to confess it. "Bring fresh garlands; let the song be of
wine and of beauty ; build fresh and greater larns, where^
I may bestow my fruits and goods." Uut then cometli
tlie end. " The rich man died and was buried, and in
hell lifted up his eyes, being in torment ; and seeth
Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom ; he cried
and said'' — the only prayer that 1 know of, the whole
Bible through, to a saint or angel, and that by a damned
spirit, and lever answered — "I pray thee, lather Abraham,
that thon v/ouldst send Lazarus that he may dip the tip
of his finger in water, and cool my tongue, for I ani
tormented in this Hame." Listen to it, the song of the
lost worldling in hell. Who will set it to music 'i Which
heart is tuning for it now ? Sinner, is it thine ?■ Is it
thine ? Don't put that (piestion away. Ask yourselves

• I

174

THE christian's DEATH, LIFE, ETC.

and your consciences in the sight of God, and then como,
repent of all your sins, flee for refuge to the hope that U
laid before you in the Gospel, trusting in serene and child-
like reliance upon Christ. Only holieve, and yours shall
be the heritage in the world to come.

»4>

THE APOSTLE'S GROUND OF TRUST.

" But what things were gain to rae, thoso 1 counted loss for Christ.
Yes, doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the. excellency of the
knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord ; for whom I have suffered the lot^s of
all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ."— PniLiP-
piANS iii. 7, S.

HERE can be no sense of bondage in the soul
when the tongue utters words like these.
i Albeit they flow from the Hps of a prisoner,
they have the true ring of the inner freedom, of the
freedom which cannot be cribbed in dungeons. Tlioy
are the expressions of a far-sighted trust which yields
to no adverse circumstances, which endures, as seeing
him who is invisible, in the confidence of quiet power.
There was a very tender Relationship subsisting between
Paul and the 'Philippian Church. They had sent
Epaphroditus to visit him in his prison at Rome, to
bear him their sympathies, and to administer their
liberality, in his hour of need ; and in return for their
kindness, and as a token of his unfailing love, he ad-
dressed them this epistle. It is remarkable that it
contains no solitary word of rebuke, that it recognizes
in them the existence of a grateful and earnest piety,
and that it aims throughout at their consolation and
encouragement In the commencement of the present
chapter he warns them against certain Judaizing
teachers, who would fain have recalled them to the
oldness of the letter, and who made the comandments
of God of none effect by their tradition. " Beware of

170

THE apostle's ground OF TRUST.

dogs, beware of evilworkcrs, beware of the concision."
He telis them that the true seed of Abraham, the royal
heritors of the covenant, are those who worship God in
the spirit, and rejoice in Christ Jesus, and have no
confidence in the flesh. He proceeds to remind them
that if there were benefit in external trusts, he stood
npon a vantage-ground of admitted superiority.
" Though I might also have confidence in the flesh. If
anv other man. thinketh that he hath whereof he midit
trust in the flesh, I more : Circumcised the eighth day,
of the stock of Israel, ot the tribe of Benjamin, an
Hebrew of the Hebrews ; as touching the law, a Phari-
see ; concerning zeal, persecuting the Church ; toucliing
the righteousness which is in the law, blameless." But,
putting all this aside, renouncing these grounds of coii-
fldence as carnal and delusive, resting in sublime
reliance upon Christ, he records the noble declaration
of the text, at once the enduring testimony of his own
faith, and the perpetual strength of theirs. " But what
things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ.
Yea, doubtless, and I count all tilings but loss for the
excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord ;
for whom I have suffered tlie loss of all things, and do
count them but dung, that I may win Christ." We can
conceive of no testimony better calculated than this to
cheer the timid, or to confirm the wavering, to silence
the misgivings of the doubtful, or cause the inquiring-
soul to sing for joy. All the conditions which we can
possibly desire in order to render testimony accredited
and valua])le, are to be found here. It is not the
utterance of a man of weak mind, infirm of purpose
and irresolute in action, whose adhesion would danjagc
rather than further any cause he might espouse. It is
Paul, the Apostle, who speaks, the sharp-witted stu-
dent of Gamaliel, a match for the proudest Epicurean,
versed in scholastic subtilties and in all the poetry and
philosophy of the day, with a mental glance, keen as
lightning, and a mental grasp as strong as steel. It is

THE apostle's GBOUND OF TTIFST.

not the utterance of youth, impassioned and, therefore,
hasty; sanguine of imagined good, and pouring out
its prodigal applause. It is Paul, the man, who speaks
with ripened wisdom on his hrow, and gatherini;'
around him the experience of years. It is not the
utterance of the man of hereditary belief, hound in the
fetters of the past, strong in the sanctities of early edu-
cation, who has imbibed a traditional and unintelligent
attachment to the profession of his fathers. It is Paul,
the some-time persecutor, who speaks, the noble quarry
which the arrows of the Almighty struck down when
soaring in its pride. It is he who now rests tenderly
upon the cause which he so lately labored to destroy.
It is not, iinally, the utterance of inexperience, which
awed by the abiding impression of one supernatural
event, and haying briefly realized new hopes and new
joys, pronounces prematurely a judgment which it
would afterwards reverse. It is Paul, the aged, who
speaks, who is not ignorant of what he says and whereof
he doth affirm, who has rejoiced in the excellent know-
ledge through all the vicissitudes of a veteran's life ;
alike amid the misgivings of a Church slow to believe
his conversion, and amid the dissipation and perils of
his journeys ; alike when first worshipped and then
stoned at Lystra, in the prison at Philippi, and in the
Areopagues at Athens ; alike when in the early council
it strengthened him, *' born out of due time," to
withstand to the face of Peter, the elder Apostle,
because he was to be blamed, and when, melted into
almost womanly tenderness on the sea-shore at Miletus
it nerved him for the heartbreaking ot that sad farewell ;
alike when bufieting the wintry blasts of the Adriatic,
and when standing silver-haired and solitary before the
bar of Nero. It is he of amplest experience who has
tried it under every conceivable circumstance of mortal
lot, who, now that his eye has lost its early fire, and the
spring and summer are gone from him, feels its genial
glow in the kindly winter of his years. Where can we

178

THE apostle's ground OF TRUST.

find testimony more oom*hisivo and valuable ? Ilonr
it, ye craven spirits, who would dastardly forswear thu
Master, and let it shame you into Christian manhood I
Hear it, ye bruised and tender souls, that dare hardly
venture faith on Jesus, and catching inspiration and
courage from it, let your voices be heard :

" Hence, and forever from my heart,
I bid my doubts and fears deiiart,
And to those hands my bouI resign,
Which bear credentials so divine."

In the further exhibition of this passage to-night, wo
ought to refer, in the first place, to the Apostle's insuf-
ficient grounds of trust, and secondly, to the compen-
sating power of the excellency of the knowledge of
Christ. I greatly fear, however, ^liat the first part of
the subject will be all that I can manage to compass
within the time allotted for this evening's sorvice.
Our remarks will, therefore, mainly dwell up')n the
grounds of trust which the Apostle here repudiates :
*' What things were gain to me, those I counted loss
for Christ."

There is something remarkable in the wa}' in which
the Apostle refers to the past, and the rtspectful man-
nei in which he speaks of the faith of his fathers, and
of his youth. It is often a -",.;:. rather of servility thiin
of independence when mt! ' jfy their former selves.
The Apostle had not renounced Judaism in any moment
of passion, nor in any prejudice of novelty. Strong
convictions had forced him out of his old belief. He
had emerged into a fiiith purer and more satisfying far.
But there were memories connected with the fulfilled
dispensation which he would not willingly let die.
There were phases of his own inner life there. For
long years, Judaism had been to him his only inter-
p^'eter of the divine, the only thing which met a
rengio'is instinct, active beyond that of ordinary men.
'Tho grounds of trust which he now found to be insuf-

THE APOSTLKS GROUND OF TRUST.

170

flcient, had been tlic lialting-placcs of his soul in its
progn^ss from the dehisivo to the abidiiiii^, from the
rihadowy to the true. He could not forget tliat there
hung around the system he had abandoned, an ancient
and traditional glow : it was of God's own architecture ;
tlio pattern and its gorgeous ceremonial had been given
by himself in the Mount ; all its furniture spoke of him
ill sensuous manifestation and magnificant appeal.
His breath had quivered upon the lips of its prophets,
and liad lashed its sneers into their sacred frenzy. Ho
was in its temple service, and in its holy of holies ;
amid shapes of heavenly sculpture,, the light of his
presence ever rested in merciful repose. IIow could
tlse Apostle assail it with v/anton outrage or flippant
sarcasm ? True, it had fulfilled its missios). and now
that the age of sjnrituality and power had come, it was
no longer needed ; but the halo was yet upon its brow,
and like the light which lingers above the horizon long
after the setting of the sun, there shone about it a dim
but heavenly splendor. While, however, the Apostle
was not slow to confess that there was glory in that
which was to be done away, he was equally bold in
aftirming its absolute worthlessness in comparison with
the yet greater glory of that which remained. " What
things were gain to me, those I counted loss for
Christ." It will be found, I think, to be remarkable in
the review of the grounds of trust, which the Apostle
here repudiates, how much there is kindred to them in
the aspects of modern faith, and how multi< des now
cling to them with tenacity, and hope to Una in them
their present and eternal gain. Let us remind you,
then, for a few moments, of the catalogue of trusts
which the Apostle tried and repudiated.

The first thing he mentions, is sacramental efficacy.
" Circumcisad on the ei^'hth dav." He names circumcision
first, because it was the early and indispensiblt; sacrament
of the Jewish people, the seal of the Mosaic covenant, the

180

THE AINJSTLES GROUND OF TRUST.

(listinguisliiiif,^ l)a(lg<5 oftlio Israelites from all other nations
of maiikiiid. Moreover, he tells us he had the advaTitnu,,
of early initiation : " Oirciniicised the eighth day." Tin-
Gentile jn'oselytcs could, of course, only observe the rite at
the period of conversion, which might be in maidiood or
in age. But Paul was hallowed from his youth, from the
eighth day of his life introduced into the fcdei'al arranj^n--
ment, and solemnly consecrated to the service of the Lord.
He was not insensible to this externa) advantage, but he
does not hesitate to ])roclaim it worthless as a ground of
acceptance with God. There are multitudes by whom
baptism is regarded in the same reverent light as was cir-
cumcision by the Jews of old. If tliey do not absolutely
rejoice in it, as the manner of some is, as the instrument
of their regeneration, at least they liave a vague notion of
a benefit which they deem it to have conferred, and are
living on the unexhausted credit of tlieir parents' faith and
prayer. If, in adult age, they make any profession of
religion, it is by partaking of the Eucharist, whose elements
they ii^vest with mystic and transforming power. Theiv
is no inward change in then- They are conscious of no
painstaking and daily struggle with corruption. They
nave no conflict ibr a mastery over evil. No perceptil)le
improvement passes upon their conduct and habits from
their periodical connminions. And yet, absolutely, their
only hope for the future, springs from the grace of the
baptismal font, and from the efticacy of the sacramental
table ; for they persuade themselves into the belief that as
by the ordinance of baptism thei'o was a mysterious con-
veyance to them of the title-deeds of an inheritance, so by
the excellent mystery of the Lord's Supper, they are as
inei.pl.'oabiy lipened into meetness for its possession.
Brei hrea, \^e \'Oul(l not undcr-value the ordinances of
God's dpT.oiiuing. We are not insensible to the benefit
when bell' vv,>r p^u-ents dedicate their offspring unto God,
when the h id of parental Taith rests upon the ark of the
covonant, ai 1 claims tliat there should be shed out upon
the little ones the spiritual inliuences of the Holy Ghost.

^»v,

THE apostle's GIIOUND OF TRUST.

181

I Iiietest among our rcligioii.s iiicniories, treasure^l iu tho
oulwitli a delight which is ahiiost awe, are some of these
iioly commiinioiiH, when — tho life infused into the ])read,
;lie power into the wine — Clirist has been evidently set
forth before his grateful AV()rship})L'rs, and strong consola-
;ions have trooped u}) to the lieavenly festival. But it
;iiu8t not 1)0 forgotten that all the graces of ordinances, all
;ho beatific and ins})iring comforts which flow through
■livinely ap})ointod services, are not in the services theni-
vlves, but in the fullness of the loving Saviour, the
inolnted one in the vision of Zachariah, without wdiom
;i!i(l without whose Si)irit il^ey could have neither eflicacy
• or power. Precious as are the collateral benefits of bap-
■']>A\i, and hallowing as are the strength and blessing of the
Holy Eucharist, we do solemnly ]n'oclaim them worthless
iis groumls of acceptance before ilod. Hear it,yc baptized,
lit unbelieving members of our congregation i Hear it,
ve devout and earnest connnunicants 1 Secraments have
;io atonimj virtue, no value at all except as avenues to lead
the soul to C/hrist ; and if, in a trust like this, you pass
vour lives, and if, in the exercise of a trust like this, you
(lie, for you there can I'emain nothing but the agonizing
wakening from a dece])tion that will have outlasted life,
luul the cry wailed from the outside of a door, forever
Ivarred, ''We were early dedicated unto thee ! were
iiccounted as thy followers; we have eaten and drank in
thy presence ; Lord, Lord, open unto us." That is the
tiist ground of trust which the Ai)0stle here disclaims.

Passing ou in the catalogue, we find that the second
repudiated confidence is an honoured parentage, "Of the
4ock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Helirew^ of the
Hebrews." To have been circumcised the eighth day,
proved tliat he had been born of parents ])rofessing the
.Jewish faith : but, inasnuich as the Gentile proselytes
also observed the rites of circumcision, it did not prove
that he had been descended of the family of Israel. He,
therefore, shows that in })urity of lineal descent, in all
tliose hereditary honours upon which men. dwell with

3"
c

182

TIIK APOSTLE S GROUND OF TRUST.

})rido, he could l)oast with tlio ])rou(lost of them all. He
was of the stock of Israel. But ten of the tril)eH had re-
volted from their allegiance to Jehovah, liad soIIcmI their
nobility by tlieir vices, had entered into degrading
coni])anionshij) with surrounding idolaters. He, tlierefon.-,
reminds them fui-ther, that he was of the tri])e of Benjamin ;
iliustriouSi because it had given the tirst king to Israel;
more illustrious, because, at the ajiostasy of J(!roboani it
nuiintained ])urity of Divine worshij), and held itself faith-
ful among the faithlessness of many. Moreover, he had
not been introduced into the federal relationship by
personal adoption nor by the conversion of his fathers
There had been in his ancestry no Gentile intermarriages :"
lie was "a Hebrew of the HebreM's." His geneaology
was ])ure on both si(h\s. There was no bar sinister in his
arms. He was a lineal inliei'itor of the ado])tion, and the
glory, and the covenant. There was much in all this on
which in those times tl'C Ai)ostie might have dwelt with
pride ; nuen, generally vaunt those honors which are theirs
by birth.

It v.^as no light thing surely, then, to belong to nobility
that could trace its far descent from the Avorthies of the
older world, to have for his ancestors those anointed and
holy patriarchs who trod the young earth. Avhen un-
wrinkled by sorrow, undinnned l)y crime, untouched by
the wizard v/and of time ; to have in his veins the same
blood tiiat marched })rou(lly ov(3r the fallen ramparts of
Jericho, or that bade the aftriglited sun stand still at
Gibeon, or that quailed l)eneath the dread thunders of the
mount that liurned. And yet a,ll this accumidated })ride
of ancestral honbr tlie Apostle counted "loss for Christ."
That the Jews pj'ided themselves on their descent from
Abi'aham, you may gather from many passages of Scri})-
ture. You remember when our Saviour was conversinsj^
with them on the inner freedom, he was rudely interrupted
with the words. " We be Abraham's children ; we were
never .n bondage to any man." And that they regarded
this descent from Abraham as in bome sort a passport to

\i: ■'

THK APOSTLES GROUND OF TRUST.

183

heaven, wc may gather from the Saviour's I'cbukc :
" Think not to say within yourselves, we have Abraham
to our father, for 1 say unto you, that of tliese stones God
is able to raise up children unto Abi'aham." And there
arc multitudes now, ])rethren, who have no better hope
than this. There are many in this land of ours who arc
stifling the misgivings of conscience, and the convictions of
the Holy Spirit, with the foolish thought that they have
been born in a (JIu'istian country, surrounded with an at-
mosphere of privilege, or are the sons " of parents passed
into the skies."

Look at that holy patriarch, forsaken of kindred,
l>ankrupt in |)roperty, and slandered in reputation,
" Afflicted grcviously and tempted sore,' and yet holdipg
an integrity as fast in his sackcloth as ever he did in his
purple, and amid tenil)le reverses blessing the goodness
wliich but claimed the gift it gave ! Mark that honor-
able counsellor, pious amid cares of state, and pomps, and
pleasure, walking with God amid the tumult and luxury
of Babylon, and from the companionshi]) of kings speeding
to his chamber that had its lattice open toward Jerusa-
lem ! Listen to that preacher of righteousness, as now
Avith earnest exhoi*tation, and now with blameless life, he
testifies to the whole world, and warns it of its coming
doom, and then, safe in the heaven-shut ark, is borne by
the billows of ruin to a mount of safety. What sublime
examples of consistency and piety are here ! Surely, if a
parent's faith can avail for children anything, it Avill be in
the families of Noah, Daniel, and Job !

Now, listen — listen — ye who rest on traditional faith,
ye who are making a raft of your parents' piety to Hoat
you over the dark, stormy water into church fellowship
here, and into heavenly fellowshij) hereafter — listen to the
solemn admonition: 'Though these three men, Noah,
Daniel, and Job, were in it, as I live they should deliver
but their own souls by their righteousness, saith the Lord
God." Alas ! if the grandson of Moses was an idolatrous
priest ; if the childi'cn of Samuel perverted judgment and

184.

TlIK APOSTM'.S CJKOUND OF TllUST.

took l)i'il)es ; if David, tlio inari after (lod's own heart,
inouriicd in liopelcss aj^ony over Absalom dea<l ! bow sad
tlu; witness tliat reli^non is not a hereditary possession !
liow ap}»allinf^ tlu? dan<:(er lest yon, childi'en of pious
jtarents, nnrsed in tlu; hi]) ajid snrr()un(h3d witli the at-
mosphere of godliness,, shouhl pass (U)wn into a lieritage
of wrath and sorrow, ag^^ravated into intenser liell for you
by the remembrances of the ]>iety of yon r fathers ! That
is the second gronnd of trnstwliich tlie Aj)()stle disclaims.
Passinf^ on in the catalonrue, we find tliat the nisxt
vcpndiated confidence is religions anthority. "As tonch-
ingthe law, a Pharisee." This was not the first time tlie
A])ostle had made this affirmation. You remember that
before the tribunal of the high ])riest, he affirmed, with a
not unholy i)ride, " I am a Pharisee, the son of a Phari-
see." And, at Agrippa's judgment-seat, he appealed even
to the infuriated Jews wliether he had not, according to
the straightest sect of their religion, lived a Pharisee.
And, indeed, there was nnich in those early times which
an honest Pharisee might be excused for counting gain.
The word has got in our <lays, to he regarded as a sort of
synonym for all that is hy])Ocritical and crafty ; but a
Pharisee in the Jewish times, an honest, earnest Pharisee,
was a man not to be despised. In an age of prevailing
indifference, the Pharisee rallied around him all the godly,
religious spirit of the tin"! j. In an age of [)rc vailing scep-
ticism, the Pharisee protested nobly against the free
thinking Sadducee, and against the courtly Herodian. In
an age of prevailing laxity, the Pharisee inculcated by
])reccpt at all events, austerity of morals and sanctity of
life. There might be ostentation in his broad phylacter-
ies ; at all events, it showed he was not ashamed of the
texts which he had traced out upon the parchment. A
love of dis})lay might prompt the superb decorations with
which he gilded the tombs of the prophets ; at all events,
and that is no small virtue, he had not ceased to honor the
memory of righteousness. There might be self-glory in
his faats, rigidly observed, and in his tithes, paid to the

THE apostle's GROl^'D OF TRUST.

1S5

uttermost farthing ; at all events, there was recognition of
the majesty, and obedience to the letter of the law. I
repeat it, in those tsarly times there was nnich which .'in
honest Pharisee might he excused f( r-countinj^ gain. But
this also the Apostle " counted loss for Christ. '

There are multitudes now, I need not remind you,
whose trust is their orthodoxy, whose zeal is thcur par-
tisanship, whose munition of rocks is their union with tho
people of God. There is some danger, believe me, lest
even the tender and hallowed associations of the Church
should weaken the sense of individual responsibility. Wo
are apt to imagine, amid the round of decorous external-
isms, when the sanctuary is attractive and the minister
approved, when there is peace in the borders and wealth
iu tho treasury, when numbers do not diminish, and all
that is conventionally excellent is seen, that our own piety
must necessarily shine in the lustre of the mass, that we
are spiritually healthy, and need neither counsel nor
warning.

The Church to which we belong, perhaps, has " a name
to live ;" and we imagine tliat the life of the aggregate
irnist, in somo mysterious manner, imi)ly the life of the
individual. And though our conscience reproach us some
times, and though we are frivolous in our practice, and
censorious in our judgment ol others, and though in our
struggle with evil, the issue is sometimes compromise and
sometimes defeat, although attendances at religious ordin-
ances, an occasional and stilled emotion undeV a sermon,
u spasm of convulsive activity, a hurried and heartless
])rayer, are really the whole of our religion — we are
sitting in our sealed houses, we pass among our fellows
for reputable and painstaking Christians, and are dream-
ing that a joyous entrance will be ministered to us
abundantly at last. O, for thunder pealing words to
crash over the souls of formal and careless i)rofessors of
religion, and startle them into the life of God! I do
solemnly believe that there are tliQusands in tmr congre-
gations, in different portions of the land, who are tkna

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186

THE apostle's GROUND OF TRUST.

dead while they are seeming to live ; and with all fidelity
I would warn you of your danger. It is a ghastly sic^li:
when the flowers of religious profession trick out a mortal
corpse. It is a . sad entombment when the church

chapel is the vault of the coffined spirit, " dead in tres-
passes and sins." That is the third ground of trust whicli
the Apostle here disclaims.

Passing on in the catalogue, we find that the fonrtli
repudiated confidence is intense earnestness, " Concerninf^
zeal, persecuting the Church." There was much in this
that would awake a responsive chord in the heart of a
bigoted Jew. The Apostle tells us he was jDresent at the
martyrdom of Stephen ; and in his zeal for the repression
of what he deemed to be a profane mystery, he made
havoc of the Church, breathed out threatenings and
slaughter, and persecuted unto the death. Often, indeed,
did the sad memory press upon him in his after liie, bow-
ing him to contrition and tears. " I am less than the
least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an
apostle, because I persecuted the Church of God." But
there is incontestable evidence in all this )f his zeal for
the Jewish faith, that he did not hold the truth in un-
righteous indolence, but that he exerted himself for its
promulgation ; that devotion with him was not a surface
sentiment, nor an educational necessity, but a principle
grasping, in the stro:\g hand of its power, every enerscy
of his nature, and iniibered with the deepest affections'of
his soul. And there was much in all this, which men
around him were accustomed to regard as gain ; but this
also he esteemed " as loss for Christ."

I know no age of the world, brethren, when claim for
the gainfulness of zeal, abstract zeal, would be more
readily conceded than in the age in which we live.
Earnestness, it is the god of this age's reverence. Men do
not scrutinize too closely the characters of the heroes they
worsliip. Mad ambition may guide the despotic hand ;
brain may be fired with dark schemes of tyranny ; the
man may be a low-souled infidel, or a vile seducer; he

THE APOSTLES GROUND OF TRUST.

187

may bo a poet stained with licentiousness, or a warrior
stained with blood ; let him be but earnest, and there is
a niche for him in the modern Pantheon. And, as it is
an imderstood principle that the character oi" the wor-
shippers assimilates to the beings they worship, the
devotees have copied their idols, and this is an earnest
age. The bade spirit is in earnest ; bear witness, those
of you who have felt its pressure. Hence the unprece-
dented competitions of business ; hence the gambling,
which would rather leap into wealth by speculation, than
achieve it by industry ; hence the intense, the unflagging,
indomitable, almost universal greed of gain. Men are
earnest in the pursuit of knowledge. The press teems
with cheap, and not always wholesome, literature. Science
is no longer the heritage of the illuminati,'but of the
masses. The common mind has become voracious in its
appetite to know ; and a cry has gone up from the people
which cannot be disregarded, '' Give us knowledge, or
else we die." It is manifest in all departments and in
every walk of life. Men live faster than they used to do»
In politics, in science, in pleasure, he is, he must be
earnest who succeeds. He must speak loudly and
earnestly who would win the heedful multitudes to listen.
Such is the impetuosity of the time, that the timid and the
vacillating find no foothold on the pavement of life, and
are every moment in peril of being overborne and jostled
aside, trampled down beneath the rude waves of the
rushing and earnest crowd.

Whue such general homage is paid to earnestness what
wonder if some people should mistake it for religion ;
and if a man should imagine that, because he is zealous
in the activities of ben.-^v.Jence, warmly attached to certain
church organizations, and in some measure sympathetic
with the spiritual forces which they embody, he is really
a partaker of the undefiled religion of the Bible? And
I must go further than this. The tolerance — take it to
yourselves those who need it — the tolerance with which
believers in Christ — those who are really members of the

188

THE apostle's GROUND OF TRUST.

Clmrcli, and have " tlie root of the matter" within them
— the tolerance with which they talk about, and apologize
for "the zealous but unconverted adjuncts of the
Church," tends very greatly to confirm them in their
error. Cases throng upon one's memory and conscience
as we think upon the subject.

There is a man — he has no settled faith at all in the prin-
ciples of Christian truth ; he is cast forever upon a sea
ol doubt and darkness ; " ever learning, yet never able
to come to the knowledge of the truth." He may consider
without acting, till he dies. But what says the tolerant
spirit of the age ? " He is an earnest thinker, let him
alone ; he has no faith in the Bible ; he has no faith in
anything certain, settled, and indisputable, but he is an
earnest thinker ; and, although life may be fritted away
without one holy deed to ennoble it, if he live long
enough, he will grope his way into conviction by and by."

There is another man ; he is not all we would wish him
to be ; lie is unfrequent and irregular in attendance upon
the ordinances of God's house ; he is not always quite
spiritually-minded ; we should like to see him less grasp-
ing in his bargains ; but he is an earnest worker, a zealous
partisan, an active committee-man, and we hope all will
be right with him in the end.

There is another man, and more chivalrous in his sense
of honor ; he is known to hold opinions that are danger-
ous, if not positively fatal, upon some vital subjects of
Christian truth. But he is an amiable man ; he is very
kind to the poor ; he has projected several measures of
amelioration for tkeir benefit; the widow blesses him when
she hears his name. He is an earnest philanthropist ; and,
thus sheltered in the shadow of his benevolence, his
errors pass unchallenged, and have a wider scope for mis-
chief than before.

I do solemnly believe that there are men who are
confirmed in their infidelity to Christianity by the tri-
bute thus paid to their zeal. It may be that some in-
fatuated self-deceivers pass out of existence with a lie in

THE apostle's GROUND OF TRUST.

189

their right hand, because earnestness, like charity, has
been made to " cover a multitude of sins." Since there
is this danger, it is instructive to find out what is the
Apostle's opinion of mere earnestness. It may be a good
thing — there can be no doubt of that — when it springs
from prompting faith, and constraining love, and when
the object on behalf of which it exerts its energies is
intrinsically excellent. It is a noble thing ; we cannot
do without it ; it is at once the pledge of sincerity and
an augury of success. It may be a good thing, but it
may be a blasphemy ; just the muscle in the arm of a
madman, that nerves his frajitic hand to scatter fire-
brands, and arrows, and death ; but do not deceive your-
selves.

Divers gifts may have been imparted to you ; you may
have discrimination of the abstruse and the profound ;
the widow may bless your footsteps, and the orphan's
heart may sing for joy at your approach; the lustre of
extensive benevolence may be shed over your character ;
opinions may have rooted themselves so firmly in your
nature that you are ready to suffer loss in their behalf,
and to covet martyrdom in tlieir attestation; giving your
body to bo burned. But, w^ith all this earnestness, indis-
putably earnest as you are, if you have not charity, diviner
far — if you have not *' faith that works by love and purifies
the heart" — earnest, indisputably earnest as you are, it
pix)fiteth you nothing ; your confidence will fail you in
the hour of trial ; its root is rottenness, and its blossom will
go out as dust. That is the fourth ground of trust that
the Apostle here disclaims.

Yet again, and finally. The next ground of trust is
ceremonial blamelessness, *' Touching the righteousness
which is in the law, blameless." The Apostle's zeal tor
the Jewish faith was rendered more influential by the
purity of his life. There are some whose zeal is but a
cloak for licentiousness, and who shamefully violate, in .
daily practice, the rescripts of the religion for which
they contend. But the Apostle was not one of those im-

IT*.

190

THE APOSTLE S GROUND OF TRUST.

■ -i

pious fanatics; he had been in sincerity and truth a Jc^v,
BO rigid and inflexible in his adhesion to the laws of Moses
that he was esteemed a pattern, and rejoiced in as a pillar
of the truth. Not that before God" the most devout
Pharisee had anything whereof to glory, but that, in the
eyes of men, who judge in short-sightedness, and who
judge in error, he passed for a reputable and blameless
man. And this, also, the most ordinary, the most wide-
spread ground of false confidence, the Apostle counted
*' loss for Christ."

I need not remind you, I am suroj how deep in the
heart of ir?.n, resisting every attempt to dislodge it, sell-
righteousness lurks and broods ; and how men come to
regard themselves, in the absense of atrocious crime, and
in the presence of much that is humanizing and kindly,
as ripening for the kingdom of heaven. And it is no
marvel — I do not think it one jot of a marvel — if we con-
sider what the usages of society are, and the verdicts it
passes on the virtues and vices of the absent.

There is a tribunal out among men that never suspends
its sessions, and that is always estimating themselves by
hemselves, and comparing themselves among themselves,
and so is not wise. From acting as judge in some of
these arbitration cases of character, by acting as an arbiter
himself, the man comes to know the standard of the
world's estimation, and how it is that it comes to its
decisions ; and, in some reflective mood, possibly, he tries
himself by it, and, looking down below him, he sees, far
beneath him in the scale, the outcast and the selfish, the
perfidious, the trampler upon worldly decencies, and the
scandalously sinful. And then he looks into his own
case, and he sees his walk through life, greeted with the
welcome of many salutations, that his name passes un-
challenged, his integrity vouched for among men. Then
he looks into his own heart, and finds it is vibrating to
every chord of sympathy ; friends troop around him with
proud fondness ; children " climb* his knees, the envied
kiss to lAiare."

THE APOSTLES GROUND OF TRUST.

191

a Jew,
f Moses
a pillar

devout
, in the
id who
ameless
t wide-
sounted

in the
it, self-
ome to
ne, and
kindly,
t is uo
we con-
diets it

ispends
Ives by
nselves,
ome of
arbiter

of the
! to its
le tries
ses, far
jh, the
lid the
s own
th the
es un-

Then
ing to
1 with
mvied

It is no marvel, I say, if a man accustomed to such
standards of arbitration, should imagine that the good-
ness which has been so cheerfully acknowledged on earth,
will be as cheerfully acknowledged in heaven, and that
lie who has passed muster with the world so well, will
not be sent abashed and crest-fallen from the judgment-
seat of God.

And there is nothing more difficult than to rouse such
a one from his dangerous and fatal slumber. There are
many, who, thus buildino; on the sand, have no shelter in
the hour of the storm. You may thunder over the man's
head all those passages which tell of the radical and
universal depravity of our race. Yes, and he admires
your preaching, and thinks it is wonderfully good for the
masses, hut it has no sort of application to him. He does
not feel himself to be the vile and guilty creature you
describe ; he has an anodyne carried about with him to
silence the first misgiving of the uneasy conscience, and
he lies down in drugged and desperate repose. And
there are many, it may be, who continue in this insidious
deception, and are never aroused except by the voice of
the last messenger, or by the flashing of the penal tires.
That is the last ground of trust which the Apostle dis-
claims.

AAd now of the things that we have spoken, what is
the sum ? Just this. You may be early initiated into
the ordinances of the Christian Church ; you may have
come of a long line of spiritually illustrious ancestry, and
be the sons " of parents passed into the skies ;" you may
give an intellectual assent to the grand harmony of
Christian truth ; you may be zealous in certain activities
of benevolence, and in certain matters connected even
with the Church of God itself; you may have passed
among your fellows for a reputable and blameless man,
against whom no one would utter a word of slander, and
in whose presence the elders stand up in reverence, as
you pass by ; and yet, there may pile upon you— (O God,
send the word home !) — there may pile upon you all the

192

THE apostle's GROUND OF TRUST.

p.' I

■ t
; !.

accumulation of carnal advantage and carnal endowment ;
you may gain all this world of honor, and lose your own
Bonl. " And what shall it profit a man if he gain the
whole world, and lose his own soul V

I have no thne, as I imagined, to dwell upon the com-
pensating power of the excellency of the knowledge of
Christ. There is this compensation, however, "Wliat
things were gain to me," says the Apostle, " those I
counted loss for Christ. Yea, doubtless, and I count all
things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of
Christ Jesus my Lord." This compensation runs through
creation ; it seems to be a radical law both in the physical
and spiritual government of God. You see it in things
around you. A man climbs up to high place, and calumny
and care go barking at his heels. There is beauty,
dazzling all beholders, and consumption, " like a worm i'
the bud, preying upon its damask cheek." There is
talent, dazzling and enrapturing, and madness waiting to
pounce upon the vacated throne.

Oh, yes, and there is a strange and solemn affinity, too,
< 1 the fiible, between crime and punishment. I can only
indicate just what I mean. The Jews rejected Christ,
perseveringly rejected Christ ; and one of their pleas,
you remember, was, " If thou let this man go, thou ayt
not Csesar's friend ;" and to conciliate the Roman pOwer,
they rejected Christ. That was their crime ; what was
their punishment ? The Komans did come, by and by,
and " took away their place and nation." Pharaoh issued
his enactment, that all the male children of Israel should
be drowned : that was the crime ; what was ths punish-
ment ? Pharaoh and his host were drowned in the waters
of the- Red Sea by and by. Hezekiah took the ambassa-
dors of Babylon through the treasure-chambers of silver
and gold, ostentatiously showing them his wealth : that
was the crime ; what was the punishment ? The treasures
• of silver ^and gold went off captive to Babylon by and by.
David, in the lust of his power, took the cenrus of the
people, and numbered them : that was the crime ; what

1! 1*51

THE apostle's GROUND OF TRUST.

193

\ras the punishment? The pestilence fell npon the
people whom David had num])ered, and dried up the
sources of the strength in which he had boasted bo
fondly.

And, just to remind you of another case, who are
those who are represented its standing at the barred gate
of heaven, knocking, frantic and disappointed, outside,
iind crying in tones of a«_;ony that mortal lips cannot
compass now, thank God ! " Lord, Lord, open t<4 us."
AVho are they ? Not the scandalously sinful, not those
who on earth were alien together — outcast altogether —
proscribed altogether from the decencies and decorum of
the sanctuary of God. No ; those who helped to build
the ark, but whose corpses have been strewed in the
waters of the deluge ; those who brought rafters to the
tabernacle, but who, as lepers, were thrust out of the
camp, or as transgressors, were stoned beyond the gate ;
those who, on earth, were almost Christians ; ■ those who,
in the retributions of eternity, are almost saved ; beljold-
ing the Church on earth through the chink of the open
door," watching the whole family as they are gathered,
with the invisible presence and the felt smile of the
Father upon them ; beholding the family as they are
gathered, beatific, and imperishable, in heaven ; but the
door is shut. Almost Christians ! almost saved ! Oh
strange and sad affinity between crime and punishment !
What is your retribution to be ? '' Every one shall re-
ceive according to things he has done in the body,
whether they be good, or whether they be bad."

Oh ! come to Christ — that is the end of it — come to
Christ. Hallow this occasion by dedicating yourselves
living temples unto the Lord. He will not refuse to
accept you. Mark the zeal with which the Apostle Paul
proclaimed the truth : mark the zeal, the love, indomit-
able and unfailing, with which he clung to the Master —
" I determined to know nothing among men but Christ,
and him crucified." Oh rare and matchless attachment !
fastening upon that which was most in opprobium and

194

:.»o

THE \POSTLES GROUND OF TRUST.

in contumely among men. Never did the earnest student
of philosophy, us Tie came away from some Socratic
prelection, utter his affirmation, " I am determined to
Know nothing among men save Socrates, and him
poisoned ;" never did enraptured youth listen to the
persuasive eloquence of Cicero, and utter his affirmation,
" I determined to know nothing among men save Cicero,
and him proscribed." But Paul takes the very vilest
hran(i of sname, and binds it about his brow, as a diadem
of glory : "I determine to know nothing among men but
Christ, and him crucified." Yes, that is it, " Christ, and
him crucified." " (xod forbid that I should glory, save
in the cross." In the cross is to be our chiefest glory.

Trust that cross for yourselves ; take hold of it ; it is
consecrated. In all circumstances of your "history, in all
exigencies of your mortal lot, take firm hold of the cross.
"When the destroying angel rides forth upon the cloud,
when his swoi*d is whetted for destruction, clasp the cross ;
it sl^ll bend over you a shield and a shade ; he will relax
his frown, a.nd t^heath his sword, and pass quickly harm-
Icsfjly by. When you go to the brink of the waters, that
you are about to cross, hold up the cross ; and by magic
power they shall cleave asunder, as did ancient Jordan
before the ark of the covenant, and you shall pass over
dry-shod and in peace. When your feet are toiling up
the slope, and you arrive at the gate of heaven, hold up
the cross, the angels shall know it, and the everlasting
doors shall unbar themselves, and you may enter in.
When you pass through the ranks of applauding seraphim,
that you may pay your first homage to the thvoue, pre-
sent the cross, and lower it before the face of the Master,
and he for whose sake you have borne it, will take it
from you, and replace it with a crown.

:.- r

XI.

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY 0^ A NATION.

'• And he said, O, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but
this once : peradvcnture ten shall be found there. And ho said, I will not
destroy it for ten's sake.— Genesis xviii. 33.

OST remarkable and most encom'aging is this
instance of prevailing prayer. It might well
stimulate us to the exercise of sublimer faith
when we behold a mortal thus wrestling with Omnipo-
tence, wrestling with such holy boldness that justice
suspends its inflictions, and cannot seal the sinner's doom.
Passing over that, howevei*, with all the doctrines it in-
volves, there is another thought couched in the text, to
which, at the present time, I wt»,nt to direct your atten-
tion. The history of nations must be regarded, by every
enlightened mind, as the history of the providence of God.
It is not enough, if we would study history aright, that
we follow in the track of battles, that we listen to the
wail of the vanquished and to the shout of the conquerors ;
it is not enough that we excite in ourselves a sort of hero
worship of the world's foster-gods, the stalwart and noble
peerage of mankind ; it is not enough that we trace upon
the page of history the subtile and intricate developments
of human character. To study history aright, wo must
find God in it, we must always recognize the ever-present
and the ever-acting Divinity, working all things according
to the council of his benevolent and holy will. This is
the prominent aspect in which history ought to be studied,
or grevious dishonor is done to the IJniversal Ruler, and

lOG

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

inteiiflo injury is inflicted upon the spirits of men. God,
liiiiiself, you rcnicinber, lias iiiqjressivcly uiinounccd tho
<^ilt und (huigcr ot tliosc wlio regard not tlic works of the
Lord, nor tlie operations of his hands. Tlio history of
an(!ient Israel, for instance, the chosen people, led hy tlie
l)iller of cloud hy day, and hy the i)illcr of fire hy ni^ht,
through the marching of that perdous wihlcrness, what
was it hut tlie successful development, in a series of won-
drous deliverances, of the ever-active providence of God?
There were some things in that history which, of conrso,
were incapable either of transfer or repetition ; hut the
history itself included, and was ordamed to set forth
certain prominent principles for the recognition of all
nations ; principles which were intended to assert the rights
of God, and to assert the obligations of his creatures;
principles which are to be consummated in their evolution
amid the solemnities of the last day. It was so in the
case of Sodom, punished as an example of God's chosen
people. Their transgressions had become obduracy,
their obdm'acy had blossomed out into punishment ; but
a chance in the Divine government yet remained to them ;
peradventure there might have been ten righteous in the
city. If there had been ten righteous in the city, those
pious men would have been the substance, the essence,
the strength of the devoted nation ; for them, on their
account, for their sakes, the utter ruin of the land mi^ht
have been averted, and through them, after the Divme
displeasure had passed by, there might have sprung up
renewed strength and recovered glory. We may fairly,
I think, take this as a general principle, that pious men
in all ages of the world's history, are the true strength of
the nations in which, in God's providence, they are privi-
ledged to live ; oftentimes averting calamity, oftentimes
restoring strength and blessing, when, but for them, it
would have lapsed and gone for ever. This is the prin-
ciple which I propose, God helping me, to apply for a
moment to our own times, and to the land in which we
live ; and in order to give the subject a great deal of a

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

197

practical chanictcr, I will, In the first place, paint the
pious mien, and then hIiuw the efl'cct which the consiw-
tent maintenance of a course of piety may be expected
to insure.

I. In the first place, wlio are the pious men 'i Who are
tliey wliom God, wlio never judges in short-siijhtedness,
wlu) sees the end from tlio beginnint^, and who cannot
possibly be decieved or mistaken in his estimate of human
character, who are they whom God designates, '' the holy
seed that shall be the substance thereof " — the pious men
that are the strength of the nations in which they live 'i
In order to sustain the honorable appellation which is
thus assigned, men must cultivate habits of thought and
of practice that are appropriate to such a character. I
will just mention two or three particulars.

In the first place, they are pious men who separate •
themselves avowedly and at the utmost possible distance
from surrounding wickedness. Men are placed under the
influence of religion, in order that they may separate from
sin, in order that they may be governed by the habits of
righteousness and true holiness. In times when depravity
is especially flagrant, there is a special obligation upon
pious men to bring out their virtues into braver and more
prominent exercise, regarding that surrounding depravity
as in no wise a reason for flinching, or for cowardice, or
for compromise, but rather for tlie augmented firmness of
their purity. Now, it cannot for one moment be doubted,
that m the times in which we live iniquity does most
flagrantly abound. There is not a sin Avhich ^oes not
exist, and exists in all rankness and impurity. Because
of swearing the land mourns. Gor"s Sabbaths are
systematically desecrated, his sanctuaries contumeliously
forsaken, his ordinances trampled under foot, his ministers
met with the leer oftentimes due to detected conspirators,
and . regarded as banded traitors, who have conspired
against the liberties of the world. The lusts of the flesh
scarcely aflfect to conceal their filthiness, everywhere
unveiling their forms, and everywhere diffusing their

198

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

^ii^

f'^ftt^-^V^^ ' ■'

pestilence. We do not venture upon any sort of com-
parison, we do not venture to compare the aggregate
depravity of this age with the depravity of any age that
has preceded. "We do not affirm +he general fact, that
the heart of man is " deceitful and desperately wicked "
and that the dp.pravity we see around us, the exhibition
of the carnal mind, *' which is enmity against God," is
most fearfully aggravated by the F,bundance of privilege
uy which the people are surrounded. Mow, it is the duty,
I repeat, of those who would have Grod's estimate of them
as pious men, that they should regard this depravity as
invoking them to bear the testimony of unsullied a'^id
spotless holiness. Let the exhortations on this matter
which are scattered throughout the pages of the Bible
be solemnly pondered. " Be not conformed to this world,
but be ye transformed according to the renewing of your
mind, that ye may prove what is that good and acceptable
and perfect will of God." " Abstain from the appear-
ance of evil." In times when depravity is especiixlly
flagrant, do not even borrow of the garments of falsehood ;
do not let there be any meretricious semblance of that
which is hateful in the sight of God. Abstain from the
appearance of evil. Come out of it so thoroughly that
the fellowships and intercourse of social life do not seduce
you into a sort of complicity. " Be not partakers of other
men's sins. Have no fellowship with the unfruitful
works of darkness, but rather reprove." " Be ye not
unequally yoked together with unbelievers, for what
fellowship hath light with darkness, and what concord
hath Christ with Belial, and what part hath he that
believeth with an infidel ?" *' Cleanse yourselves from all
filthiness of ilesh and spirit ; perfecting holiness in the
fear of God."
You will not fail to perceive that the whole of these

Eassages have one ain^ and one summons, and that is
oliness ; holiness, as spotless in the secrecy of individual
consciousness a . in the jealous watch of men ;" holiness
shrined in the heart and influencing benignly and trans-

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

199

forming the entire character ; holiness, that is something
more chivalrous than national honor ; holiness, something
that maintains a higher standard of right than commer-
cial integrity ; holiness, something that is more noble-
minded than the conventional courtesies of life ; holiness,
which comes out in every-day existence, hallowing each
transaction, taking hold of the money as it passes through
tlie hand in ordinary currency, and stamping upon it a
more noble image and superscription than Caesar's ;
holiness written upon the bells of the horses and upon
the frontlet of the forehead, an immaculate and spotless
lustre exuding, so to speak, from the man in daily life, so
that the world starts back from him, ard tells at a glance
that he has been with Jesus. Now, brethren, it is to this,
to the exercise and maintenance of this unflinching
holiness, that you are called. Here is the first prominent
ot ligation of pious men. You are to confront every evil
with its exact and diametrical opposite ; and he who in
circumstances like these in which we stand, ventures to
hesitate, or ventures to parley, brand him as a traitor to
his country, a traitor to his religion, and a traitor to his
God.

Secondly, if you would be what God regards as pious
men, you must cultivate firm attachment to the doctrines
of Christian tri.Lh. There is b/ethren, in our day, a very
widely-difiused defectiveness of religious profess 'on, a
very widely-diffused departure Irom the faith that was
"once delivered to the saints." This is a Christian
country. Men call it so, I know ; but there is in daily
practice a strange and sad departure from the precepts of
Christianity — ay, on the part of men by whom the
theory of this being a Christian country is most noisily
and boisterously maintained.

Are you strangers to the presence in the midst of us of
the dark and subtile spirit of unbelief ; a venal press and
active emissaries poisoning the fresh blood of youth, dis-
heartening the last hope ot age, and which, if their own
account of the cii'culation of their pernicious principles is

V,.

^*%iii

200

THE EFFECTS OF FIFTY ON A NATION.

I f I

'r:i|l!

to be relied upon, has already tainted hundreds of
thousands with that infectious venom whose poison lies
not in the destruction of the body ? True, it is for the
most part bland, conciliatory, plausible, rather than
audacious and braggart, as in former times, veiling \%
deadly purpose in song or in story. But the dagger is not
the less deadly because the haft is jewelled, and infidelity
is not the less infidelity, not the less pernicious, not the
less accursed, because genius has woven its stories to adorn
it, and because fancy nas wreathed it into song.

Are you strangers to the avowed denial on the part of
some of the divinity and atonement of our Lord Jesus
Christ ? to the man-exalting opinion which relies for its
own salvation upon the piled up fabric of its own righte-
ousness, or which through the flinty rocks of self-righteous
morality, wcuid tunnel out a passage to the eternal
throne?

Are you strangers to the workings of the grand apostasy
darkening the sunlight of the Saviour's love, dislocating
the perfection of the Saviour's work, hampering the
course of the atonement with the frail entangled frame-
work of human merit, restless in its endeavors to regain
its ascendency, crafty, and vigilant and formidable as
ever ?

Are you strangers to the heresy which has made i^s
appearance in the midst of a body once deeming itself
the fairest oflfspring of the Reformation, and which would
exclude thousands from covenanted mercies because they
own not priestly pretentions, and conform not to trrid:
tional rites ?

Are you strangers in the other quarter of the horizon
and of the sky, to dark and lowering portents that have
come over with rationalistic and German infidelity?
Brethren; there is a duty, solerrm and authoritative rest-
ing upon the pious men that they hold fast that which
was " once delivered to i;he saints.'' Let the exhortations,
too, on this matter, be carefully pondered. " Be no more
children tossed to and fro with every wind of doctrine,

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

201

by the slight of man and cunning craftiness whereby
they lie in wait to betray." " Stand fast " — not loose,
not easily shifted, having a firm foundation — " stand fost
in the faith on'je delivered unto the saints." Be '' rooted
in the faith;" be "grounded in the faith;" contend
earnestly for the faith. Brethren, here is another invo-
cation, and it is solemnly binding upon you. And while
there are some around us that would rob Christ of his
grace, and others that would rob Christ of his crown, and
others, more royal felons, that would steal both the one
and the other, let it be ours to take our stand firm and
unswerving by the altars of the truth ; let our determi-
nation go fourth to the universe, " I determined to know
nothing among men, save Jesus Christ and him crucified."

And, then, thirdly, if you w;oLdd be pious men as God
estimates piety, you must cultivate cordial, brotherly love.
In times like these, there is a solemn obligation resting
upon all " who hold the head " to cultivate the spirit of
unity with all " who hold the head." By unity, we do
not mean uniformity. There is none, there can be none
in the free universe of God. You have io not in nature.
You may go out into the waiving woodland, when death
is on the trees, and you may prune their riotous growth,
and mold, and shape, and cut them into something like a
decent and decorous uniformity ; but the returning spring,
when it comes, will laugh at your aimless labor.

Wherever there is liie, there will be found variety of
engaging forms which attract and fascinate the eye. We
do not mean uniformity, therefore ; the harmony of voices,
or the adjustment of actions, the drowsy repetition of
one belief, or the harmonious intonation of one liturgy,
but we mean " the unity of the spirit in the bond of
peace," which we are to intensely labor to maintain and
procure. Let the exhortations on this matter also be very
solemnly pondered. " A new commandment," so that
there are eleven commandments now ; the decalogue has
been added to by this new commandm.ent, which is, in-
deed the substance and essence of all the rest. " A new

'f^!

202

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

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commandment give I unto you, that ye love one another."
" Be kindly aiFectioned one to another, in brotherly love
in honor preferring one another." Nay, the Apostle does
not hesitate to set it down as one of the surest evi-
dences of Christian discipleship. " We know that we have
passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren,"
Compliance with these exhortations is always imperative,
especially imperative in seasons of national danger.
Everything that is ominous, everything that is solemn,
everything that is portentious around us, must be regard-
ed as an earnest call to Christians to live together in love.
This love is to be cherished everywhere — to be cherished
towards those who are members of the same section of
the universal Church. Here, of course, there should be
no orphan's heart. Here, all should feel themselves mem-
bers of the commonwealth. There should be a rejoicing
with those that do rejoice, and a weeping with those that
weep ; and, as by electric fire, the wants and the wishes
of the one should be communicated to, and acknowledged
by the whole, that it should not only be cherished in our
own communion, but toward all who hold " the unity of
the spirit in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of
life." Wherever Christ is acknowledged, his grace mag-
nified, his crown vindicated, his law made honorable—
wherever the service of Christ is the aim, and the glory
of Christ is the purpose, there the Church should know
as Christian and should hail as brethren. This duty is
one that has been scandalously neglected in the times in
which we live ; and that neglect has darkened the aspect
and augmented the perils of the times. Brethren, we
must all amend if we would not betray. And when the
Church of Christ shall combine in heart as in spirit one,
th^n shall the great building of the universe progress.
God shall smile upon the workmen, *' the glory of the
latter house shall exceed the glory of 1 he former," and
the whole " building fitly framed together shall grow up
into a holy temple of the Lord."
Then, fourthly, if we would be pious men as God

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

203

estimates piety, we must be zealous in endeavor for" the
spread ot tlie Gospel, and for the conversion of the
world. The errors and the crimes of which we ha^e
Bpoken, render this esBential. We have bnt to gather
into our minds the contemplation of gnilt so heinous, so
oftensive that it rises up in the presence of the Holy
One, and calls for vengeance as he is seated upon his
throne; then, we have but to remember the conse-
quences of that guilt, everywhere producing misery,
everywhere drying up the sources of spiritual affluence,
everywhere exposing to the unending perditions ot hell.
Kow, brethren, nothing — and I would speak as one mem-
ber of the army summoning others to the battle-iield —
nothing will avail but the combined, and devoted, and
persevering exertions of the members of the Church
below. How else shall we attempt to grapple with the
depravity around us ? Parliamentary enactments, what
can they do ? Threats to atfright, or bribes to seduce,
wl at can they do ? Patronage in all its prestige, and all
its power, all that can be possibly brought out of State
treasury or of State influence, what are they ? Availle.-s
utterly without the power and Spirit of God. No ; there
must be a band ot faithful men who are thus renovated
and redeemed going forth in the name of the Lord.
They must sustain the ministry in existing pastorates,
and spread it wherever it has never been established.
They must support institutions for the education of the
entire man, institutions based upon the Word of God.
They must become themselves preachers of " the truth as
it is in Jesus ;" by prayer, by influence, by example, by
effort, they must display all the grace which has redeemed
them ; and especially they must all in earnest, repeated,
importunate supplical! )].a besiege the throne of grace in
prayer. There is another summons, the last I shall give
you on this matter to-night, and you are now to answer
it with intense energy, with intense ,'ieal. Coldnc, s here
is irrational. Ardor here is reason. Indifterence here
is foolishness. Earnestness, or, if you will, enthusiasm
here is the highest and sublimest wisdom.

;ii!i

•*(|%
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i- - 1

204.

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

|;> -i
h '■

If you would be pious men, therefore, as God estimates
piety, you are to come out from the world and to be
separated from it ; you are to hold fast the doctrines you
have received; you are to cultivate to each other the
tenderest brotherly love ; and you are to be energetic in
heart for the conversion of the world.

II. I come now, secondly and briefly, to notice the
effects which we are warranted in expecting such conduct
as this to insure. This is the doctrine of the text, that
Sodom would have been spared if the ten righteous men
had been there. Pious men are presented to us, there-
fore, as the safety of the nation in which they live.
This is very beautifully presented in several other parts
of Scripture. You have it, for instance, in the prophecy
of Isaiah, Ixv. 8, 9 : " Thus saith the Lord, As the new
wine is Ibund in the cluster, and one saith. Destroy it
not ; for a blessing is in it ; so will I do for niy servants'
sakes, that I may not destroy them all. And 1 will bring
forth a seed out of Jacob, and out of Judah an inheritor
of my mountains ; and mine elect shall inherit it, and my
servants shall dwell there." Then, again, in the prophecy
of Malachi, iii, 10, 11: "Bring ye all the tithes into
the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house,
and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I
will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you^
out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to
receive it. And I will rebuke the devourer for your
sakes, and he shall not destroy the fruits of your ground,
neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in
the field, saith the Lord of hosts."

We see here the development of the general principle
for which we contend, that God preserves nations for the
sake of pious men. The annals of the past show how
very frequently he has put to naught statesmanship,
fleets, and armies, and has rendered honor to truth,
meeknes and righteousness. This I do solemnly believe
to be the case in our own land in this crisis of its affairs,
and I am bold to affirm my conviction, that the destinies

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY OX A NATION.

205

of England and of the British Empire are at this moment
in the hands of its pious men. If they be faithful to
their high trust and to the vocation to which they are
eminently and signally called, nothing can haiin us ; no
weapon that is formed against us shall ever be able to
prosper. I think this might be made out from the history
of the past, both as to temporal and spiritual matters,
I appeal to you whether it is not manifest that the
temporal interests of a nation are bound up in its piety ?
Let pious men prevail in a land, let the population be-
come imbued with the spirit and with the leaven of
evangelical godliness, what is the consequence ? Order
at once preserved. As their holiness spreads, as

their unworldly yet earnest example manifests itself and
begins to be felt, sounder views prevail. Tlie moral is
felt to exert a supremacy over the secular ; the politi-
cal agitator, the inhdel demagogue, the philosophical
theorist, are scouted as physicians of no value; and
men everywhere learn to submit to the orderly re-
straints and the well-regulated government of law.

Let pious men prevail, and they will voep u]) the free-
dom of a land. I do not mean that crouching emasculation
on the one hand, nor that ribald licentiousness on the
other hand, which have both been dignified by tlie name
by extreme political parties ; but I mean well-ordered
and rational liberty; liberty which respecjs the rights of
other people at the same time that it asserts and vindicates
its own; liberty which with one hand renders to Cnesar
the things that are Csesar's, and with the other hand takes
care to render to God the things that are God's ; liberty
which honors men as men, just becaufce the Divino com-
mand tells it to "honor all men," and because, all the
world over, there is nothing so royal as a man. That
liberty will be preserved where rer pious men are found,
and wherever the example of these pious men begins to
spread itself among people.

And, then, pious men will preserve the prosperity of a
land. There is a false prosperity which must be aban-

206

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

IV' t

■ ' 1. 1

■

i' '

;::

'"'•■

doned; there is a false lioiior which must be speedily
forsworn; hut that prosperity wliicli is substantial and
al)i(lin2; will remain under tlie influences of piety. Art
will minister tlien not to luxury but to truth; science
will minister tlien not to infidelity but to truth ; commerce
will minister then not to sollishness but to benevolence;
and other realms shall render to us their unbought and
unpurchasablc lioma<)je, and the sons of our country, in
their not unholy pride, may wave their banner to the
wind, with the motto on it :

•* He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, '

And all are slaves besides."

Yes, brethren, it is Britain's altar and not Britain's throne,
Britain's Bible and not Britain's statute book, that is the
great, and deep, and strong source of her national pros-
perity and renown. Do away with this ; suffer that
tidelity with which, in some humble measure, we have
borne witness for God, to be relaxed ; let our Sabbaths be
sinned away at the bidding of imholy or mistaken mobs ;
let us enter into adulterous and unworthy alliance with
the man of sin ; let us be traitors to the trust with which
Cxod has invested us, to take care of the ark of the Lord,
and the crown will lose its lustre, the peerage its nobilit}'',
and the senate its command ; all the phases of social rank
and order will be disjointed anddisorganizad; a lava tide
of desolation will overwhelm all that is consecrated and
noble, and angels may sing the dirge over a once'great,
but now hopelessly fallen people : " the glory is departed
+Vom Israel, because the ark of God is taken." Keep fast
Dy that ark, hold it — hold your attachment to it as the
strongest element of being, and there shall be no bounds
to the sacred magnificence of our nation ; but the fires
of the last day, wdien they consume all that is perishable
and drossy, may see us with the light ot the Divine
presence gleaming harmlessly around our brow, and in
our hand the open law for all the nations of mankind.
Thoso are temporal benefits. And, then, let there be

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY OX A NATION.

207

pious men in the land, and spiritual benefits will also be
secured. There will, for instance, be the defeat of
erroneous opinions. Truth, when the Spirit inspires it
not, abstract truth, is weak and powerless. Truth, with
the Spirit in it, is mighty, and will prevail. There can
1)6 no fear as to the result, because the world has never
been left, and will never be left without the active Spirit
of God. Falsehood breaks out impetuously, just like one
of those torrents that leap and rattle over the summit of
tlie mountain after the thunder-storn- overwhelming in
tlie first outbreak, but dying away into insignificance and
silence by and by ; truth is the little spring that rises up
imperceptibly and gently, and flows on, unostentatious
and noiseless, until at last navies are wafted on its bosom,
and it pours its full volume of triumphant waters into the
rejoicing sea. So it will be with truth ; wealth cannot
l)ribe it, talent cannot dazzle it, sophistry cannot over-
reach it, authority cannot please it ; they all, like Felix,
tremble in its majestic presence. Let pious men increase,
and each of them will become a centre of holiness ;
apostates will be brought back to the Church, poor back-
sliders will be reclaimed into new-found liberty and new
created privilege, and there will be a cry like that on the
summit of Carmel after the controversy was over, and
liad issued in the discomfiture of JJaal, " The Lord, he is
God ; the Lord, he is God."

And, then, better than all that, salvation of souls will
be secured. The conversion of a soul is an infinitely
greater triumph than the eradication of a false opinion
A false opinion may be crushed, and the man that holds
it may be in imminent spiritual peril ; convert the man's
soul, and his opinions will come right by and by. Oh, if
as you go from this place to-night, you were to behold the
crowds of tempters and tempteresses to evil that will
cross your path as you travel homeward, if you think of
theiractivity, of their earnestness to proselytize in the grand
diabolical army, and to make sevenfold more the children
of hell than they are themselves, and if you think of the

208

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

f*'' : f

I /

apatliy of the luithfiil, of the scantiness of eff(jrt, of the
fuihire of faith, of the depression of endeavor, of the laxity
of attachment on the part of believers in Jesus, surely
there is enough to maKe you abashed and confounded.
13rethren, I should like, it I could, to bring before you
one solitary soul, to fasten yoiTr attention upon that bouI,
to transfix it as Avith a lightning glance before you, so
that you might trace it in its downward path, see it as
habit crusts it over, and selfishness rejoices over it, and
the foul fiend gloats upoiv it in mockery, and disease,
prematurely induced, comes upon it, and death wails for
his prey, and hell is moved from beneath to meet it at its
coming, and that you should follow it down into those
dark and dread abodes, which man's pencil painteth not,
and of which man's imagination, thank God, cannot con-
ceive ! Oh ! draw the curtain over that ; we cannot bear
the sight ! But as you think of the real spiritual peril in
which not one, not a family — Oh ! if there were but a
family, all London would be awake for its deliverance —
but there is a world in danger — not one, not a family, not
an island, not a continent, but a world — if I could only
fasten that upon your consciences to-night, each one of
you would surely go away with tearful eye and glad hearc,
glad that you were able to do anything for God, and
would not rest without saying, " For Zion's sake I will
not hold my peace, and for Jerusalem's sake, I w41l not
rest until the righteousness thereof go forth as the bright-
ness, and the salvation thereof as the lamp that burneth."
Just one parting word. If you would do all this, you
must be pious yourselves ; but do not be among the
number oi those who busy themselves in the externalisms
of godliness, and are in some measure active in connec-
tion with the Church of God, but are out of Christ, aliens
themselves from the commonwealth ot Israel. If you are
not personally pious, you will be accomplices in drawing
down the thunderbolt, and chargeable to that extent with
your country's ruin, and the ruin of souls. Come to
Chi'ist now ; let all your past iniquity be forgotten and

THE EFFECTkS of PIETY ON A NATION.

209

forgiven as you bow before him in humiliation and in tears ;
lie will not refuse you ; he will not cast you out. Then
enter upon a life of piety in spite of all tliat scoffers say.
Ah ! religion is not so mean a thing as iniidels represent
it to be I They curl the lip of scorn ^t us, and we can bear
that ; they flash the eye of hate at us, and we can bear
that, as long as God looks upon us witli complacency, as
long as he has promised to crown us as conquerors in
heaven, for which, by our spiritual conflicts and victories,
we shall have come prepared. Oh, it is no mean thing.
The saint, the righteous man, the pious believer in Jesus,
is a patriot as well as a saint. The worldling may sneer
and scorn, but we have a noble revenge, for it is pious
men that have kept the conflagrating elements away from
this long doomed world up to the present moment of its
history ; and if the ten righteous had not been in this
enormous Sodom, long ere now would the firebrand of
destruction have struck it that it might be consumed in its
deserved ruin. Thank God, there is hope for the world
yet.

When the prophet in depression and in sorrow was
saying, " I, even I, only am left, the prophet of the Lord,"
God pointed him to seven thousand that had never bowed
the knee to Baal ; and there are faithful ones in the secret
places of the world yet, pabn-tree Christians growing up
in unexpected places, amid sandy soil and with no
companionship, who are flourishing in godly vigor and
earnest in persevering prayer. Tliere is hoj^e for t}ie
world yet. Oh, for the increase of these pious men ! Be
you of the number of this unostentatious but valiant host.
Do you pant for fame ? You can find it here. Young
men, there are some of you in the presence of God that
have ambition high bounding i^ your hearts, who feel the
elasticity of youth within you ; who feel that the flight of
your soaring spirit is not the flight of the flagging or the
breathless ; that there is something still within you that
pants for a distinction other than you have yet attained;
oh come to Christ, enlist yourselves in his service, be

210

THE EFFECTS OF PIETY ON A NATION.

l;i

Ir- ■ I

fioldiors of tho cross, fip;lit moral battles, and yours shall
bo tho victory. To you the Church is looking; your
fathers, worn out with labor, exhausted with tho vicissi-
tudes and the victories of years, are passing rapidly away,
an J they are wondering where their successors arc.
They have gone from us ; just when we were expectinnj
for them higher fields and wider triumphs, the fiery
chariot came and they were not, and nothing was left for
us but to cry as we followed the track of the cavalcade,
in our hopelessness, almost in our agony, *' My father,
my father, the chariot of Israel and the horsemen thereof."
oh ! thank God, they have flung their mantles down,
and it is for you to catch them, to robe yourselves to-day
in the garments of the holy departed, and like them, to
do and die.

Til]

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XII.

THE PROPHET OF IIOREB— HIS LIFE AND

ITS LESSONS.

•'Elijah, the Tishbito, who was of the inhabitanta of Gilcad."— 1
Kings, xvii. 1.

HE mountains of the Bible will well repay the
climber. There is a glorious prospect from
their summits, and moral bracing in the breath-
ing of their difficult air.

Most of the events in Bible history, which either
embody great principles, illustrate Divine perfections,
or bear impressively upon the destinies of man, have
had the moments for the pedestals of their achievement
Beneath the arch of the Covenant-rainbow the lone
ark rested upon Arrarat; Abraham's trial, handed
down the high faith of the hero-father, and typing the
greater sacrifice of the future time, must be "on one of
the mountains" in the land of Moriah ; Aaron, climb-
ing heavenward, is "unclothed and clothed upon"
amid the solitudes of Hor; and where but on the crest
of Nebo could Moses gaze upon the land and die ? If
there is to be a grand experiment to determine between
rival faiths — to defeat Baal — to exhalt Jehovah, what
spot so fitting as the excellency of Carmel? It was due
to the great and dread events of the Saviour's history
that they should be enacted where the world's broad
eye could light upon them, hence he is transfigured
"on the high mountain apart," on Olivet he prays, on

212

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

IV'

Calvary he dies ; and, at the close of all, in the
splendors of eternal allotment, amid adoring angels
and perfected men, we cheerfully " come to Mount
Zion."

Precious as is the Scripture in all phases of its
appearance, the quality which, above all others, invests
it with a richer value, is its exquisite adaptation to
every necessity of man. Professing itself to be his
infallible and constant instructor, it employs all modes
of communicating wisdom. " The Man of our coun-
sel" is always at hand, in every condition and in
every peril. But we learn more from living exemplar
than from preceptive utterance. The truth, which ha.s
not been realised by some men of like passions witli
ourselves, comes cold and distant like a lunar rainbow.
It may furnish us with correct notions and a beautiful
system, just as we can learn proportion from a statue,
but there needs the touch of life to influence and to
transform. Hence, not the least impressive and salu-
tary Bible teaching is by the accurate exhibition ot
individual character. A man's life is there sketched
out to us, not that side of it merely which he presents
to the world, which the restraints of society have modi-
fied, which intercourse has subdued into decorousness,
and which shrouds his meaner self in a conventional
liT^pocrisy; but his inner life, his management of the
trifles, which give the sum of character, his ordinary
and household doings, as well as the rarer seasons of
exigency and of trial. The whole man is before us, and
we can see him as he is. Partiality cannot blind ua,
nor prejudice distort our view. Nothing is exagge-
rated, nothing is concealed. His defects are there — ^his
falterings and depressions — his mistrusts and betrayals
— like so many beacons glaring their warning lights upon
our path. His excellencies are there — his stern integ-
rity and consistent walking, his intrepid wrestling
and heroic endurance — that we may be followers of his
patience and faith, and ultimately share his crown. So

\V(

bol
exi

!,: 1

HIS LIFE AND IT? LESSONS.

213

1, ill the
ig angels
;o Mount

5es of its

:'s, invests

)tation to

to be his

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rainbow.

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marked and hallowed is this candor, that wg do not
wonder at its being alleged as an argument for the
book's divinity. The characters are all human in their
experience, although divine in their portrayal. They
were men those Bible worthies, world renowned,
God-smitten princely men, towering indeed in moral,
as Saul in physical, stature above their fellows,
but still men of like passions with ourselves — to the
Bame frailties incident — with the same trials battling —
by the same temptations frequently and foully over-
come. Their perfect humanness is, indeed, their strong-
est influence and greatest charm. Of what avail to us
were the biography of an angel, could you chronicle
his joys in the calm round of heaven ? There could be
no sympathy either of condition or experience.

But the Bible, assuming the essential identity of the
race, tells of man, and the " one blood " of all nations
leaps up to the thrilling tale. There is the old narra-
tive of lapse and loss ; the tidings, ancient and unde-
caying, of temptation, conflict, mastery, recompense.
In ourselves there have been the quiverings of David's
sorrow, and the stirrings of David's sin. We, perhaps,
like Elijah, have been by turns confessor and coward —
fervent as Peter and as faithless too. The heart
answers to the history, and responsive and struggling
humanity owns the sympathy, and derives the bles-
sing. -

It is a strange history, this history of the Prophet
Elijah. Throughout the whole of his career we are
attracted almost more by his inspiration than by him-
self. We are apt to lose sight of the man in the
thought of the Divine energy which wielded him at its
terrible or gentle will. The unconsciousness of self
which is the distinctive mark of the true seer, is always
present with him — in his manliest and in his meekest
hours — in his solitary prayer in the loft at Zarephath,
in his solemn sarcasm on the summit of Carmel — when
he flushes the cheek of a dead child, or pales the brow

214

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

If:-!

of a living king. He is surrendered always to the in-
dwelling God. He alwa^'s seems to regard himself as
a chosen and a separated man — lifted, by his consecra-
tion, above the love or the fear of his kind — forced
ever and anon, upon difficult and perilous duty—
a flying roll, carven with mercy and with judgment—
an echo rather than an original utterance — "the
voice of one," not "one," but " the voice of one cry-
ing in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the
Lord?"

How abruptly he bursts upon the world. We know
nothing of his birth, nothing of his parentage, nothing
of his training. On all these matters the record is pro-
foundly silent. He is presented to us at once, a full-
grown and authorative man, starting in the path of
Ahab sudden as the lightning, energetic and alarming
as the thunder. "Elijah the Tishbite, who was of the
inhabitants of Gilead." This is all. And it is all we
need. "What reck we of his ancestry? He is royal iu
his deeds. Obscure in his origin, springing probably
from the herdsmen or vine-dressers of Galilee, regarded
by the men of Tishbe as one of themselves — a little
reserved and unsocial withal — his person, perhaps, held
in contempt by the licentious court, and his intrusions
stigmatized as annoying impertinence, he held on
his highway notwithstanding, performed stupendous
miracles, received large revelations, and at last, tired
ot the world, went up to heaven in a chariot of fire.
How often have we seen the main fact of this story
realized in latter times ! Men have looked at the trap-
pings of the messenger — not at the import of his message.
Thei'' faculty of appreciation has been greviously im-
pair^d. A proph<jt has leaped into the day with his
burdon of reproof and truth-telling, but he has not been
clad i 1 silken sheen, nor a speaker of smooth thii^gs,
and the world has gone on to its merchandise, while the
broken-hearted seer has retired into the wilderness to
die. A poet has warbled out his soul in secret, and

h ->

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

215

discoursed most exquisite music — ^but, alas ! it has been
played among the tombs. A glorious iconoclast has
come forth among the peoples, " expecting that they
would have understood how that the Lord by him had
sent deliverance," but he has been met by the insulting
rejoinder, " Who made thee a ruler and a judge?"
Thus, in the days of her nonage, because they lacked
high estate and lofty lineage, has the world poured con-
tempt upon some of the choicest of her sons. "A
heretic !" shouted the furious bigotry of the Inquisition.
<'And yet it moves," said Galileo — resolute even in the
moment of enforced abjuration, for the immutable truth.
A scoffing to Genoese bravos, grandees of Portugal,
and the court of England, Columbus spied the log ot
wood in its eastward drifting, and opened up America
— the rich El Dorado of many an ancient dream. "An
empiric!" shouted all the i)octor Sangradoes of the
time, and the old physiologists hated Harvey with an
intensely professional hatred, because he affirmed the
circulation of the blood. "A Bedfordshire tinker!"
sneered the polite ones, with a whiff of the otto of roses
as if the very mention of his craft was in fragrant ;
" What has he to do to preach, and write books, and set
up for a teacher of his fellows?" But glorious John
Bunyan, leaving them in their own Cabul-country,
dwelt in the land of Beulah, climbed up straight to the
presence of the shining ones, and had "all the trumpets
sounding for him on the other side." Sidney Smith
wrote at, and tried to write down "the consecrated
Cobbler," who was to evangelize India; but William
Carey shall live embalmed in memories of converted
thousands long after the witty canon of St, Paul's is
forgotten or is remembered only as a melancholy
example of genius perverted and a vocation mistaken.
" A Methodist !" jested the Godless witlings of Brazen-
nose; "A Jacobin !" reiterated the makers of silver
shrines ; " A ringleader in the Gordon Riots !" said the
Romanists whose errors he had combated ; and the

216

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

formalistic churchmanship ot that day gathered up
its gentilities, smoothed its ruffled fringes ; and
with a dowager's stateliness, flounced by " on the other
side ;" and reputable burghers, the " canny bodies" of
the time, subsided into their own respectabilities, and
shook their heads at every mention of the pestilent
fellow ; but, calm-browed and high-souled, John
Wesley went on until a large portion of his world-
parish rejoiced in his light, and wondered at its lumin-
ous and ardent flame. And if it be lawful to speak of
the Master in the same list as his disciples, who, how-
ever excellent, fall immeasurably short of their Divine
Pattern, He was called a Nazarene, and there was the
scorn of a world couched in the contemptuous word.

There are symptoms, however, of returning sanity.
Judicial ermine and archiepiscopal lawn robing the sons
of tradesmen, and the blood of all the Montmorencies— -
fouled by mesalliance with crime — cooling itself in a
common prison, are remarkable signs of the times.
Men are beginning to feel conscious, not, perhaps, that
they have committed a crime, but that they have been
guilty of what in the diplomacy of Talleyrand was con-
sidered worse- that is a blunder. Whether the chivalry
of feudalism be extinct or not, there can be no question
that the villenage of feudalism is gone. Common men
nowadays question the wisdom of nobilities, correct
the errors of cabinets, and do not even listen obse-
quiously to catch the whispers of kings. That is a
strong and growing world-feeling which the poet em-
bodies when he slugs: .

■hr

" Believe us ! noble Vere de Veres,
From yon blue heavens above us bent,

The grand old gardener and bis wife
Smile at the claims of long descent.

However it be, it seems to me

'Tis only noble to be good —
Kind hearts ar(> more than coronets,

And simple laith than Norman blood."

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

217

svas con-

Not that rank has lost its prestige, nor royalty its
honor. Elevated station is a high trust, and furnishes
opportunity for extensive usefulness. The coronet may
be honored or despised at the pleasure of the wearer.
When the rank is larger than the man, when his indi-
viduality is shrouded behind a hundred coats-of-arms,
when he has so much of the blood of his ancestors in
his veins that there is no room for any generous pulses
of his own, why, of course, he must find his own level,
and be content to be admired, like any other piece of
confectionery, by occasional passers-by ; but when the
noble remembers his humanity, and has sympathy for
the erring and encouragement for the sincere —

" When, all the trappings freely swept away.
The m m's great nature leaps into the day/'

his nobility men are not slow to acknowledge — ^the cap and
plume bend very gracefully over the sorrow which they
succor, and the jewelled hand is blanched into a heavenlier
whiteness when it beckons a struggling people into the
power and progress of the coming time. The great ques-
tion which must be asked of any new aspirer who would
mould the world's acti\(ities to his will, is not, Whence
comes he ? but. What is^he ? There may be some semi-
fossilized relics of the past who will continue to insinuate,
" Has he a grandfather ?" >• But the great world of the
earnest and of the workers thunders out, " Has he a soul ?
Has he a lofty purpose, a single eye, a heart of power ? Has
he the prophet's sanctity and inspiration, as well as his
boldness and fervor ? Never mind the bar sinister on his
escutcheon — has he no bar sinister m his life ? Has he a
giant's strength, a hero's courage, a child's simplicity, an
apostle's love, a martyr's will ? Then is he sufficiently
ennobled." If I, a Gospel charioteer, meet him as he
essays, trembhng, to drive into the world, what must be
my salutation ? Art thou of noble blood ? Is thy retinue
large ? thy banner richly emblazoned ? thy speech plausi-
g2

218

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

ft ;

m~ ■

i^;,:^

Iliv'ii:;;:;'

ble ? thy purpose fair ? No — but " Is thy heart right ?"
If it be, give me thy hand.

A prominent feature in the Prophet's character, one
which cannot fail to impress us at every mention of his
name, is his singular devotion to the object of his great mis-
sion. He was sent upon the earth to be the earth's monitor
of God. This was his life-purpose, and faithfully he fil-
filled it. Rising above the temptations of sense — ready at
the bidding of his Master to ci-ucify natural affection—
sternly repressing the sensibility which might interfere
with duty ; trampling upon worldly interest, and regard-
less of personal aggrandizement or safety, he held on his
course, unswerving and untired, to the end. God was his
object in everything, to glorify God, his aim ; to vindicate
God, his miracles ; to speak for God, his message ; to
exhibit God, his life. As the rod of Moses swallowed up
the symbols of Egyptian wizardry, so did this consuming
passion in Elijah absorb each meaner impulse, and each
low desire. His decision rarely failed him, his consistency
never. He " halted not between two opinions." He
spurned alike the adulation of a monarch and of a mob.
He neither pandered for the favor of a court, nor made
unworthy compromise with the idolators of Baal. Heaven's
high remembrancer, he did a true man's work in a true
man's way, with one purpose and a " united" heart.

Although many parts of this character cannot, on
account of his peculiar vocation, be presented for our
imitation, in his unity of purpose and of effort he fur-
nishes us with a noble example. This oneness of principle
— freedom from tortuous policy — the direction of the ener-
gies to the attainment of one worthy end — appears to be
what is meant in Scripture by the " single eye," aTrAoD? —
not complex — ^no obliquity in the vision — looking straight
on — taking in one object at one time. And if we look
into the lives of the men who have vindicated their right
to be held in the world's memory, we shall find that all
their actions involve from one comprehensive principle,
and converge to one magnificent achievement. Consider

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

219

the primitive apostles. There you have twelve men,
frreatly diverse in character, cherishing each his own taste
and mode of working, laboring in different localities, and
bringing the one Gospel to bear upon different classes of
mind, and yet everywhere — in proud Jenisalem, inquisi-
tive Ephesus, cultured Athens, voluptuous Rome — meet-
ing '''fter many years in that mightiest result, the estab-
lishment of the kingdom of Christ. Much of this issue is
of course due to the Gospel itself, or rather to the Divine
agency which applied it, but something also to the unity
of the messengers, their sincere purpose, and sustained en-
deavor. And so it is in the case of all who have been the
benefactors of mankind. They have had some master-
purpose, which has molded all others into a beautiful
subordination, which they have maintained amid hazard
and suffering, and which, shrined sacredly in the heart,
has influenced and fashioned the life. If a man allow
within him the play of different or contradictory pur-
poses, he may, in a lifetime, pile up a head of gold, abreast
of silver, thighs of brass, and feet of ^ ly, but it is but a
great image after all. It crumbles at the first touch of
the smiting stone, and, like the chaff of the summer thresh-
ing-floor, its fragments are helpless on the wind. If, on
the other hand, a man's doings grow out of one and the
same spirit, and that spirit be consecrated to holy
endeavor, they will interpenetrate and combine into
beneficient achievement, and stand out a life-giving and
harmonious whole. This oneness of design for which we
contend, is distinctive of the highest developments of the
whole family of genius. A book may run through many
editions, and fascinate many reviewers, but it must be in-
formed by one spirit, new correspondences must be revealed
to the sesthetic eye, and it must appear " in the serene
completeness of artistic unity," ere it can settle down to
be a household word in the family, or a hidden treasure
in the heart. In whatever department " the beauty-mak-
ing Power" has wrought — in the bodiless thought, or
in the breathing marble ; in the chef-doeuvres of the

\4.

)...

!'•■}■

220

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

artist, or in the conceptions of the architect; whether
Praxiteles chisels, Raftaelle paints, Shakspeare delino-
ates, or Milton sings — there is the same singleness of
the animating spirit. Hamlet, Paradise lost, and Fes-
tus : the Greek Slave, and the Madonna ; the Coliseum
and Westminster Abbey ; are they not, each in its kind
creations to which nothing can be added with advantaj^e
and from which, without damage, nothing can be tafen
away?

And of that other Book — our highest literature, as well
as our unerring law — the glorious, world-subduing Bible,
do wo not feel the same ? In its case the experiment has
been tried. The Apocryphal has been bound up with the
Inspired, like " wood, hay, and stubble," loading the rich
fret-work of a stately pile, or the clumsy wo»'k of an
apprentice superadded to the finish of a master. Doubt-
less instruction may be gathered from it, but how it
"pales its ineffectual fires" before the splendor of the
TVord! It is unfortunate for it that they have been
brought into contact. We might be grateful for the gas-
lamp at eventide, but it were grievous folly to light it
up at noon. As in science, literature, art, so it is in
character. We can wrap up in a word the object of
'' the world's foster gods ;" to bear witness for Jehovah—
to extend Christianity — to disinter the truth for Europe—
to "spread Scriptural holiness" — to humanize prison
discipline — to abolish slavery — these are soon told ; but
if you unfold each word, you have the life-labor of Elijah,
Paul, Luther, Wesley, Howard, Wilberforce — the inner
man of each heart laid open, with its hopes, joys, fears,
anxieties, ventures, faiths, conflicts, triumphs, in the long
round of weary and of wasting years.

Look at this oneness of priuf iple embodied in action.
See it in Martin Luther. Jle has apti/'j)ose, ihatrniner's
son. That purpose is the acquisition of knowledge. He
exhausts speedily the resources of Mansfield ; reads hard,
and devours the leeures at Madgeburg; chants in the
hours of recreation, like the old Minnesingers, in streets,

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

221

for bread ; sits at the feet of Treboniiis in the college //t
Eisenach; enters as a student at Eifurt, and at the age of
eighteen, has outstripped his fellows, has a University for
his admirer, and professors predicting for him the most
successful career of the age. He has a p^irjpose, that
Scholar of Erfurt. That purpose is the discovery of
truth, for in the old library he has stumbled on a Bible.
Follow him out into the new world which that volume
lias flashed upon his soul. With Pilate's question on his
Jip and in his heart, he foregoes his brilliant prospect —
parts without a sigh with academical distinction — takes
monastic vows in an Augustine convent — becomes the
watchman and sweeper of the place — goes a mendicant
friar, with the convent's begging-bag, to the houses where
he had been welcomed as a friend, or had starred it as a
lion — wastes himself with voluntary penances well-nigh
to the grave — studies the Fathers intensely, but can get
no light — pores over the Book itself, with scales upon his
eyes — catches a dim streak of auroral brightnens, but
leaves Erfurt before the glorious dawn — until at last, in
his cell at "Wittemberg, on his bed of languishing at
Bologna, and linally atEome — Pilate's question answered
upon Pilate's stairs — there comes the thrice-repeated
Gospel-whisper, " The just shall live by faith," and the
glad Evangel scatters the darkening and shreds off the par-
alysis, and he rises into moral freedom, a new man unto
the Lord ! He has a purpose^ that Augustine monk.
That purpose is the Eeformation! Waiting with the
modesty of the hero, until he is forced into the strife,
with the courage of the hero he steps into the breach to
do battle for the living truth Tardy in forming his re-
solve, he is brave in his adhesion to it. Not like Erasmus,
" holding the truth in unrighteousness," with a clear head
and a craven heart — not like Carlstadt, hanging upon a
grand principle the tatters of a petty vanity — not like
Seckingen, a wielder of carnal weapons, clad in growing
mail, instead of the armour of righteousness and the
weapon of all prayer, — but bold, disinterested, spiritual —
he stands before rs God-prepared and* God-upheld — that

"Um^

222

THE PROPHET OP HOREB,

I'ii
iil;

T'"

If.,,'

voliant Luther, who, in his opening prime, aniazed tlie
Cardinal de Yio by his fearless avowal, " Had I five headr^
I would lose them all rather than retract the testimony
which I have borne for Christ" — that incorruptible Luther,
whom the Pope's nuncio tried in vain to bribe, and of
whom he wrote in his spleen : " This German beast has
no regard for gold " — that inflexible Luther, who, wlieii
told that the fate of John JIuss would probably await
him at Worms, said calmly, " Were they to make a lire
that would extend from Worms to WUtemberg, and
reach even to the sky, I would walk across it in the name
of the Lord " — that triumphant Luther, who, in his hon-
ored age, sat in the cool shadow and 'mid the purple
vintage of the tree hiniself had planted, and after a
stormful sojourn, scaped the toils of the hunters, and died
peacefully in his bed — that undying Lutht^*, '* who, being
dead, yet speaketh," the mention of whose name rouses
the ardor of the manly, and quickens the pulses of the
free; whose spirit yet stirs, like a clarion, the great heart
0^ Christendom ; and whose very bones have so marvel-
lous a virtue, that, like the bones of Elisha if on them
were stretci jd the corpse of an eifete Protestantism, they
would surely wake it into life to the honor and glory of
God!

But we must not forget, as we are in some danger of
doing, that we must draw our illustrations m9'.nly from
the life of Elijah. We have before affirmed that unity
of purpose and consistency of eifort were leading
features in his character, but look at them in action,
especially as displayed in the great scene of Carmel.
Call up that scene before you, with all its adjuncts of
grandeur and of power. The summit of the fertile
hill, meet theatre for so glorious a tragedy; the idola-
trous priests, with all the pompous ensigns of their idol-
worship, confronted by that solitary but princely man —
the gathered and anxious multitude — the deep silence
lollowing on the prophet's question — the appeal to fire
— the protracted iijvocation of Baal — the useless incan-

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

223

tations and barbaric rites, "from morning even nntil
noon, and from noon until the time of the offeriiiji; of
the evening Bacrifice ; the solemn sarcasm of Elijah ;
the building of the altar of unfurnished stone — tlio
drenching and surrounding it with water, strangest of all
strange preparations for aburnt-sacritice — tlio sky redden-
ing as if it blushed at the folly of the priests of Baal —
the sun sloping slowly to the west, and falling aslant upon
the pale faces of that unweary multitude, rapt in lixcd
attention, patient, stern, un hungering — the high accents
of holy prayer — the solemn pause, agonizing from its
depth of feeling — the falling flame, " a lire of intelligence
and power" — the consuming of all the materials of the
testimony — and that mighty triumph-shout, rolling along
the plain of Sharon, waKing the echoes of the responsive
mountains, and thrilling over the sea with an eloquence
grander than its own ; there it stands — that scene in its
entireness — most wonderful even in a history of wonders,
and one of the most magnificent and conclusive forth-
puttings of Jehovah's power ! But abstract your con-
templations now from the miraculous interposition, and
look at the chief actor in the scene. How calm h^ is!
How still amid that swaying multitude ! They, agitated
by a thousand emotions — he, self-reliant, patient, brave !
Priests mad with malice — people wild in wonder — an
ominous frown darkening the royal brow — Elijah alone
unmoved ! "Whence this self-possession ? What occult
principle so mightily sustains him ? There was, of course,
unfaltering dependence upon God. But there was also
the consciousness of integrity of purpose, and of a heart
" at one." There was no recreancy in the soul. He had
not been the passive observer, nor the guilty conniver at
sin. He had not trodden softly, lest he should shock
Ahab's prejudices or disturb his repose. He had not
shared in the carnivals of Jezebel's table. He had not
preserved a dastardly neutrality. Every one knew him
to be " on the Lord's side:" His heart was always in
tune ; like Memnon's harp, it trembled into melody at;
every breath of heavea.

THE PROPHET OP HOREB,

lij; i'il;

With these examples before lis, it behooves us to a^k
oiirselvcs, Have we a jnirposef Elijah and Luther may
be marks too high for us. Do not let us aftect kni|rht.
errantry, couch the hince at wind-mills to prove our valor
or mistake sauciness for sanctity, and impudence for
inspiration. It is not probable that our mission is to
beard unfaithful royalties, or to i)ull down the editiccft
which are festooned with the associations of centuries.
But in the sphere of each of us — in the marts of com-
merce, in the looms of labor — while the sun is climbing
liotly up the sky, and the race of human pursuits and
competitions is going vigorously on, there is woi k enough
for the sincere and honest workman. The sphere for
personal improvement was never so large. To brace the
body for service or for suft'ering — to brmg it into subjec-
tion to tlie control of the master-faculty — to acquaint the
mind with all wisdom — to hoard, with miser's care, every
fragment of beneficial knowledge — to twine Ihe beautitul
around the true, as the acanthus leaf around the
Corinthian pillar — to quell the sinward propensities of
the nature — to evolve the soul into the completeness of its
moral manhood — to have the passions in harness, and
firmly curb them — " to bear the image of the heavenly" —
to strive after " that mind which was also in Christ
Jesus" — here is a field of labor wide enough for the most
resolute will. The sphere of benefice it activity was
never so large. To infuse the leaven of purity into the
disordered masses — to thaw the death-frost from the heart
of the misanthrope — to make the treacherous one faithful
to duty — to open the world's dim eye to the majesty of
conscience — to gather and instruct the orphans bereft of
a father's blessing and of a mother's prayer — to care for
the outcast and abandoned, who have drunk in iniquity
with their mother's milk, whom the priest and the Levite
have alike passed by, and who have been forced in the
hotbed of poverty' into premature luxuriance of evil ;
here is labor, which may employ a man's whole lifetime,
^nd his whole soul. Young men, are you working?

UIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

225

Have you gone forth into the harvest- field bearing
precioufl seed? Alas ! pc'ilia])s Fonie of you are yet reBt-
ing in the conventional, tiiat ])ainted charnel which has
tombed many a manhood ; grat^ping eagerly your own
Bocial advantflgCB ; gyved by a dishonest expediency ; not
doing a good lest it tihould be evil spoken of, nor daring
a faith lest the scofJer Bhould frown. With two worlds
to work in — the world of the heart, with its many-phased
niid wondrous life, and the world around, with its
problems waiting for solution, and its contradictions
panting for the harmonizer — you are, perhnps, enchained
in the island of Calypso, thralled by its blandieliments,
emasculated by its enervating air. O, for some strong-
armed Mentor to tlirust you over the cliff, and strain with
you among the buffeting waves ! Brothers, let us be men.
Let us bravely fling oft our chains. If we can not bo
commanding, let us at least be sincere. Let our earnest-
ness amend our incapacity. Let ours not be a life of
puerile inanities or obsequious Mnmmon-worship. Let
us look through the pliant neutral in his hollowness, and
the churlish miser in his greed, and let us go and do
otherwise than they. Let us not be ingrates while Heaven
is generous, idlers while earth is active, slumberers while
eternity is near. Let us have a purpose, and let that
purpose be one. "Without a central principle all will be
m disorder. Ithaca is misgoverned, Penelope beset by
clamorous suitors, Telemachus in peril, all because
Ulysses is away. Let the Ulysses of the soul return,
let the governing principle exert its legitimate autho-
rity, and the happy suitors of appetite and sense
shall be slain — the heart, married to the truth, shall
retain its fidelity to its bridal vow, and the eldest-
born, a purpose of valor and of wisdom, shall carve i^s
highway to renown, and achieve its deeds of glory. Aim
at this singleness of eye. Abhor a life of self-contradic-
tions, as a grievous wrong done to an immortal nature.
And thus, having a purpose — one purpose — a worthy pur-
pose — ^you cannot toil in vain, w ork in the inner — it

226

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

will tell upon the outer world. Purify your own hea
— you. will have a reformative power on the neighbor-
hood. Shrine the truth within — it will attract many
pilorrims. Kindle the vestal fire — it will ray out a lite-
giving light. Have the mastery over your own spirit—
you will go far to be a world-suhduer. Oh, if there be
one here who would uplift himself or advance his fellows,
who would do his brother " a good which shall live after
him," or enroll himself among the benefactors of man-
kind, to him we say, Cast out of thyself all that lovetli
and maketh a lie — hate every false way — set a worth\
object before thee — work at it with both hands, an open
heart, an earnest will, and a firm faith, and then go on—

*' Onw£.rd while a wronp^ remains

To be conquered by the right;
While oppression lifts a finjjer

To affront us by his might :
While an error clouds the reason,

Or a sorrow Icnaws the heart,
Or a slave awaits his freedom,

Action is the wise man's part !"

The Prophet's consistency of purpose, his calmness in
the time of danger, and his marvellous success, require,
however, some further explanation, and that explanation
is to be found in the fact that he was a man of prayer.
Prayer was the forerunner of his every action — the grace
of supplication prepared him for his mightiest deeds.
Whatever was his object — to seal or to open the fountains
of heaven — to evoke the obedient fire on Carmel — to
shed joy over the bereft household of the Sareptan
widow — to bring down " forks of flame" upon the
captains and their fifties — there was always the solemn
and the earnest prayer. Tishbe, Zarephath, Carmel,
ijiezreel, Gilgal — he had his oratory in them all. And
herein lay the secret of his strength. The mountain-
closet emboldened him for the mountain-altar. While
the wingv^d birds were providing for his body, the winged
prayers were strengthening his soul. la answer to his

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

227

mness in

entreaties in secret, the whole armor of God was at his
service, and he buckled the breastplate, and braced the
girdle, and strapped on the sandals, and stepped forth
from his closet a hero, and men knew that he had been
in Jehovah's presence-chamber from tho glory which
linojered on his brow.

Now, as man is to be contemplated, not only in refer-
ence to time, but in reference to eternity, this habit of
prayer is necessary to the completeness of his character.
If the present were his all — if his life were to shape itself
only amid surrounding complexities of good or evil — if he
had merely to impress his individuality upon his age, and
then die and be forgotten, or in the veiled future have no
living and conscious concern ; then, indeed, self-confi-
dence might be his highest virtue, self-will his absolute
law, self-aggrandizement his supremest end. But as,
beyond the present, there lies, in all its solemness,
eternity ; as the world to which we are all hastening is a
world of result, discover}^ fruition, recompense ; as an
impartial register chronicles our lives, that a righteous
retribution may follow, our dependence upon God must
be felt and recognized, and there must be some medium
through which to receive the communications of his will.
This medium is furnished to us in prayer. I': has been
ordained by himself as a condition of stre.igth and
blessing, and all who are under his authority are under
binding obligations to pray.

Young men, you have been exhorted to aspire. Self-
reliance has been commended to you as a grand element
of character. We would echo these counsels. They are
counsels of wisdom. But to be safe and to be perfect,
you must connect with them the spirit of prayer. Emu-
lation, unchastened by any higher principle, is to our
perverted nature very often a danger and an evil. The
love of distinction, not of truth and right, becomes the
master-passion of the soul, and instead of high-reaching
labor after good, there comes Vanity with its parodies of
excellence, or mad Ambition slirinking from no enormity

,;:s

228

THE PEOPHET OF HOREB,

h .•

in its enpidity or Inst of power. Self-reliance, in a heart
uns^nctified, often gives place to Self-coniidence, its base-
born brother. Under its unfriendly rule there rise up in
the soul over-Aveening estimate of self, inveteracy of evil
habit, impatience of restraint or control, the disposition
to lord it over others, and that dogged and repulsive
obstinacy, which, like the dead fly in the ointment,
throws an ill savor over the entire character of the man.
These are smaller manifestations, buj;, in congenial soil,
and with commensurate opportunities, it blossoms out
into some of the worst forms of humanity — the ruffian,
who is the terror of his neighboi*hood ; the tyrant, who
has an appetite for blood ; the atheist, who denies his God.
) ' Now, the habit of prayer will a9brd to these principles
the salutary check which they need. It will sanctify
emulation, and make it a virtue to aspire. It will curb
the excesses of ambition, and keep down the vauntingsof
unholy pride. The man will aim at the highest, but in
the spirit of the lowest, and prompted by the thought of
immortality — not the loose immortality of the poe'.'s
dream, but the substantial immortality of the Christian's
hope — he will travel on to his reward. In like manner
will the habit of prayer chasten and consecrate the
principle of self-reliance. It will preserve, intact, all its
enterprise and bravery. It will bate not a jot of its
original strength and freedom, but, when it would wanton
out into insolence and pride, it will restrain it by the
consciousness of a higher power ; it will shed over the
man the meekness and gentleness of Christ, and it will
show, existing in the same nature and iu completest
harmony, indomitable courage in the arena of the world,
and loyal submission to the authority of Heaven. Many
noble examples have attested how this inner life of
heaven — combining the heroic and the gentle, softening
without enfeebling the character, preparing either for
action or endurance — has shed its power over the outer
life of earth. How commanding is the attitude of Paul
from the time of his 3on version to the truth I What

cou

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

220

courage lie has, encountering the Epicurean and Stoical
philosophers, revealing the unknown God to the multi-
tude at Athens, making the false-hearted Felix tremble,
and almost constraining tiie pliable Agrippa to decision ;
standing, silver-haired and solitary, before the bar of
Nero; dying a martyr for the loved name of Jesus ! —
that heroism was born in the solitude where he im-
portunately " besought the Lord." " In Luther's closet,"
says D'Aubigne, " we have the secret of the Keforma-
tion." The Puritans — those "men of whom the w^orld
was not worthy" — to whom we owe immense, but scantily-
acknowledged, obligations — how kept they their fidelity ?
Tracked through wood and wild, the baying of the fierce
sleuth-hound breaking often upon their sequestered
worship, their prayer was the talisman which " stopped
the mouths of lions, and quenched the violence of fire."
You cannot have forgotten how exquisitely the efficacy
of prayer is presented in our second book of Proverbs :

'♦ Behold that fragile form of delicate, transparent beauty, '

Whose lifjht-blue eye and hectic cheek are lit by the bale-flres of

decline ;
Hath not thy heart said of her, Alas ! poor child of weakness !
Thou hast erred ; Goliath of Gath stood not in half her strength :
For the serrler' ranks of evil are routed by the lightning of her eye ;
Seraphim rall„ it her side, and the ('aptain of that host is God,
For that weak, Juttering heart is strong in faith assured —
Dependence is her might, and behold — she prayeth."*

Desolate, indeed, is the spirit, like the hills of Gilboa,
reft of the precious things of heaven, if it never prays.
Do you pra)' ? Is the fire burning upon that secret altar ?
Do you go to the closet as a daty ? linger in it as a
privilege ? What is that you say ? There is a scoffer in
the same place of business with you, and he tells you it
is cowardly to bow the knee, and he jeera about being
kept in leading-strings, and urges you to avow your
manliness, and as he is your room-mate, you have been
ashamed to pray before him ; and, moreover, he seems
so cheerful, and resolute, and brave, that his words have

* Tapper's " Proverbial Philosophy," of Prayer, p. 109.

230

THE PBOPHET OP HOREB,

made some impression ? "What ! he brave ? He who
pjave up the journey the other day because he lucklessly
discovered it was f^riday ; he who lost his self-possession
at the party because " the salt was spilt — to him it fell ;"
Jie who, whenever friends solicit and the tempter plies,
is afraid to say no ; he who dares not for his life look
into his own heart, for he fancies it a haunted house,
with goblins perched on every landing to pale the cheek
and blench the courage ; ho is a brave man ? Oh ! to
your knees, young man ; to your knees, that the cowardice
may be forgiven and forgotten. There is no bravery ?n
blasphemy, there is no dastardliness in godly fear. It is
prayer which strengthens the weak, and makes the strong
man stronger. Happy are you, if it is your habit and
your privilege. You can offer it anywhere. In the
crowded mart or busy street ; flying along the gleaming
line ; sailing upon the wide waters ; out in the broad
world ; in the strife of sentiment and passion ; in the
whirlwind of battle ; at the festival and at the funeral ;
if tlie frost braces the spirit or the fog depresses it ; if the
clouds are heavy on the earth, or the sunshine fills it
with laughter ; when the dew is damp upon the grass, or
when the lightning. flashes in the sky; in the matins of
sunrise or the vespers of nightfall ; let but the occasion
demand it, let the need be felt, let the soul be imper-
illed, let the enemy threaten, happy are you, for you can
pray.

We learn from the prophet's history that God''s dig-
crplinefor usefulness is frequently a discipline of trouble.
His enforced banishment to the brook Cheritli ; his
struggles in that solitude, with the unbelief which would
fear fcr the daily sustenance, and with the selfishness
which would fret and pine for the activities of life ; Ahab's
bloodthirsty and eager search for him, of which he would
not fail to hear ; JezebeFs subsequent and bitterer per-
secution ; the apparent failure of his endeavors for the
reformation of Israel; the forty days' fasting in the
wilderness of Horeb — all these were parts of one grand

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

231

disciplinary process, by which he was made ready^ for the
Lord, fitted for the triumph on Carmel, for the still voice
on the mountain, and for the ultimate occupancy of the
chariot of fire. It is a beneficent arrangement of Pro-
vidence, that " the divinity which shapes our ends "
v;eaves our sorrows into elements of character, and that
all the disappointments and conflicts to which the living
are subject — the afflictions, physical and mental, person'kl
and relative, which are the common lot — may, rightlv
used, become means of improvement, and create in us
sinews of strength. Trouble is a marvellous mortifier of
pride, and an effectual restrainer of self-will. Difficulties
string up the energies to loftier effort, and intensity is
gained from, repression. By sorrow the tempter is mel-
lowed, and the feeling is refined. When suffering has
broken up the soil, and made the furrows soft, there can
be implanted the hardy virtues which out-brave the storm.
In short, trial is God's glorious alchemistry, by which the
dross is left in the crucible, the baser metals are trans-
muted ; and the character is riched with the gold. It
would be easy to multiply examples of the singular efficacy
of trouble as a course of discipline. Look at the history
of God's chosen people. A king arose in Egypt " which
knew not Joseph," and his harsh tyranny drove the
Hebrews from their lajid of Goshen, and made them the
serfs of an oppressive bondage. The iron entered into
their souls. For years they remained in slavery, until in his
own good time God arose to their help, and brought them
out " with a high hand and with a stretched-out arm."
We do not mean of all things, to make apologies for Pharoah
and his task-masters, but" we do mean to say that that
bondage was, in many of its results, a blessing, and that
the I'^^aelite, building the treasure-cities, and, perhaps,
the Pyramids, was a very different and a very superior
being to the Israelite, inexperienced and ease- loving who
fed his flocks in Goshen. God overruled that captivity,
and made it the teacher of many important lessons.
They had been: hitherto a host of families ; they were to

232

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

im [

be exalted into a nation. There was to be a transition
effected from the simplicity of the patriarchal government
and clanship to the superb theocracy of the Levitical
economy. Egypt was the school in which they were to
be trained for Canaan, and in Egypt they were Uuglit
although reluctant and indocile learners, the forms of civil
government, the theory of subordination and order and
the arts and habits of civilized life. Hence, when God
gave his laws on Sinai, those laws fell upon the ears of a
prepared people ; even in the desert they could fabricate
the trappings of a temple service, and engrave the mystic
characters upon the " gems oracular" which flashed upon
the breastplate of the High Priest of God. The long
exile in the wilderness of Midian was the chastening by
which Moses was instructed, and the impetuosity of liis
temper mellowed and subdued, so that he who, in liis
youthful hatred of oppression, slew the Egyptain, became
in his age the meekest man, the mucn-enduring and
patient la\^iver. A very notable instance of the influ-
ence of difficulty and failure in rousing the energies and
carrying them on to success, has been furnished in our
own times. Of course we refer to this case in this one aspect
only, altogether excluding any expression as to the merit
or demerit of the man. There will probably be two
opinions about him, and those widely differing^ in thi3
assembly. We are not presenting him as an example, but
as an illustration — save in the matter of steady and perse-
vering purpose — and in this, if he be even an opponent,
I^as est ah fioste doceri.

In the year 183 T-, a, young member, oriental alike in
his lineage and in his fancy, entered Parliament, chival-
rously panting for distinction in that intellectual arena.
He was already known as a successful three-volumer, and
his party were ready to hail him as a promising auxiliary.
Under these auspices he rose to make his maiden speech.
•But he had made a grand mistake. He had forgotten
tha*-. the figures of St. Stephen's are generally arithmeti-
cal, and that superfluity of words, except in certain cases,

^;^!

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

233

aia cases,

is regarded as superfluity of naughtiness. He set out
with the intention to dazzle, but country gentlemen object
to be dazzled, save on certain conditions. They must be
allowed to prepare themselves for the shock, they miist
have due notice beforehand, and the operation must be
performed by an established parliamentary favorite. In
this case all these conditions were wanting. The speaker
was 9. parvenu. He took them by surprise, and he pelted
them with tropes like hail. Hence he had not gone far
before there were signs of impatience ; by and by the
ominous cry of" Question," then came some parliamentary
extravagance, met by derisive cheers; cachinnatory
symptoms began to develop themselves, until, at last, in
the midst of an imposing sentence, in which he had
carried his audience to the Vatican, and invested Lord
John Russell v/ith the temporary custody of the keys of
St. Peter, the mirth grew fast and furious ; somnolent
squires woke up and joined in sympathy, and the house
resounded with irrepressible peals of laughter. Mortified
and indignant, the orator sat down, closing with these
memorable words: " I sit down now, but the time will
come when you will hear me !" In the mortification of
that niglit, we doubt not, was born a resolute Avorking
for the fulfillment of those words. It was an arduous
struggle. There were titled claimants tor renown among
his competitors, and he had to break down the exclusivism.
There was a suspicion of political adventuring at work,
and broadly circulated, and he had this to overcome.
Above all, he had to live down the remembrance of his
failure. But there was the consciousnesss of power, and
the fall which would have crushed the coward made the
brave man braver. Warily walking, and steadily toiling,
through the chance of years, seizing the opportunity as it
came, and always biding his time, he climbed upward to
the distant summit, prejudice melted like snow beneath
his feet, and in 1S52, fifteen short years after his apparent
annihilation, he was in her Majesty's Privy Council,
styling himself Right Honorable, Cjiancellor of the Ex-
chequer, and leader of the British nou;^o of Commons.

23 i

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

i,;H

ft .

Sirs, aro tlicro difficulties in your path, liindering your
pursuit of knowledge, restraining your benevolent endea-
vor, making your spiritual life a contest and a toil? Be
thankful for them. They will test your capabilities o{
resistance. You will be impelled to persevere from thu
very energy of the opposition. If there be any might in
your soul, like the avalanche of snow, it will require
iidditional momentum from the obstacles which threaten
to impede it. Many a man has thus robed himself in the
spoils of a vanquished difficulty, and his conquests have
accumulated at every onwrn-d and upward step, until he
has rested from his labor — the successful athlete who has
tlu'own the world. "An unfortunate illustration,'' yon
are ready to say, " for all cannot win the Olympic crown,
nor wear the Isthmian laurel. What of him who fails i
How is he recompensed ? What does he ^ain ?" What I
AV'liy, Strength for Life. His training has insured him
that He will never forget the gymnasium and its lessons.
lie will always be a stalwart man, a man of muscle and
of sinew. The real merit is not in the success, but in
THE endeavor, and, win or lose, he will be honored and
crowned.

It may be that the sphere of some of you is that of
endurance rather than of enterprise. You are not
called to aggress, but to resist. The power to work has
reached its limit for a while; the power to wait must
1)0 exerted. There are periods in our history when
Providence shuts us up to the exercise of faith, when
patience and fortitude are more valuable than valor and
courage, and when any "further struggle would but
defeat our prospects and embarrass our aims." To
resist the powerful temptation ; to overcome the beset-
ting sin ; to restrain the sudden impulse of anger ; to
keep sentinel over the door of the lips, and turn back the
biting sarcasm, and the word unkind ; to be patient under
, XL nmerited censure ; amid opposing friends, and a scoffing
world, to keep the faith high and the purpose firm ; to
watch through murky night and howling storm for the

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

235

coming day ; in these cases, to be still is to be brave ;
what i3urke has called a " iiiastGi'ly inactivity" is our
hii^liest prowess, and quietude is the part ot heroism.
There is a young man in business, battlii.^' with sonic
Btronff temptation, by which he is vij^orously assailed ; he
is solicited to engage in some unlawlul undertaking, with
the prospect of immediate and lucrative returns. Custom
pleads prescription : " It is done every day." Partiality
suggests that so small a deviation will never be regarded —
"fi it not a little one?" Incerest reminds him that by
his refusal his " craft will be in danger." Compromise is
Bure that " when he bows himself in the house of Rimmon,
the Lord will pardon his servant in this thing." All these
fearful voices are urging his compliance. ]>ut the Abdiel-
conscience triumphs — help is invoked where it can never
he invoked in vain, and he spurns the temptation away.
Is he not a hero ? Earth, may despise such a victory, but
he can afford that scorning when, on account of him,
" there is joy in heaven." Oh, there are, day by day,
vanishing from the world's presence, those of whom she
wotteth not ; whose heritage has been a heritage of suffer-
ing ; who, in the squalors of poverty, have gleaned a
hallowed chastening ; from whom the fires of sickness
have scaled their earthliness away, and they have grown
up into such transcendent and archangel beauty, that
Death, God's eagle, sweeps them into heaven. Murmur
not, then, if, in the inscrutable allotments of Providence,
you arc called to suffer, rather than to do. There is a
time to labor, and there is a time to refrain. The com-
pleteness of the Christian character consists in energetic
working, when working is practicable, and in submissive
waiting, when waiting is necessary. You believe that
beyond the waste of v/aters there is a rich land to be dis-
covered, and, like Columbus, you have manned the vessel
and hopefully set sail. But your difficulties are increas-
ing. The men's hearts are failing them for fear ; they
wept when you got out of sight of land ; the distance is
greater than you thought : there is a weary and unvaried

236

Hue prophet of horeb,

|f:I

prospect of only sky and sea ; you Imve notspolcen a sliip
noi* exchanged a groeting ; your crew are becoming
mntinous, and brand you mad ; officers and men crowa
round you, savagely demanding return. Move not a hair's
breadth. Command the craven spirits to their duty,
]]ow them before the grandeur of your courage, and tlic
triumph of your faith :

"Hushlnp: every muttered murmur,
Let yo.ir fortitude the lirmcr

Gird your soul Avitli Btrunjrth ;
Wliiio, no treason near lier lurking,
Patience in her perfect workinjj,

Shall be queen at length."

Ha! What is it ? What says the watcher? Land in
the distance ! No ; not yet — but there's a hopeful fra-
grance in the breeze ; the sounding-line gives shallower
and yet shallower water ; the tiny land-birds flutter round,
venturing on timid wing to give their joyous welcome.
Spread the canvas to the wind ; by and by there shall he
the surf-wave on the strand ; the summits of the land of
p"omise visible ; the flag flying at the harbor's moutli, and
eclioing from grateful hearts and manly voici^s, the swell-
ing spirit-hymn, " So he briiigeth us to our desired
haven."

We are taught by the Prophet's history the evil of
undue disqidetade about the aspect of the timeR. The
followers of Baal had been stung to madness by their
defeat on Carmel, and Jezebel, their patroness, mourning
over her shinghtered priests, swore by her idol-gods that
she would have the Prophet's life for theirs. On this
being reported to Elijah, he seems to be paralyzed with
fear, all his former coiifldence in God appears to be
forgotten, and the remembrance of the mighty deliver-
ances of the past fails to sustain him under the pressure
of this new trial. Such is poor human nature. lie before
whom the tyrant Ahab had quailed — he whose prayer
had suspended the course ot nature, and sealed up the
fountains of heaven ; he who, in the face • of all Israel,
had confronted and conquered eight hundred and tiity

HIS LIFK AND ITS LESSONS.

237

men — tciTified at the threat of an aiif^ry woman, flees in
])recipitation and in terror, and, hopelesH for the time of
iiis own safety, and of the snccess of liis endeavors for
tlie good of Israel, wanders off into the wilderness, and
(iifirhs forth his feelings in the peevish and melancholy
utterance : Let me die. " It is enongh — now, O Lord
God, take away my life, for I am no better than my
lathers." This desertion of duty, failure of faith, sudden
cowardice, unwarranted despondency, petulance, and
murmuring, are characteri&tics of modern no less than
ancient days. Theic is one class of observers, indeed,
who are not troubled with any disquietude ; to whom all
wears the tint of the rose-light, and who are disposed to
regard the apprehensions of their soberer neighbors as
dyspeptic symptoms, or as incipient hypochondriacisni.
"Whenever the age is mentioned, they go off in an ecstasy.
They are like the Malvern patients, of whom Sir Lytton
Bulwer tells, who, after having made themselves ex-
tempore mummies in the " pack," and otherwise under-
gone their matutinal course of hydropathy, are so in-
tensely exhilarated, and have such an exuberance of
animal spirits, that they are obliged to run a considerable
distance for the sake of working themselves off. Their
volubility of praise is extraordinary, an4 it is only when
they are thoroughly out of breath, that you have the
chance to edge in a syllable. They tell us that the age
is "golden," auriferous in all its developments, tran-
gcending all others in immediate advantage and in
auguries of future good. "We are poiiited to the kindling
love of freedom, to the quickened onset of inquiry, to
the stream of legislation broadening; as it flows, to the
increase of hereditary mind, to the setting further and
further back of the old landmarks of improvement, and
to the inclosure of whole acres of intellectual and moral
waste, thought formerly not worth the tillage. We
would not for one moment be understood to undervalue
these and other signs, equally and yet more encouraging.
0|i the other hand, though no alarmists, we would not b^

'*''l*>i»

238

Tin: rRopiiFTT of iiOREn,

inscTiBible to the fears of those who tell us that wo are in
danger ; that our liberty, of which we boast ourselves, Ig
strangely like liceutiousness ; that our intellectual eini-
uence may prove practical folly; that onr liberality veri;o8
on indift'erentism ; and that our chiefcst di«rnity ip our
yet-unhuinbled })ride, that (ppmtr^fta <Taj>koc, Wiiich, in all
its varieties, and in all its conditions, is ''enmity against
God." A very cui'sory glance at the state of things
around us will suffice to show that with the dawn of a
brighter day there are blent some gathering clouds.

Amid those who have named the Master's name, there
is much which calls for caution and for warning. Politi-
cal strife, fierce and absorbing, leading the mind off from
the realities of its own condition ; a current of worldly
conformity setting in strongly upon the churches of the
land ; the ostentation and publicity of religious enter-
prises prompting to the neglect of meditation and of secret
prayer; sectarian bitterness in its sad and angry develop-
ments; the multiform and lamentable exhibitions of
practical Antinomianism which abound among us — all
these have, in their measure, prevented the fulfillment of
the Church's mission in the world.

If you look outside the pale of the churches, vieweJ
from a Christian stand-point, the aspect is somewhat
alarmin<y. Cringe does not diminish. The records of our
offices ot the police and of our courts of justice are perfectly
appalling. Intemperance, like a mighty gulf-stream,
drowns its thousands. The Sabbath is systematically
desecrated, and profligacy yet exerts its power to fascinate
and to ruin souls. And tlien, deny it as T/e will, there is
the engrossing power of Mammon. Covetousness — tl'e
sin of the heart, of the Church, of the world — is found
evei'ywhere ; lurking in the guise of frugality, in ' le
pool man's dwelling ; dancing m the shape of gold fields
and Australia before the flattered eye of youth : shrined
in the marts of the busy world, receiving the incense and
worship of the tradere in vanity ; arrayed in purple, and
faring; sumptuously every day, m the mansion of Dives ;

niS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

230

twining itself roiiiul the pillai-s of tlie saneluni y of , God ;
it irt tlie ^refit woi'l(l-cin]t('n»r still, s\va}iii|.^ an absolute
ftutlioi'ity, "with ic^ioTH or sul)or(liiiatu viced to waich itti
110(1, and to Dorfonn its hid^linj.:;.

Then, besides this ini(|nlty of ]>vactical nnc;ofllInc?fl,
there is also the inir[nity of theoretical o}»inion. There is
ro],ery, that nntl(|\uited snperstilion, ^vhi('ll 's coiDiii";
forth in its decrepiitude, roiiL;hin^ over its wrinUcs, and
ilauntintr itself, as it used to do in its ■\vell-remend)eied
youth. There are the various ramifications of the subilo
spirit of Unbelief: Atheism, discarding its fovmc' au-
dacity of blasphemy, assuming now a modest garb aiul
mendicant whine, asking our pity for its idiosyncrasy,
bewailing its misfortune in uot l)eing able to ])elieve that
there is a God ; Baticnalisrn, whether in the traviscen-
dentalism of Hegel, or in the allegorizing imj'iely of
Strauss, or in the panthestic philoso])hy of Ficlite,ea;'ng
out the heart of the Gospel, into which its vampire-fangs
have fastened ; Latiiudin* nanism on a sentimental
journey in search of the religious instinct, doling out its
equal and niggard prais6 to it wherever it is found, in
Fetichism, Thuggism, Mohammedanism, or Christianity;
that species oi active and high-sounding skepticism,
which, for want of a better name, we may call it Credo-
fhobia^ which selects the confessions and catechisms as
the objects of its especial hostility, and which, knowing
right well that if the banner is down, the courage fails,
and the army will be routed or slain, " furious as a
wounded bull, runa tearing at the creeds ;" these, with all
their off-shots and dependencies (for there name is Legion)
grouped under the generic style of Infidelity, have girt
themselves for the combat, and are asserting and endeavor-
ing to establish their empire over the intellects and con-
sciences of men. And as this spirit of Unbelief has
many sympathies with the spirit of Superstition, they
have entered into unholy alliance — '^ Herod and Pilate
have been made friends together " — and hand joined in
hand^ they are arrayed against the truth of God. Oh,

•*(,. |H

240

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

II 'A.

►s.^TMilLi' '■

rare John Biinyan ! Was he not among the prophets ?
Listen to his description of the last army of Diabolus
before the final triiimpli of Immanuel : " Ten thousand
DcTTBTERS, and fifteen thousand Bloodmen, and old In-
credulity, was again made general of the army."

]n this aspect of the age its tendencies are not always
upward, nor its prospects encouraging, and we can under-
stand the feeling which bids tlie Ells of our Israel "sit
by the wayside, watching for their hearts tremble for the
ark of God." We seem to be in the mysterious twilight
of which the prophet speaks, " The light shall not be clear
nor dark, but one day knoion unto the Lord, not day nor
night." Ah ! here is our consolation. It is " known
imto the Lord ;" then our faith must not be weakened by
distrust, nor our labor interrupted by fear. " It is known
unto the Lord ;" and from the mount ot Horeb he tells
us that in the secret places of the heritage there are seven
thousand that have not bowed the knee to Baal. It is
" known unto the Lord ;" and while wf^ ]-)ity the Prophet
in the wilderness asking for a solitary death, death under
a cloud, death in judgment, death in sorrow, he draws
aside the veil, and shows us heaven preparing to do him
honor, the celestial escort making ready to attend hhn,
the horses being harnessed into the chariot of fire.

Sirs, if there be this opposition, be it ours to " con-
tend " the more " earnestly for the faith once delivered
to the saints." Many are pei'suading us to give up and
abandon our creeds. Y^e ought rather to hold them
with a firmer grasp, and infuse into them a holier life.
We can imagine how the infidel would accost an intelli-
gent and hearty believer. "Be independent; don't
continue any longer in leading strings, taking your faith
from the ipse dixit of another; use your senses, which
are the only means of knowledge ; cast your confessions
and rituals away; a strong mp;i» needs no crutches."
And we can imagine the reply. "Brother, the simile
is not a happy one — my creed is not a crutch — it is a
highway thrown up by former travellers to the land that

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESIONS.

241

prophets }
Diabolus
thousand
I old A-

>t always
m under-
rael "sit
le for the

twilight
t be clear
' day nor
" known
kened by
is known

he tells
ire seven
1. It is
Prophet
:h under
e draws

do him
nd him,

" con-
elivered
up and
d them
er life.

intelli-

don't

ir faith

which
essions
tches."

simile
it is a
d that

is afar off. * Other men have labored,' and of my own
free will I * enter into their labor.' If thoii art disposed
to clear the path with thy own hatchet, with lurking ser-
pents underneath and knotted branches overhead, God
speed thee, my brother, for thy work is of the roughest,
and while thou art resting — fatigued and '^considering* —
thou mayest die before thou hast come upon the truth.
I am grateful to the modern Macadamizers who have
toiled for the coming time. Commend me to the King's
highway. I am not bound in it with fetters of iron. I
can climb the hill for the sake of a wider landscape. I
can cross the stile, that I may slake my thirst at the old
moss-covered well in the field. I can saunter down the
woodland glade, and gather the wild heart's-ea&e that
peeps from among the tangled fern ; but I go back to the
gooH old path where the pilgrim's tracks are visible, and,
hke the shining light, 4t grows brighter and brighter
unto the perfect day.' " Sirs, this is not the time for us
to be done with creeds. They are, in the various churches,
their individual embodiments of what they believe to be
truth, and their individual protests against what they
deem to be error. " Give up our theolog.y !" says Mr.
James of Birmingham ; " then farewell to our piety.
Give up our theology! then dissolve our churches; for
our churches are founded upon truth. Give up our
theology ! then next vote our Bibles to be myths. And
this is clearly the aim of many, the destruction of all
these together ; our piety, our churches, our Bibles."
This Testimony is true. There cannot be an attack upon
the one without damage and mischief to the other.

"JuBt as in old mythologry, ,

What time tlie wcodman slew
Each poet-worshipped forest tree-
He Icilled its Dryad too."

m So as the assault upon these expressions of Christianity
is successful, the spiritual presence enshrined in them
will languish and die. " Hold fast," then, " the form of

■te*

242

THE PROPHET OP HOREB,

|i f

sound words." Amid ths war oi sentiment and tliejanw-
ling of false philosophy, though the sophist may denounce
and though the fool may laugh, let your high resolve go
forth to tne moral universe ; " I am determined to know
nothing among men save Christ and him crucified."

There is another matter to which, if you would suc-
cessfully join in resistance to the works of evil, you must
give earnest heed, and that is the desirableness, I had
almost said the necessity — I will say it, for it is my
solemn conviction, and why should it not be manfully
out-spoken ? — the necessity of public dedication to the
service of your Master — Chr^'st. You will readily admit
that confession is requisite, lo. the completeness of disci-
pleship ; and you cannot have forgotton how the AposUe
has linked it to faith. " Confess with thy mouth, and
believe with thine he^rt." To such confession, in the
present day, at all events, church-fellowship is necessary.
You cannot adequately make it in social intercourse, nor
by a consistent' example, nor even by a decorous attend-
ance with outer-court worshippers. There must be public
and solemn union with the Church of Christ. The influ-
ence of this avowed adhesion ought not to be forgotten.
A solitary " witness " of obedience or faith is lost, like an
invisible atom in the air ; it is the union of each particle,
in itself insignificant, which makes up the "cloud of
witnesses " which the world can see. Your own admirable
Society exemplifies the advantage of assocation in be-
nevolent and Christian enterprise, and the churches of the
land, maligned as they have been by infidel slanderers,
and imperfectly — very imperfectly — as they have borne
witness for Gc;', have yet been the great breakwaters
against the error and sin, the blest Elims to the desert
wayfarer, the tower of strength in the days of siege and
strife. Permit us to urge this matter upon you. Of
course we do not pretend to specify — that were treason
against the noble catholicity of this Society — though each
your lecturers has the Church of his intelligent pre-
ference, and we are none of i;s ashamed of our own ; but

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

248

^e do mean to say, that you ought to join yourselvoB to
that Church whicn appears to your pra^^erful judgment to
be most in accordance with the New Testament, there to
render whatever you possess of talent, and influence, and
labor. This is my teatimony, sincerely and faithfully given ;
and if, in its utterance, it shall, by God's blessing, recall
one wanderer to allegience, or constrain one waverer to
decision, it will not have been spoken in vain.

Yet once more upon this head. There must be deeper
piety, more influential and transforming godliness. An
orthodox creed, valuable Church privileges — what are
these without personal devotedness ? They must be faith-
ful laborers — men of consecrated hearts — who are to do
the work of the Lord. Believe me, the depth of apostolic
piety, and the fervor of apostolic prayer, are required for
the exigencies of the present and coming time. That
Church of the future, which is to absorb into itself the
regenerated race, must be a living and a holy Church.
Spiritual pi'inciples must be enunciated by us all, with
John the JBaptist's fearlessness, and with John the Evan-,
gelist's love. It is a mistake to suppose that fidelity and
affection are unfriendly. The highest achievements in
knowledge, the most splendid revelations of God, are re-
served in his wisdom for the man of perfect love. Who
but the beloved disciple could worm out of the Master's
heart the foul betrayer's name ? "Whose heart but his
was large enough to hold the Apocalyjise, which was flung
into it in the island of Patmos ? There must be this
union of deepest faithfulness and deepest love to fit us for
the coming age ; and to get it, we must just do as John
did : we must lie upon the Master's bosom until the smile
of the Master has burned out of our hearts all earthlier
and coarser passion, and has chastened the bravery of the
liero by the meekness of the child.

The great lesson which is taught us in the Prophet's
history, is that which was taught to him by the revelation
on Horeb, that the Word is God^a chosen instrumentality
for the Ch'UTch''s ^rogresSy and for the icorld's recovery.

244

THE PROPHET OF HOREB,

There were other Issons, doubtless, for his personal
benefit. He had deseited its duty and was rebuked ; he
had become impatient and exasperated, and was calmed
down ; craven-hearted and unbelieving, he was fortified
by the display of God's power ; dispirited and wishing
angrily for death, he was (jonsoled with promise, and pre'.
pared for future usefulness and duty. But the grand
lesson of all was, that Jehovah, when he works, works
not with the turbulence and passion of a man, but with
the stillness and grandeur of a God. '' He was not in
tlie whirlwind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but
in the still, email voice." And so it is still. "The
whirlwind" of battle, " the earthquake" of political con-
vulsion and change, "the fire" of the loftiest intellect, or
of the most burning eloquence, are valueless to uplift
and to regenerate the world. They may be, they very
often are, the forerunners of the moral triumph, but God's
power is in his Gospel, God's presence is in hh Word.
Ilere it is that we are at issue, at deep and deadly issue,
with the pseudo-philosophers and benevolent "considerers"
who profess to be toiling in the same cause as ourselves
They discrown Christ ; they ignore the influence ot the
Holy Spirit ; they proclaim the perfectibility of their
nature in itself; tliey have superseded the Word as an
instrument of progress ; and, of their own masonry, are
piling lip a tower, if haply it may reach unto heaven.
This is the great probleni of the age. Do not let us
deceive ourselves. There are men, earnest, thoughtful,
working, clever men, intent upon the question. States-
manship has gathered up its political appliances ; civiliz-
ation has exhibited her humanizing art ; philanthropy
has reared educational, and mechanics', and all other
sorts of institutes ; amiable dreamers of the Pantheistic
school have mapped out in cloud-land man's progress,
from the transcendental up to the divine ; communism
has flung over all the mantle of its apparent charity, in
the folds of which it has darkly hidden the dagger of its
terrible purpose — nay, every man, now-a-days, stands out

:his life and its lessons.

. 245

n ready-made and self-confident artificer, each having a
psalm, or a doctrine, or a theoey, which is to recreate
society and stir the pulses of the world. And yet the
world is not regenerated, nor will it ever be, by such
visionary projects as these. Call up History. She will
bear impartial witness. She will tell you that, before
Christ came with his Evangel of purity and freedom, the
finer the culture, the baser the character ; that the un-
tamed inhabitant of the old Hercynian Forest, and the
Scythian and Slavonic tribes, who lived north of the
Danube and the Ehine, destitute entirely of literary and
artistic skill, were, in morals, far superiw to the classic
Greek and all accomplished Roman. Call up Experience ;
she shall speak on the matter. You have increased in
k.iowledge; have you, therefore,, increased in piety?
You have acquired a keener aesthetic susceptibility ; have
you gotten with it a keener relish for the spiritually true %
'/our mind has been led out into higher and yet higher
education ; have you, by its nurture, been brought nearer
to God ? Experience throws emphasis into the testimony
of History, and both combine, to assure us that there may
he a sad divorce between Intellect and Piety, and that the
training of the mind is not necessarily inclusive of the cul-
ture and discipline of the heart. Science may lead us to
the loftiest heights Avliich her inductive philosophy has
scaled; art may suspend before us her beautiful crea-
tions ; nature may rouse a " fine turbulence " in heroic
souls ; the strength of the hills may nerve the patriot's
arm, as the Swiss felt the inspiration of their mountains
on the Mortgarten battle-field ; but the}^ cannot, any or
all of them, instate a man in sovereignty over his
mastering corruptions, or invest a race Avith moral
purity and power. If the grand old demon, who hns
the world so long in his tliiall, is, by these means, ever
disturbed in his possession, it is only that he may
wander into desert places, and then return fresher for
the exercise, and bringing seven of his kindred more
inveterate and cruel. Ko ! if the world is to be roi2;ener-

"n **•

246

THE PEOPHET OF HOLEB,

1 ,1V. ^

I'i

ated at all, it will be by the "still, small voice;" tlia^
clear and marvellous whisper, which is heard high above
the din of striving peoples, and the tumult of sentiment
and passion ; which runs along the whole line of ])eini;,
stretching its spiritual telegraph into every hcari,
that it may link them all with God. All human specu-
lations have alloy about them ; that Word is perfect.
All human speculations fail ; that "Word abideth.
The Jew hateth it ; but it lived on, while the veil
was torn away from the shrine which Shekinah had
forsaken, and while Jerusalem itself was destroyed.
The Greek derided it, but it has seen his philosophy
effete, and his Acropolis in ruins. The Roman threw it
to the flames, but it rose from its ashes, and swooped
down upon the falling eagle. The reasoner cast it into
the furnace, which his o^vn malignity had heated
"seven times hotter than its wont hut it came out
without the smell of fire." The Papist fastened serpen's
around it to poison it, but it shook them off and felt no
harm. The infidel cast it overboard in a temptest of
sophistry and sarcasm, but it rode gallantly upon tlie
crest of the proud waters ; and it is living still, yet
heard in the loudest swelling of the storm ; it has boon
epeakins: all the while ; it is speaking now. The world
gets higher at its every tone, and it shall ultimately
speak in power, until it has spoken this dismantled
planet up again into the smiling brotherhood of worlds
which kept their first estate, and God, welcoming the
prodigal, shall look at it as he did in the beginning, and
pronounce it to be very good.

It is as they abide by his AVord, and guard sacredly
this precious treasure, that nations stand or fall. Tlie
empires of old, where are they ? Their power is dwarfed
or gone. Their glory is only known by tradition. Their
deeds are only chronicled in song. But, amid surroundiui,'
ruin, the Ark of God blesses the house of Obed-Edoni.
We dwell not now on our national greatness. That is
the orator's eulogy and the poet's theme. We remember

our re

his nf

upon

dom,

unseal

with

same

privil(|

selvesj

hlesscj

tohei

It woi

if the

HIS LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

f24T

oiir religious advantages — God recognized in our Senate,
liis name stamped on our currency, nis blessing invoked
upon our Queen, our Gospel ministry, our religious free-
dom, our unfettered privilege, our precious Saobath, our
unsealed, entire, wide-open Bible. " God hath not dealt
with any nation as he hath dealt with us, and for this
same purpose our possessions are extensive, and our
privileges secure — that we may maintain among our-
selves, and diifuse amid the peoples, the Gospel of the
])lessed God. Alas ! that our country has not been true
to her res])onsibility, nor lavish of her strength for God.
It would be well for us, and it is a startling alternative,
if the curse of Meroz were our only heritage of wrath —
if our only guilt were that we " came not up to the help
of the Lord against the mighty." But we have not
merely been indifi'erent — we have been hostile. The
cupidity of our merchants, the profligacy of our soldiers
and sailors, the impiety of our travellers, have hindered
the work of the Lord. Our Government has patronized
paganism ; our soldiery have saluted an idol ; our cannon
have roared in homage to a senseless stone — nay, we
liave even pandered to the prostitution of a continent,
and to the murder of thousands of her sons, debauched
and slain l)y the barbarities of their religion — and,- less
conscientious than the priests of old, we have flung into
the national treasury the hire of that adultery and blood.
Oh ! if the righteous God were to make inquisition for
blood, upon the testimony of how many slaughtered wit-
nesses might he convict pampered and lordly Britain !
There is need — strong need — for our national humiliation
and prayer. He who girt us with power can dry up the
sinews of our strength. Let but his auger be kindled by
our repeated infidelities, and our country shall fall. More
magniticent than Babylon in the profusion of her opu-
lence, she shall be more sudden than Babylon in her
ruin; more renowned than Carthage for her military
triumphs, shall be more desolate than Carthage in her
mourning ; princelier than Tyre in her commercial great-

ilW I*-

248

I'HE PROPHET OP HOREB,

n )i

ness, shall be more signal than Tyre in her fall ; wider
than Rome in her extent of territorial dominion, shall be
more prostrate than Rome in her enslavement; prouder
than Greece in her eminence of intellectual culture, shall
be more degraded than Greece in her darkening ; more
exalted than Capernaum in the fulness of her religioua
privilege, shall be more appalling than Capernaum in the
deep damnations of her doom.

Young men, it is for you to redeem your country from
this terrible curse. "The holy seed shall be the sub-
stance thereof" As you, and those like you, are impure,
or holy, you may draw down the destruction, or conclnot;
it liarmlessly away. You cannot live to yom-self^s.
Every word you utter makes its impression ; ov^ry deed
you do is fraught with influences — successive, concentric,
imparted — which may be felt for ages. This is a terrible
power which you have, and it clings to you ; you cannot
shake it off. How will you exert it? We place two
characters before you. Here is one — he is decided in his
devotedncss to God ; painstaking in his search for truth ;
strong in benevolent purpose and holy endeavor ; wield-
ing a blessed influence; failing oft, but ceasing never j
ripening with the lapse of years ; the spirit mounting
upon the breath of its parting prayer. The last enemv
destroyed ; his memory green for ages ; and grateful
thousands chiselling on his tomb : " He, being dea.d, yet
srEAKETii." There is another — he resists religious im-
pressions; outgrows the necessity for prayer^ forgets the
lessons of his youth, and the admonitions of his godly
home ; forsakes the sanctuary ; sits in the seat of the
scorner ; laughs at religion as a foolish dream ; influences
many for evil ; runs to excess of wickedness ; sends, in
some instances, his victims down before him ; is stricken
with premature old age ; has hopeless prospects, and a
terrible death-bed ; rots from the remembrance of his
fellows ; and angel-liands burning upon his gloomy
sepuh hre the epitaph of his blasted life : " And that

MAN PERISHED NOT ALONE IN HI3 INIQUITY,''

ins LIFE AND ITS LESSONS.

24?

Younff men, which will you choose ? I affectionately
press this question. Oh, choose for God ! " Seek iirst
the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all things"
.—science, art, poetry, friendship — "shall be added unto
you." I do unfeignedly rejoice that so goodly a number
of you have already decided.

I have only one litness to address you — but it is one
which many of your lecturers cannot claim — and that is,
a fitness of sympathy. Your hopes are mine ; with your
joys, at their keenest, I can sympathize. I have not for-
gotten the glad hours of opening morning, when the
zephyr has a balmier breatn, and through the richly-
painted windows of the fancy, the sunlight streams in
upon the soul. I come to you as one of yourselves.
Take my counsel. " My heart's desire and prayer lor
you is that you may be saved."

There is hope for the future. The world is moving on.
The great and common mind of Humanity has caught the
charm of hallowed Labor. Worthy and toil-worn
laborers fall ever and anon in the march, and their fellows
weep their loss, and then, dashing away the tears which
had blinded them, they struggle and labor on. There
has been an upward spirit evoked, which men will not
willingly let die. Young in its love of the beautiful,
young in its quenchless thirst after the true, we see that
buoyant presence :

" In hand It bears, 'mid snow and ice,
The banner with the strange device :
Exoelsiob!"

The one note of high music struck from the great harp
of the world's heart-strings is graven on that banner.
The student breaths it at his midnight lamp — the poet
groans it forth in those spasms of his soul, when he can-
not fling his heart's beauty upon language. Fair fingers
have wrought in seci'et at that banner. Many a child of
poverty has felt its motto in his soul, like the last vestige
of lingering divinity. The Christian longs it when hi^

250

THE PROPHET OP HOREB.

1,4

faith, piercing tlic invisible, "desires a hotter country
that is, an heavenly." Excelsior! Excelsior! Brothers
let lis speed onward the youth who holds that bauucr.
Up, up, brave spirit 1

♦' Climb the Btecp and starry road
To the Inllnite^s abode."

Up, up, brave spirit ! Spite of Alpine steep and frowning
brow, roaring blast and crashing flood, up ! Science has
many a glowing secret to reveal thee ! Faith has many
a Tabor-pleasure to inspire. Ha! does the cloud stop
thy progress ? Pierce through it to the sacred morning.
Fear not to approach the divinity ; it is his own longing
which impels thee. Thou art speeding to thy coronation,
brave spirit ! Up, up, brave spirit ! till, as thou pantest
on the crest of thy loftiest achievement, God's glory slut..
burst upon thy face, and God's voice, blessirg thee from
his throne, in tones of approval and of welcome, shall
deliver thy guerdon : " 1 have made thee a little lower
than the angels, and crowned thee with glory and honor !"

^'^W ^<-

XIII.

FAREWELL SERMON,

Preached in Tiifc. Metropolitan Church, Toronto, on Sunday

Morning, May 11, 1873.

•• But it la good to bo zealously affected always in a good th! |?, and
not only when I am present with you."-— Galatians iv. 18.

IS"

nil

HERE is mi ir ner experience in the life of a minis-
ter of Chris"^. of which the world wottcth not, and
jlil which ordinary Christians can only partially
share. Not only is he a man of like passions with
those whom he addresses ; exposed to the same tempta-
tions ; subject to the ebb and flow of the same tides
of feeling; but there are trials peculiar to his office, if
he rightly estimate it, and if its obligations are fgith-
hilly discharged. The church is represented as a
commonwealth, in which each shares the gladness, or
is thrilled with the sorrow of the other ; and if the
members of the church feel this interpenetration of
sympathy, with how much greater intensity will the
minister feel it, to whom the pastorate of the flock has
been committed, and who is the minister of God to
them for good, and who watches for their souls " as
one that must give account." The husbandman has
his own anxieties during the long months which inter-
vene between the scattering and the gathering. Soli-
citous at the seedtime, he is not less solicitous until
the corn is housed. There is much of ban or of

blessing to him in the face of the sky. lie cannot be

252

FAREWELL SEllMON.

I''

t :

, i««i:t

indifferent whether Rtorma pelt or Hunheams shine, llo
is called to mourn Bometimea over that which the
tempeBt has smitten, or which the sun has Bcouhed;
he 18 called sometimes to rejoice with a full heart in
the joy cf harvest. And surely the spiritual hushand-
man, if he be not a hireling, but one who loves the
sowing, and who sows for the liarvest, should watch
Jealously over the fortunes of the scattered seed. It
may be that in his congregation there are some whom
the word has grasped, whom unhallowed associations
are causing to wither, or who in the engrossments of
the secular are being weaned from their first love,
over whom he may look and say, " I stand in doubt
of you." There he may implore pitifully in his
Master's name and words, '' Will ye also go awav ?"
and yonder he may remonstrate in wounded affection,
" Ye did run well ; who hath hindered you, that ye
should not obey the truth ?" Shall he not mourn over
these, as a father over his wayward child? And if
there are others in his congregation whose course is
bright and prosperous, shall not their consistent walk
and ripening graces fill him with u strange joy ? Into
this ministerial solicitude none entered so deeply as
the great apostle of the gentiles ; and it is to his roused
and startled feelings that we owe the epistle to the
Galatians. Tidings were brought to him at Corinth,
whither he had gone with a mind already saddened by
the defective discipline of the Corinthian church, that
the Galatians also had gone from their attachment,
and that they had become entangled in that yoke which
the Judaizing teachers were ever ready to fasten upon
the infant churches of the Saviour. He therefore
writes to them in a style in which rebuke and tender-
ness are inimitably blended ; vindicates his own apostle-
ship ; claims exclusive truth for the gospel which he
preaches ; denounces everything that is opposed to it
as accursed error ; argues for the superiority of evan-
gelical over legal privilege ; and then appeals to them

FARKWELI, Sl'llMOX.

253

by the memory of tlieir former affection — nn affection
wliieh seems to luivc been euthiisijKstic in its expressions
of attachment — if imply he may brinij: l)ack tlieir stray
desires to the obedience of Christ, and ])reak the flpoll
of that accursed witclicry under whose fatal <;laniour
they liad come. The ai)peal is very touching, and very
tender; and they must have callous hearts v/ho could
resist it — " Ye know how through infirmity of tho
flesh I preached the gospel unto you at the first ; and
my temptation wliich wa>s in my flesh ye despised not
nor rejected, but received me as an angel of God,
even as Christ Jesus. Where is then the blessedness
ye spake of ? for I bear you record that if it had been
possible ye would have plucked out your own eyes,
and have given them to me. Am I, therefore, become
your enemy l)ecausc I tell you the truth ? The^^
zealously affect you, but not well ; yea, they would
exclude you, that ye might affect them. But it is good
to be zealously affected always in a good thing, and
not only when I am present with you."

There is a great truth, brethren, embodied ia these
words, which may profit the churches of all time ;
and there are many among ourselves who, conscious
that we are imbecile of purpose, and vacillating or
intermittent in action, may well take to ourselves the
memory of the apostle's words — " It is good to be
zealously afiected always" — there is the point of them,
"ataj/5" — " in a good thing."

Just for a few moments let us dwell upon the nature,
upon the perpetuity, and upon the profitableness of
Christian zeal. " It is good to be zealously affected
always in a good thing,"

1. Zeal may be defined as the heat or fervor of the
mind, prompting its vehemence of indignation against
anything which it conceives to be evil — prompting its
vciiemence of desire towards anything which it ima-
gines to be good. In itself it has no moral character at

254<

FAREWELL SERMON.

I *

all. It is the simple instinct of energetic nature, never
wholly divested of a sort of rade nobility, and never
destitute of influence upon the lives and npon the char-
acters of others. The word "zeal" is used indiscrimi-
nately in scriptures in order to denote a strong feeling
of the mind, whether bent upon evil design or in
cultivating the things which are of good report and
lovely. Hence in tiie 17 in verse of the 5th chapter of
the Acts of the apostles, we read that *' The high priest
and tliey that were with him were filled with envy," —
with zeal, as it is in the original ; while in the Book of
^Numbers, Phii}eas is commended for the zeal with
which he rose up against those who had violated the
law of the Lord ; and when once, just once, in the Re-
deemer's incarnate life, his disciples saw his holy
indignation burn as the merchandise was scattered and
the baffled money-changers driven from the temple
they had profaned, they remembered the place where it
is written — " The zeal of thy house hath eaten me up."
Zeal in itself, then, is nei<^^her morally excellent nor
morally blameworthy, and it becomes Christian zeal
only when it springs from Christian motive — when it is
displaj'^ed in a Christian manner — when it is used for
Christian ends. The great constraining motive of
Christian zeal, as of every other grace or energy that is
hallowed, is *' the love of God shed abroad in the
heart," and kindling a pure disinterested brotherly love
to the fellow man. All true christian zeal bears this
mark of the mintage. Where this is not, it is mere
counterfeit coin. "W hatever may be the special mani-
festation in which zeal embodies itself — whether it be
in Christian enterprise, whether it be in indignant
rebuke against the insolence of error, whether it run
with willing feet to answer some claim of distress, or to
respond to some summons which has been passed from
the chamber of the dying — love must be the source
from which all its movements spring. If it be not the
ofeprJUgi ot love it will be a blind distempered emotion

FAREWELL SERMON.

255

consuming rather than cheerful, serving the altar of
God with strange and heathen fire. And then, in like
manner, not only must the motive of Christian zeal be
pure, but its expression must be tolerant and merciful
as it bccometh the gospel of Christ. Full often in the
liistory of human opinion, zeal has burned with the
fierce heat of natural passion, rather than with the
flame, lambent and luminous, of heavenly love. In
times of ecclesiastical dominance, zeal has grasped the
persecutor's sword, and kindled the martyr's fire ; and
even in the milder times of toleration it has not spared
to wield the scoff and fling the sneer. It were alike
profitless and cruel to enumerate the occasions in all
;iges, and alas, in all churches, in which charity has
been wounded to the death in her contest w^ith intem-
perate zeal ; but Christianity has neither act nor part
in a spirit that is ruthless and cruel. Christian zeal
will discriminate as Christ discriminated. Christian zeal
will know how to rebuke sin, while with clasping ten-
derness it welcomes and would embrace the sinner.
Christian zeal will neither be disingenuous to oppo-
nents, nor willfully blind to the excesses of friends.
Christian zeal will hasten to acknowledge an involun-
tary error, and will spurn the unworthy artifice and the
tortuous policy away. Christian zeal will rejoice not
in popular iniquity, but in prescribed and unfashionable
truth. Christian zeal will cling to an opinion only so
far as it is right, will disclaim it Avhen it has no creden-
tial but authority, and no argument but the custom of
the anc estoi'S or the tradition of the school-man.
Christian ^eal, even in the warmth of its enthusiasm,
will regard the most cherished dogma as of infinitely
less value than the most indifferent man. Christian
zeal will care more for souls than for systems, and will
shrink with the scrupulous haste with which men shrink
from being accessory to a murder, from anything which
will prejudic a brother from the truth, or alienate his

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FAREWELL SERMON.

m !i

'ii

i 'ii;!

lioart from a new and right affection. And then again
ill Christian zeal all the objects on behalf of which its
energy is exercised must be according to the mind of
Christ, and must tend to the furtherance of God's mil-
loiiniai purpose of " peace on earth, and good will
towards men." Ilence, the chief object of Christian
zeal will be the spread of the religion of Jesus — that
which is the great cementing bond of all social rela-
tions here, and which links them in a higher fellowship
Avith the brotherhoods of heaven. Hence in the spread
of the religion of Jesus there is a worthy sphere for its
highest energies and intensest cares — here, where calm-
ness is impiety, and transport tamper — here, where
heaven lavishes its generosity to stimulate the gene-
rosity of earth — here, where for the sake of those so
dearly loved and so costily ransomed, to secure their
salvation from the ruin born for them it was betlttiug
that the Son of God should die. And is it not strange,
brethren, that of all enterprises this should be left so
often to the undevoutness of luke-warm devotion,
while in all other matters enthusiasm is commended —
at once considered the pledge of sincerity and the
augury of success ? This, the highest and the most
inspiring principle is pleaded for with a prose of piety
and a moderation which would not offend a stoic. The
world applauds the zealous in everything but religion ;
the world predicts the triumph of the zealous in ever}--
thing connected with her province. The warrior
whose breast shall shine with stars — the scholar who
makes a hush and pant as he appears, as if men held
their breath in wonder — they are those who set an ob-
ject before them and strive for it through the hazards
of years, and would deem themselves a shame and
unworthy, if they did not put heart into their work.
And shall not the Christian be in earnest with a cause
thiit ennobles, with .i responsibility which he may not
transfer, \7ii\i the destinies of his fellows for ever,
trembiiug in the balance and in «ome sort committed

FAREWELL SERMON.

257

to his fidelity as a witness for God ? With the solemn
concerns of the soul shall there be trifling ? When a
moment's opportunity welcomed or slighted may
decide the fortunes of an eternity, shall languid counsels
prosper or faint desires prevail ? When a real strife is
waged, fiercer far than the fabled battle between the
giants and the gods, and heaven and hell are in earn-
est for the possession of the man, shall those who have
been won for God be craven or traitorous in the fight ?
^0 ! Surely if worldly objects fire ambition and claim
advocacy as earnest as their presumed importance de-
mands, religion, best among the good things, best in
intrinsic value, best in the magnificence of the issues
in which it shall terminate, shall have its zealously
affected sons shrinking from no sacrifice to promote it,
contending bravely for it in the very heart of incumb-
ent peril, and sparing not, in their heroism of devotion,
the costly offerings of the life and of the blood.
Brethren ! the summons is to you. Let the tones stir
you like a clarion ! You are called to rise into this ex-
alted and energetic consecration. There is a climax of
encouraging circumstances to-day, and there is a vast
compression of claim. Motives of transcending
authority crowd upon your memories and are falling
upon your hearts with power. Oh, respond to them !
Let to-day be the last of the indifferent and the first of
the devoted ones, and in the fervency of a resolve based
too deeply to be forgotten, let your vow be breathed
— " For Zion's sake I will not hold my peace, and for
Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, until the righteous-
ness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation
thereof as a lamp that burneth."

11. And then, secondly and chiefly — foi* here, as we
reminded you, lies the pith of the apostle's warning —
"It is good to be zealously affected a/i^aj/5," — always —
"in a good thing."

The Galatians in the presence of the apostle were
warm and extravagant in their professions of attach-

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258

FAREWELL SERMON.

ment, both to himself and to tha cause to which he had
given his life, but they needed his presence. They
needed his presence to prevent the relapse of their af.
fections into indifference — nay not only into indifference
but into opposition, inveterate in proportion to their
former enthusiasm He therefore reminds them that
zeal, to be valuable, should be permanent — that it should
not be based upon the shifting sand of favourable cir-
cumstances, but rooted in a well principled conviction,
which like a rock, will be granite to the storm as well
as jjranite to the sunshine. -

Evidences of the same necessity are occurring in the
ordinary relations of life. It is so in nature. Wo do
not value an intermitting spring so much as the clear
brooklet which our childhood knew, and which has
laughed on its couise unheeding, and which could never
be persuaded to dry up though it has had to battle
against the scorchings of a jubilee of summers' suns.
We do not guide ourselves by the glow-worm's bead of
light, or with the marsh-lamp's fitful flame. No, we
look to the ancient sun, which in our infancy struggled
through the window and danced upon tlie wall of the
n u rsery, as if he knew how much we delighted to see
h^m light up the flower-cup and peep through the
shivering leaf. And, for ourselves, we do not value
trie affection of a stranger awakened by some casual
congeniality, and displayed in kindly greeting or in
occasional courtesy. Our wealth is in the patient
bearing, and the unnoticed deed, and the anticipated
wish, and the ready sympathies, which make a summer
and a paradise, wherever there is a home. And not
only in the natural and the social relations, but in the
enterprise of the world, in the busy activities of men,
the necessity for uniformity in earnestness is readily ac-
knowledged. Society very soon brands a man if he
has got a perseverance as well as an earnestness about
him. Society soon puts its mark upon the man who
lodges in a succession of Utopias, tho unwearied but

''■•«V"t»

FAREWELL SERMON.

259

lich he had
ice. They
of their af-
indifference
)ii to their
them that
lat it should
)urable cir-
conviction,
>rm as well

ring in the
e. Wo do
13 the clear
which hag
30ul(ir.ever
1 to battle
mers' suns,
n's bead of
e. No, we
y struggled
vail of the
ited to see
irough the

not value
)me casual
ting or in
he patient
anticipated
a summer

And not
but in the
33 of men,
readily ac-
man if he
ness about

man who
earied but

the objectless builder who never roofs his house, either
because he was unable to finish, or because some more
brilliant speculation dazzled the builders' brain. The
world has got so matter-of-fact now that it jostles the
genius off the footpath, while the plodder, whose eyes
sparkle less brilliantly but more evenly and longer,
steadily proceeds on his way to success.

Brethren, I trust you have allowed these illustrations
to have weight with you. The zeal which you feel for
Grod, the zeal which you feel for Christ, the zeal which
you feel for the cause of the Saviour, must be as the
vestal fire of old, never suffered to go out cither by day
or night. The church is ill served by the geyser heat
of occasional passion which subsides ere its warmth is
suffered to pervade. It wants a continual energy which,
in humble imitation of the Great Giver of good, pours
out its weolth of blessing, never stops its hand, and
never says, "It is enough."

There are temptations to the lack of perseverance in
religion which do not operate so. forcibly in reference
to anything besides. There is a perpetual enmity
without — there is an unsubdued traitorousness within,
which go far to account for the defective zeal over
which we have to mourn, and for the fact written re-
gretfully to the angels of other churches than that of
Ephesus, that they have left their first love. There is,
for example, the undue prevalence of individual attach-
ment, and there is the altered state of the family
arrangements, and there is the transition from the
lower to the higher room in the general house of wealth,
and there are a thousand other causes which defy the
classification of language, but which are powerful in
their influence to damp and deaden the once ardent
zeal for God. How many are there in the churches of
to-day — how many are there in this church — who were
useful and earnest when they were poorer men, but
seem to have invested their energy — to have sunk their
individuality in their money, as if a dead coin — a coin

! I

^^"wU-n

2G0

FAREWELL SERMON.

I !' ■■

with the image of its Cresar — were an equivalent for a
living man — a man with a heart and a will ! How
many are there in all churches who are full of enthusi-
asm when the pet plan is carried out, or when the
favorite minister preaches, but who are at other times
inert and listless, as if their hearts were a cabinet of
which only one man kept the key, or as if they were a
sort of curiously wrought automaton capable of many
movements, but one skillful hand alone knew how to
pull the strings.

Brethren, if there are such here, I should like to arouse
you this morning to an acknowledgment of the apostle's
word. If religion is a good thing, it is always a good
thing. It is the portion of the rich man, as well as the
treasure of the poor. It is good, by whomsoever recom-
mended ; it is good, by whomsoever disgraced ; it is
good, whether the stammerer's lips pour out their paiiiful
advocacy, or whether from eloquent lips the words leap
in living thunder. It is not to be saluted with tlie
traitorous kiss either of time-serving or of treacherous
lips. It claims the life ; it claims the soul ; it claims the
all. Its obligations deepen as the shadows gather on
life's day, and as the sands drop from life's hour-glass,
and as the great hour of retribution comes stealthily on.
Oh ! if ever there were arguments to awaken your
interest, those argurnents are ten times more powerful
now. The soul is as precious as ever it was, and the
heritage to which it aspires is yet as attainable, and life
is as uncertain as the tenure upon which all its opportu-
nities are held. All the privilege and all the experience
of the past come to charge the present with interest, and
are hoarded to freight the future with all the wealth of
accumulated years.

Brethren, with all possible earnestness, and with all
possible affection, I exhort you to be " zealously affected
always in a good thing ;" and forgive me if I add, with
no claim either to apostolic fervor, or to apostolic autho-
rity, but with a j^earning for your spiritual welfare, of

FAREWELL SERMON.

2(51

Trhich God is my witness — " Not only when I am present
with you." If the ministry to which you have listened
from this pulpit has been in any measure blessed to you ;
if there are between us those mysterious and tender rela-
tions which must ever subsist between those who sit at
the feet of Jesus and those who are privileged to lead
them there, I pray you do me not this wrong — let not
your languid or your failing piety make my glorying
void I The long bond which has united us is now of
necessity loosened, ^rom other lip-j you will listen to the
words of eternal li^o. Our interest in each other, fresh,
and vivid, and hearty now, will become — by a law that
common, and of which, therefore, we may not com-

plain — fainter and fainter, until down the long corridors
of memory we must gaze, to recall with an effort the
names and the circumstances which are so familiar to-day;
but deeply in a heart which does not soon nor readily
forget, will be graven, in distinct lettering, the name of
this house of prayer, and of the congregation which has
gathered and hearkened within its walls. God is my
witness how greatly I long for you in the bowels of
Jesus Christ ! There are prophets who predict your
halting : there are, I fear, malignants who would rejoice
in it. Be it yours to prove the prophets false ones : be it
yours to have over the malignants the nobility of a
gospel revenge. As the fathers die, let the children be
baptized for the dead, and, by a bright succession of
manly and intelligent piety, prevent the burial-ground
from becoming richer than the church.

The same truth will be preached to you : I am bold to
declare that. No diluted gospel will ever be proclaimed
within these walls ; no trumpet will ever vainly flourish
in blasts of uncertain sound; no bald morality, no un-
hallowed speculation, no jargon of daring and mystic
rationalism will ever be preached here. The truth as it
is in Jesus, as at once the highest source of holiness, and
the spring of the grandest morality, will be spoken here.
Be you eager to espouse, be you manly to maintain it !

2G2

FAREWELL SERMON.

»!'■

" Only let your conversation be as becomcth the gospel of
Christ, that whether I come and see you, or else be absent,
I may hear of your affairs, that ye stand fast in one spirit,
with one mind — striving together for the faith of the
gospel, and that others come to you too, imploring the
shelter of your presence — " We will go with you, for we
have heard that God is with you " — and that your church
may be rich, not only in ancestral tradition, but in living
experience, honor to God, and as was the upper room,
renowned for the rushing wind, and for the cloven tongues
of flame. " It is nd oe zealously affected always in a
good thing, and no -/ ^hen I am present with you."

III. My time is gonr t . enlarge upon the profitableness
of Christian zeal, "it is go. v\" No higher praise than
that can be given to it. " It is good." The very thing
that was said of the fairly finished earth, on the morning
of Jehovah's rest and plep.aure. " It is good " — the very
thing that is spoken of God himself; " Thou art good, and
doest good." " It is good to be zealously affected always,
in a good thing." It is good in. itself ; it is good in its in-
fluences. Where the heart preserves the ardour of devotion,
it will preserve the ardour of enterprise. It will Le
always at work for the best interests of men. There
will be no time for dalliance with temptation ; there
will be no time for the misgiving of unbelief. The
active love and the loyal heart will be mutually helpful
to each other, and the man will grow like a cedar — his
roots wedging themselves close and firm into the Rock
of Ages, his branches flinging themselves upward witli
such graceful aim that no tree in the garden of God
shall be like unto him in his beauty. " It is good to
be zealously afifected always in a good thing." And
who shall estimate the effect upon the progress of the
Redeemer's Kingdom, when the Church is filled with
the spirit of Ch-istian zeal ? Oh! a prospect of ineff-
able spir.'tual beauty rises up before the prophetic eye,
informed by the spirit of the Master. Each member
of the Churcli becomes a missionary of the truth, and

FAREWELL SERMON.

263

ho gospel of
L' bo alwcnt,
1 one spirit,
aith of the
ploring the
you, for we
^our church
lit in living
ipper room,
^en tongues
always in a
nth you."
ofitablenes;s
praise than

very thing
he morning
' — the very
t good, and
ted always,
d in its iu-
)f devotion,
It w\\\ Le
111. There
on ; there
ilief. The
lly helpful
3edar — his

the Rock
ward with
en of God
is good to
g." And
[•ess of the
tilled witli
b of ineff-
hetic eye,
1 member
:ruth, and

there is neither silence nor faltering in the testimony,
the cords of love, which are the bands of a man, enclose
thousands in the gospel fellowship ; the Church itself,
in growing purity and strength, becomes the dominion
of ever-ripening authority ; the world, charged by the
word as the living epistles speak it, bows it ranks, and
its intellect, and its pride, before the feet of Jesus ; he
reigns, " whose right it is," over a regenerate people
made " willing in the day of his power ;" and " then
comeththe end" — the finished mystery of the cross —
the consummated glories of redemption — a world with-
out a rebel — the grand, solemn, waiting hush of the
universe — the coronation of the triumphant Son — the
cession of the Sonship in the Godhead— an eternal
Sabbatic noon — God all in all.

'ik

ifW

iiim,

t,.

l!l

for

HENRY WARD BEECHER, D.D.

HENRY WARD BEECIIEK.

MEMOIR.

ENRY WARD BEECIIER, one of tho ablest livin,^
pulpit proacherfl, and one ol he most ])r< > found ly
i original tliinkcrs of the present day, was born at
Litchfield, Connecticut, on the 24th day of June, 1813. Ifis
father, Dr. Lyman Beecher, an earnest and talented
preacher of the Gospel, officiated at that time, and for many
years after, over the first Congregational Churcli of th.'it
place. Subsequently, Dr. Beecher was called to the ehargo
of the Hanover St. l*resbyterian Church, in the city of J Jos-
ton, where he resided about six years. At the expiration of
that time he accepted the Presidency of the Lane Theologi-
cal Seminary, of Cincinnati, Ohio. Some years afterwards,
however, he resigned this charge, and returned to Boston.
Ho was a sincere Christian, and one of the earliest and
|iblest advocates of the temperance cause.

Henry Ward received his early education at the Litchfield
Connnon Schools, and is said to have been more remarkable
for wit than for devotion to his studies. At the age of
seventeen years he entered Amherst College, graduating in
1834. Having a predilection for Divinity, he entered tlic
Lane Seminary, then under his father's charge, where he
went throuojh a tho^'ough course of theological studies.
Emerging thence, a lully qualified preacher, he received j,
temporary call, in 1837, to the pastorate of a small church at
Lawrenceburg, Indiana, where his maiden efforts were put
forth with much diffidence and hesitancy. But as his ex-
perience and self-confidence increased, he began to exhibit
ii

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[ /

2C8

HENRY WARD BEECHER — ^MEMOIR.

that fervor and genius which have rendered his name and
fame so familiar in these latter years. lie received a call to
a larger sphere of usefulncsH in Indianapolis, in 18;}0. licit'
he remained for eight years. In 1 S47 he removed to Brook-
lyn, N.Y. On the iirst Sunday in October, of that ycai-,
this almost unknown young man, from the West, preached
his first sermon as pastor of IMymouth Cliurch, in Brooklyn.
Viewed in the light of the subsequent history of the pastor
and the church, this was a memorable occasion, llenry
Ward Beecher was then scarcely known beyond the limits
of his own denomination ; but there was the promise of
greatness in him. Enthusiastic, eloquent, unconven-
tional, and independent, he impressed his hearers with the
feeling that he was born to inaugurate a new era in pul])it
oratory. There were some who prophesied tliat he would
not hold one. Some, who believed preaching and dull
decorum to be synonymous, gave him "a year to run." Ifis
style might suit the West, they said, but would never take in
the polite and ele<i;ant congregations of New York and
Brooklyn. But as the montlis went by it was evident that
the young man had taken a strong hold on the hearts of his
hearers. His eloquence, his gloAving enthusiasm, his broad,
intense sympathies, his personal magnetism, his manly inde-
pendence, attracted multitudes about his pulpit, and his
name soon became familia- as a household word throu<jjhout
the length and breadth of the land.

Plymouth Church and its pastor have groA\ a uj) together,
working hand in hand for all the good and worthy objects
for which the Christian Church was instituted If iie has
impressed his strong personalities upon his church and made
it what it is, it must also be borne in mind that his church
has never been backward in sustainhig him. Entire unity
and harmony bind them together. The festival, by which
the twenty-fifth anniversary of his settlement as pastor of
the church was celebrated in 1872, was not inappropriately
called a " silver wedding."

Plymouth Church owes its wonderful growth and pros-
perity to the gigantic ability and indefatigable energies of
its pastor. Foremost in every good work toward which the
eftbrts of the congregation are directed, his zeal and deter-
mination overcome all obstacles, and admit of no defeat.

HENRY WARD BEECHER— MEMOIR.

269

Thoroughly in earnest in his efforts for the intellectual and
moral elevation of society, sparing no evil, and shunning no
contest, he fearlessly exposes himself to personal and poli-
tical enmities, and to the shafts of scorn, slander, and
ridicule. To his efforts, and to the liberality of his devoted
congregation, are due the two iniportant home missions
started and sustained by Plymouth Church — the " Bethel
Mission," in Hicks Street, and the " Navy JNIission," in
Jay Street, where thousands of the poor are supplied with
religious instruction on the Sabbath, and with free reading-
rooms during the week, to which every one is welcome.
The amount of good which these missions have accomplished
among the poor of the city can be appreciated only by those
who have seen the reading-rooms crowded night after night
by young and old, eagerly poring over the books, magazines,
and newspapers with which they are amply provided.
Many a young man is saved from gin-shop temptations by
these attractive rooms. It is not saying too much, to aver
that these missions are the crowning work of Plymouth
Church and its pastor. Not even his great and brilliant
services in the cause of freedom ; not even his magnificent
oratorical triumph in England during the American civil
war, can be placed higher than these unobtrusive missions,
in their permanent influence for good.

The fiame of Mr. Beecher rests upon no insecure founda-
tion. It does not spring, as is too often the case, from a mere
flimsy flow of language, used as a garb to hide the barren-
ness of ideas. Entirely and thoroughly original in all he
utters— a deep-thinking intellect, a profound student in his
own profession, a judge of human nature by intuition, a
most wonderful analogist, — his audiences hang upon his
speech, to discover now ideas and new revelations of truth,
illustrated with new and striking similitudes, and clothed
in original and eloquent diction. Preaching for twenty-six
jrears in the same church, before almost the same congrega-
tion, he still rivets their attention, and draws that vast
throng together, week alter week, by the magnetism of his
genius and the electricity of his nature.

The versatility of his genius, and the almost incredible
amount of labour which Mr. Beecher performs, are truly
marvellous. In addition to preaching twice on each Sab^

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270

HENRY WARD BEECHER — MEMOIR.

•I f'

bath, addressing the Sabbath-school, his labours at the
various meetings for conference and prayer throughout thf
week, and to the customary ministerial duties connected
with attendance upon the families of his congregation in
pastoral calls and in seasons of sickness and trial, this most
proliiic author has published several works on various suL-
lects, amongst which we may name — " Lectures to Youn»
Men," " Industry and Idleness," " Life Thoughts," " Noi--
wood," a reminiscence of early New England life, and the
" Life of Jesus, the Christ," of each of which scores of
thousands of copies have been sold. Throughout tlie lectur-
ing season he is ubiquitus, addressing immense audiences
in the various cities, the proceeds being devoted to his
many charities. He likewise fills the chair of editor of one
of the most popular of religious newspapers, " The Chris-
tian Union," and his labors, assisted by those of his talented
sister, Harriet Beecher Stowe, have won for it an unprece-
dented circulation. Mr. Beecher may justly be considered
one of the greatest leaders of modern thought.

BEECHER'S SERMONS.

■ ♦

IMMORTALITY.*

imqM

l|:;!

■Iv»

"If in this life only we have .hope in Christ, we arc ot all men most
iiuserable."— 1 CoK. xv. 19.

ins is not tlie declaration of a universal princi-
plo: it is l)i()grapliical and per^ional. And yet,
there is in it a principle of prime importance.
It ift true that Paul and his com])cers had sacrificed every-
tliiug that was dear to man for the sake of Christ. Paul
had given up the place that he had held among his
countrymen, and the things which surely awaited him.
lie luid consented to be an exile. Loving Palestine and
tlic memory of his fathers, as only a Jew could love, ho
found himself an outcast, and despised everywhere by his
own people. And the catalogue that he gives of the
8uflerings which he felt-keenly; which perhaps would not
have been felt by a man less susceptible than he, but
wiiich were no less keen in his case — that catalogue shows
how much he had given up for Christ. And if it should
turn out that after all he had followed a mere fable, a
myth; that Christ was but a man; that, dying, he had
come to an end ; that he staved dead, and that there was

* Eaater-Sunday Morning, April 13, 1803. Lesson : 1 Cor. xv. 1-28.

272

IMMORTALITY.

k (J,

'ill

no resurrection, no future, but only that past throngli
which he luid waded, and that present in whicii lie was
suffering, then, surely, it would be true that of all men
he was most miserable.

This is tlie biographical view ; but it may be said of
all men, in this respect, that no persons can so ill aiford
to lose faith of immortality as "those who have had all
their affections burnished, deepened and rendered sensi-
tive by the power of Christianity. When Christianity
has had the education of generation after generation, and
has shaped the style of its manhood, and ordained the
institutions by which its affections have been enlarged
and purified ; when, in short, generations of men have
been legitimately the children of Christianity, to take
away from them the faith of immortality would be a
cruelty which could have no parallel in the amount of
suffering which it would entail.

It is not necessarily true that men without a hope of
Christianity would have no incitement to virtue^ — certainly
not in the ordinary way in which it is put to us. Ab-
stractly, it is said that virtue is its own reward — and it i;^.
If there was enough of it to amount to anything, it would
be a great, an exceeding great, reward; but where U is a
spai'k, a germ ; where it is struggling for its own exist-
ence; where it bears but a few rip 3 trints, the reward is
liardly worth the culture. If all that we get is what we
have in this life, it is but littie.

Many men are favorably organized and favorably situ-
ated; they have an unyearning content; things seem
good enough for them ; and they do not understand why
it is that persons should desire immortality and glory-
that is, at first. In general, I think there are few persons
that live long in life who do not, sooner or later, come to
a point in which they wake up to the consciousness of a
neec^ ^A' this kind. It is not always true in the case of
person^ of !"3finod moral and intellectual culture that they
are cons* ious of needing a belief in immortality; but a
beLi.3f in Jn^iu..ortality is thf. unavoidable result and the

IMMORTALITY.

273

lii(llspensal)lc "cquireiucnt of sill true inniiliood. Wlien
vou look at j^i'owth, not in each particular case, but
liU'ixely, as it dcvcli^ps itself in conuniniities; when you
consider it, not only in a single individual, hut in whole
communities, as they dcvelo}) fi'oni childhood to marihood,
01* from barbarism through semi-civilization to civilization
nud refinement, the law of development is always away
from animal life and its sustaining appetites and passions
toward the moral and the intelle(;tual. That is the
direction in which untblding takes place.

The naturalist watches the insect, and studies all the
stiiges througli which it goes, till it becomes a perfect
insect. We look at a seed, and see how it develops stem
uiid leaf and blossom all the way through, till wo find
out what the plant is in its linal and perfect condition.
And in studying men to know what is the perfect condi-
tion of manhood, looking at theni from the beginning to
the en.d, which way does manhood lie, in the direction
of the bodily apj)etitcs and senses, or in the other
direction i

Men come into life perfect animals. There is very
little that culture does in that direction, giving them a
little more or a little less use of thems(dves, as the case
may be. That which we mean when we speak of devel-
oping ]nanliood in a child, is something more than the
development of synnnetry of form and j)ower of physical
organization. AVhen we s[)eak of the civilization and
rcihiement of the race at large, development does not
mean bodily power nor bodily skill: it means reason
moral sense ; imagination; profounder atibction ; subtler,
jiurer, sweeter domestic relations. Manhood grov:s away
from bodily conditions, witlumt ever leaving tliem. The
body becomes a socket, and the soul is a lam[) in it. -Vnd
if }ou look mirrowly at what we mean by growth in
mankind, whether it be a]^i)lied to the individual or to
the race, you will lind that we mean an unfolding which
takes a man away from the nmterial toward that which
is subtler, more spiritual, existing outside oi the ordinary

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IMMORTALITY.

senses, tlioiigh acting from tliem, as sometliing l)etter
til an bone and muscle, nerve and tissue.

All development,, then, is from the jinimal toward the
spiritual and the invi8il)le. This is the public sentiment
of mankind even in the lower forms of society. What
are considered heroic traits, the things which bring
admiration to men, if narrowly examined will be found
to be not the things which belong to men as brutes—
though those things may be employed by them as instru-
ments. Even in the r^ases of such men as Samson and
Hercules, who were ' rude, brute men, it was not their
strength that drew admiration to them: it was their
heroism ; it was their patriotism ; it was that wliich they
did Itij their strength lu* their kind, and nOt for them-
selvc-i. And in lower societies it is courage, it is solf-
devotion, it is the want of fear, it is the higher form of
animal life, that attracts admiration. But as we develop
out of barbarous into civili.v;ed conditions, we admire men,
not because tlioy can lift iso much, or throw such heavy
Aveights, or endure such liaidshi])s of body. Admiration
on Uiesc accour;ts has its place; but lii_;:ier than these is
the power of thou .Jit, tlic power of plaiming, the power
of executing, the ])ower of living at one point so as to
comprehend in the effects produced all circuits of tinio in
the future. Thought-power ; emotion ; moral sense ;
justice; equity in all I's forms; higher manhood, and its
branches, which stretch up into vhe atmosphere and retich
nearest to the sun — these are sonrething other than tho.su
qualities which develop earliest, and are iov,^est — nearest
to the ground.

True manlioodj then, has its ripeness in the higher
faculties. Vvithout di^-«Haining the c mipanionship ot the
body, the ni miiood oi ;nan grows away from it — in
another direction. Tijc-re is not simply the ripening of
the physical that is - uiau * but tliere i8,by means ot the
physical, the r'penin. of the intellectual, the emotional,
the moral J tli.j sesthet. ^ life, as well aa the whole spiritual
nature.

IMMORTALITY.

275

AV^lien reason iind tlie moral sense are developed, there
will inevitably sprinii; up within a man an element the
value of which consists in pcrpetuatin<ji; thinu!;s — in their
continuance. It is spontaneous and universal for one to
seek to perpetuate, to extend, life. I do not mean by
this that one wants to live a i2;reat wliile; but men are
))or|)etuaUy under the unconscious iniluence of this in
their nature: the attem})t to give form and ])ermanence
to that which is ])est in lucir manhood. We build, to be
sure, primarily, to cover ourselves from the elements ; but
we very soon cease to build for that only: we not merely
huild tor ])rotection from cohl and from wet, but we
build for gratilication. We build to gratify the sense of
iioauty, the sense of convenience, and the sense of love.
And we go on beyond that : we build in order that we
may send down to those wlio are to come after us a
iiioiuorial of our embodied, incarnated thoughts. In other
words, when men build, they seek, by incarnation, to
render things permanent which have existed only as
tiioughts or transient emotions. There is a tendency to
incarnate the fugitive elements in men, and give them
])ernianence. And tlu; element of ('ontinuing is one of
the elements which l)elong to tlie higher manhood.

This throws Irglit upon the material growths of society.
Men strive to ]>erpetuate thoughts and feelings which are
(ivanescent unless they are born into matter. Men build
thinirs for duration. There is this un(;on8cious followins:
out of things to make them last ; to give them long
periods. And it opens up to men the sense of their
augmented being Largeness of l)eing is indissolubly
connected with extended time of being.

We admire the pyramids, not because they liave been
associated with so many histories, but because they have
stood so many aixes. We admire old trees, not because
so many tribes have sat under them, n(U* because so many
events hav^e taken place beneath them, l)ut sim])ly be-
cause they have age with them. For there arc nmte,
iuexplicable feelings couiiccted with the mere extension

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276

IMMORTALITY.

«)

of time which belong to the liii^her dovolopincnt of man-
liood in 118. rrangil)le thiiiu^s arc of less value than
things that are infrangible. Tilings that last are of moro
value, on the same plane, than their congeners are that
do not last.

Who can equal the pictures which are painted on tlie
panes of glass in our winter rooms ? Where can you find
a LambJneau, or any painter who can give inountain
scenery sucli as we htive for nothing, every mornino-,
when wo wjikc up, and such as the sun outside, or the
stove I'nside, destroys before ten o'clock ? These pictures
are nut valued as are those whicli are painted on canvas,
and which are not half so good; but tlie clement of
enduring is with the latter, wliile the clement of eviiii-
cscence is with the former. Though the pictures on the
])ane are iiner tiian those on the canv^as, they lack tlie
element of time, on which value so largely depends. The
soul craves, hungers for, this quality of continuance as an
element for measuring tlie value of things. This element
of time' is somewhat felt in the earlier conditions of
humanity ; but it grows with the develoi)ment of men,
and attaches itself to every part of human life.

I never saw a diranond that was so beautiful as are the
dew-drops wliich I see oh my lawn in suitimer. AVhat is
the difference oetween a dew-drop and a diamond ? One
goes in a moment ; it Hashes and dies ; but the other
endures ; and its value consists in its endurance. There
are hundreds of things which are as beautiful as a diamond
in theii moment ; but the endurance of the diamond is
measured by ages, and not by moments, and so carries on
the value.

I do not draw these rea^Dnings very close as yet — I do
not desire to put too much emphasis upon them ; but I
think you will see that there is a drift in them, and tiiat
they will bear, at last, an important relation to this ques-
tion of immortality. The element of manhood carries
v^ith it a very "powerful sense of the value of existence.
The desire to live is a blind instinct. A happy ex-

IMMORTALITY.

27'

pcrienco brings to this instinct many auxiliaries — the
expectation of pleasure ; the wish to complete unfinished
things ; the clinging of affection to those that have excited
love ; and liahits ot enterprise.

Besides all these, is a development of the sense of value
in simply being. We have said that in external mattere
tlie continuity of being is an element of value in the
judgment which mankind at large have put upon things.
Wo say that the same is true in respect to the inward ex-
istence — to manhood itself. Tlie savage cares very little
for life. He lives for to-day ; and in every to-day he lives
lor the hour. Time is of the least importance to him.
The barbarian differs from the savage in this ; that he
lives to-day for to-morrow, perhaps, but not for next year.
The semi-civilized man lives for next year ; but only for
the year, or for years. The civilized man begins to live
in the present for the future. And the Christian civilized
man begins to live with a sense of the forever.

The extension of the sense of time goes with the de-
velopment of manhood in men. The sweet, the tender,
the loving, the thoughtful, the intellectual, live not simply
with a sense of life as a pleasure-bringer : there grows up
in them, with their development toward manhood, an
intrinsic sense of the value of being itself. The ''juI
knows the cargo that it carries. It knows that that cargo
is destined to immortality. As men are conscious of see-
ing more, or thinking more, and of feeling more ; as
thought becomes more precious ; as emotion becomes
deeper and more valuable ; so men more and more feel
that they cannot afford to liave such things go to waste.

A man who takes in his hand a lump of mud and molds
it to some pleasing form, cares but little when, dropping
it, he sees it flatten on the ground. The man that grinds
a crystal, and sees it broken, thinks of it for a moment,
])erhaps, with regret, but soon forgets it. No one, how-
ever, can see an organized thing, having its uses, and
indicating exquisite skill and long experience, dashed to
pieces without pain.' Bat what is anything that is organ-

278

IMMORTALITY.

izod ill life wortli in comparirton ,with tUo soul of a man?
And if that soul l)ci)urt3, and sweet, and deep, and noble
and active, and fruitful, who can, without a panjjj, look
at it, and think that it must in an instant go to notliing
dissolving again as an icicle from a root in the spring?

This feeling is not the fruit of mere reflection. It is
instinctive. It is universal. Men do not cultivate it on
purpose. They cannot liel[) having it. No man of moral
culture can regard human life as without immortality
except with profound melancholy. No man that is sus-
ce])til)le to reflectiveness can hear to thiidv of man's
existence here without the l)right background of another
life.

TL.s sense of the continuity of existence is grounded in
men, and grows with their refinement and development
and strength, and gives color to then' life, and change to
their 0])inions, it may be.

To men who have develoi^ed moral sense and intel-
lectual culture, every element of value in life is made
precious by some conscious or some unconscious element
of time and continuance. It is the nature of our better
facultiesj in their better states, to place a man in such re-
lations to everything that is most precicms to him, that it
gives him pleasure in the proportion in which it seems
to be continuous and permanent, and gives him pain in
the proportion in which it seem j lo be evanescent and
perishing.

We are building a crystal character with much pain
and self-denial ; and is it to be built as bubbles are blown ?
What is finer in line than the bubble 'i What is more
airy? Where are pictures more exquisite, where are
colors more tender and rich and beautiful — and where is
there anything that is born so near to its end as a bubble?
Is the character which we are building with so mncli
pain and suffering and patience, with so much burden of
conscience, and with so much aspiration ; is the character
which we are forming in the invisible realm of the soul
— is that but a bubble ? Is that only a thin film which

IMMORTALITY.

279

reflects tliG transient cxporicnooa of a life of jov or s;ul-
nc's, Hiid ^oes out? Then, what is life worths If I had
no function but tliat of a pisniiro ; if T were a beetle that
rolled in the dirt, and yet were elothed with r. power of re-
ilecti(/n, and knew what the depths of feelinp; were,
what intense emotions were, and what strn^ciJ^lini]^ aii'l
yearning were ; if, being a mere insect, 1 had all ♦^liat
works in the intellect of man, and all the aspiration that
goes with spiritual elements ; if I were but a leaf-cnttcr,
a biiff in the soil, or about the suine thine: on a little
larger pattern, and were to be blotted out at death,
what would be the use of my trying to grow i If by re-
Uning and whetting our faculties they become more
siiseopUblo to pleasure, they become erpially susceptible
to pain. And in this great, grinding, groaning, world,
pain is altogether out of |)ro[)()rtion to pleasure, in an
exquisite temperament. The liner men are the better
they are, if they are forever; but the finer men are the
worse they are, if they are oidy for a day ; for they have
a disproportion ot sensibility to sutfering over and above
present remuneration and conscious enjoyment.

Men feel an intrinsic sense of personality and personal
worth. They have self-esteem, Avliich is the only central,
spinal, manly faculty which gives them a sense of per-
sonal identity and personal value, and which is an
auxiliary counsellor of conscience itself. This sense of /
demands something more than a short round of physical
life, to be followed by extinction. I am too valuable to
perish so ; and every stei> in life has been training me in
the direction of greater value. A.s men grow broader,
and stronger, and liner, and deeper, and sweeter, they
become more and more conscious of the intrinsic value
of their beinc:. and demand for themselves a harbor in
order that they may not be wrecked or foundered.

Nor do 1 think that there can be found, to any con-
siderable extent, or developed, friendships which shall
not, with all their strength and with all their depth, resist
the conception of dissolution of fading. For friendships

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are not casual likings. Friendships are not merely the
interchange of good nature, and the ordinary friendly
offices of good neighborhood. These things are friendly,
but they do not comprise friendship. Two trees may
grow contageous, and throw their shade one over upon
the other ; but they never touch or help each other ; and
their roots quarrel for the food that is in the ground.
But two vines, growing over a porch, meet each other,
and twine together, and twist fiber into fiber and stem
into stem, and take shape from each other, and are sub-
stantially one. And such ai*e friendships. Now, one
cannot have his life divided as two trees are. He cannot
enter into partnership with others, and be conscious that
that partnership shall be but for an hour or for a moment.
The sanctity, the honor, the exaltation, the exhilaration
of a "true and manly friendship lies in the thought of its
continuance. There can be no deep friendship which does
not sigh for endlessness.

Still more is this true of love : not that rudimentary
form which seeks lower fruitions, and which is often but
little more than passion done up in friendship ; but that
higher love which manifests itself chiefly in the spiritual
realm ; that love which is not forever asking, but forever
giving ; that love which is not centripetal, but centrifugal ;
that love which, like a mother's, gives for the pleasure of
giving ; that love which reveres ; that love which looks
up ; that love which seeks to exalt its object by doing
what is pleasant and noble ; that love which demands
continuance, elevation, yea, grandeur, it may be, in the
thing beloved. How little will such a love tolerate the
idea of evanescence, the dread of discontinuing ! Can
such a love do other than yearn for immortality ?

So then, if you take the thought, it is this : that if men
develop, they come under the dominion of higher faculties ;
and that it is then their nature to stamp on all their occupa-
tions on their self-consciousness, on the whole development
of their affections, the need of continuance, of immort-
tality. There are, therefore, in the growth of the mind

IMMORTALITY.

281

itself, as a department of nature, these elements of con-
viction. The mind cannot do other than develop in itself
a faith in immortality.

It may be said, and it sometimes is said, that the origin
of the belief of existence ont of the body — of spiritual
existence — may be traced directly back to the dreams of
the barbarous ages — to a period when men were so low
that they did not recognize the difference between a dream
and a waking reality — to a time when persons dreamed
that their friends came back to them, and waked up and
believed that they had been back. Thus, it is said, began
the thought of continuity of life after death. For my
part, I do not care how it began. The question is not
how it started : the question is, What becomes of it now
that it has begun ? No matter how it was born, what
purpose is it to serve ? What is it adapted to do ? How
is it calculated to influence our manhood ? In what way
shall it be employed to lead man God-ward ? How shall
it he used to work most effectually in the direction of
civilization and refinement ? It so fits every human soul,
that men will not let it go. They cling to it with their
inward and best nature.

All the experiences of human life fall in with this
tendency of the mind. When men look out upon the
incoherent and unmannerly course of things in time, I
can understand how, believing in the future, they may
live with patience ; but in every age of the world where
the clear light of immortality has not shone, men have
mostly been discouraged, have been generally indifferent
to public superiority, and have taken no interest in things
done for the sake of humanity. Such is the worthless-
ness of time, to the thought of those that have no faith
in the future, that they have cared for little except present
physical enjoyment. And on the whole, when such men
crowd together, and tribes take the place of individuals,
or kingdoms take the place of tribes, with all their com-
plications in the working out of their clashing results,
they look upon human life, and feel that the world is not

IllSlI]

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IMMORTALITY.

aiS

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worth living for. Things arc so uncertain, products are
in such disproportion to their causes, or to the expecta-
tions of men, that if there is to be nothing but this hfe
then, " Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die ''
is not only the philosophy of the epicurean, but tlie
temptation of the most wise and frugal and self-restrain-
ing. The nature of life to a man who is highly educated
requires that he should believe in the continuity and
existence of the myriads that he sees in such a state of
quarreling infelicity and wretchedness in this mortal
condition. The utter futility of the best part of a man's
life here, the total bankruptcy of his best endeavors, the
worthlessness of his career from the material standpoint,
makes it imperative on him to believe that he shall have
another chance in another sphere of being.

Is it enough to have been born, to have lived till one i^
of age, and then to be launched out to founder in mid
ocean ? Is it enough that one should devote the best
part of his life to the building of a character, only to sec
the fabric which he has constructed tumbling about his
ears ? Is this enough in the day of distress and bank-
ruptcy ? Is it enough, in the time when a man's
ambitions are crossed, and the sky is dark, and he can do
nothing but stand amid the ruins of his hopes and ex-
pectations ? Is not the thought revolting to every instinct
of manhood ?

But if there is another life ; if all our labor has this
value in it, that while a man is building up his outward
estate he is more powerfully building up his inward
estate ; if it is certain that the man himself will live, no
matter wluit becomes of his property and his reputation,
then, all his endeavors have endless scope, and his life
becomes redeemable and radiant.

If o where els 3 so much as in the realm of grief, I think,
is the question of immortality interpreted. It is true that
the first shock of overwhelming grief sometimes drives
faith out of the mind : that it sometimes stas^sfers the
reason ; that it sometimes dispossesses the moral sense of

IMMORTALITY.

283

'al sense of

its accustomed health, and leaves the mind in weakness.
As in a fever, the natural eye can see nothing aright, and
things seem to dance in the air, and take on grotesque
forms, so persons who are bewildered with first sorrow
oftentimes see things amiss. And there is no skepticism
which is so deep and pulseless as that which often takes
possession of people in the first great overmastering sur-
prise and shock of grief. But alter one has recovered a
little, and the nerve has come to its wonted sensibility,
the faith of immortality returns. There is that in every
soul which knows what is the strength of life and noble
deeds and aspirations ; and therefore there is that in every
soul which calls out for immortality.

I cannot believe, I will not believe, when I walk upon
the clod, that it is my mother that I tread under foot.
She that bore me, she that every year more than gave
birth to me out of her own soul's aspiration — I will not
believe that she is dust. Everything within me revolts
at the idea.

Do two persons walk together in an inseparable union,
mingling their brightest and noblest thoughts, striving
for the highest ideal, like flowers that grow by the side
of each other, breathing fragrance each on the other, and
shining in beauty each for the other ; are two persons
thus twined together and bound together for life, until in
some dark hour one is called and the other is left ; and
does the bleeding heart go down to^jfche grave and say,
" I return dust to dust «" Was that dust, then ? That
trustworthiness ; that fidelity ; that frankness of truth ;
that transparent honesty ; that heroism of love ; that
disinterestedness ; that fitness and exquisiteness of taste ;
that fervor of love ; that aspiration ; that power of con-
viction ; that piety ; that great hope in God — were all
these elements in the soul of the companion that has dis-
appeared but just so many phenomena of matter ? And
have they ah'eady collapsed and gone, like last year's
flowers struck with frost, back again to the mold ? In
the grief of such an hour one w lit not let go the hope of
resurrection.

III!,

ir.,

m^-

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284

IMMORTALITY.

Can a parent go back from the grave where he has laid
his children, and say, " I shall never see them more ?"
Even as far back as the dim twilight in which David
lived, he said, " Thou shalt not come to me, but I shall
go to thee ;" and is it possible for the parental heart to
stand in our day by the side of the grave where children
have been put out of sight, and say, " They neither shall
come to me, nor shall I go to them ; they are blossoms
that have fallen ; they never shall bring forth fruit" ?
It is unnatural. It is hideous. Everything that is in
man, every instinct that is best in human nature repels it.

Is not the human soul, then, itself a witness of the truth
of immmortality ?

Men say, " You cannot prove it. There is no argument
that can establish it. No man has seen it, and it cannot
be substantiated. It is not a ponderable thing." Men
demand that we should prove things by straight lines ; by
the alembic ; by scales ; by analysis ; but I say that there
is much in nature which is so high that scales and rules
and alembics cannot touch it. And is not man's soul a
part of nature— the highest part ?

I hold that even the materialist may believe in immor-
tality. For, although there is a gross kind of materialism,
there may be a materialism which is consistent with a
belief in immortality. Because, on the supposition that
mind is matter, it must be admitted that it is incompar-
ably superior to aify other matter that we are familiar
with. Is there any matter outside of mind that produces
thought and feeling such as we see evolved among men ?
If it be the theory that mind is matter, and if the matter
of which the mind is composed be so far above all other
kinds of matter in its fruit and product, is it not on so high
a plane as presumably not to be subject to the lower and
coarser forms of examination and test ? I know no reason
why cerebral matter may not be eternal. I do not belong
to those who take the material view of the mind ; but 1
do not know that immortality is inconsistent even with
materialism ; and how much more easily may it be recon-

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285

m immor-

ciled to tlie view of those who believe in the ineffable
character, the imponderable, spfritual condition, of the
soul!

In addition to these arguments, when we come to the
"Word of God, we hear the voices of those who sang and
chanted in the past. We hear the disciple crying out, .
"Christ is risen!" and we hear the apostle preaching this
new truth to mankind. So that now the heavens have
been broken open. The secrets of the other life have
been revealed. And is there not a presumption, following
the line of a man's best manhood, that immortality is
true ? Does one need to go into a rigorous logical exam-
ination of thi^ subject? Should one stand jealously at
the side of the sepulchre of Christ, and examine this mat-
ter, as a policeman examines the certificate of r« ^ aspected
man, or as one takes money from the hand of a cheating
usurer, and goes out to see if it is gold? Shall one stand
at the door trom which issue all the hopes that belong to
the best part of man ; shall one look upon that which is
demanded by the very nature of his better manhood, and
question it coldly, and tread it under foot ?

What do we gain by obliterating this fair vision?
Why should not Heaven continue to shine on? Why
sliould we not look into it, and believe that it is, and that
it waits for us ? Have we not the foretokens of it ? Is
not the analogy of the faculties one that leads us to '
believe that there is some such thing? Does not the
nature of every man that is high and noble revolt at flesh
and matter ? Are they not rising toward the ineffable ?
Are not all the intuitions and affections of men such that,
the better they are, the more they have of things that are
manly, the more indispensable it is that they should have
endurance, etheralization, perpetuation ?

The heart and flesh cry out for God. They cry out for
immortality. I^ot only does the Spirit from the heavenly
land say to every toiling, yearning, anxious soul, " Come
up hither," but every soul that is striving upward has in

HIM
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IMMORTALITY.

it, if not ft vocalized aspiration, yet a mute yearning— a
voice of the soul — that cries out for heaven.

•'As the heart panteth after the waterbrooks, bo panteth ray bouI after
Thee, O God !"

On such a day as this, then, in a community of moral
feeling, how blessed is the truth which comes to us, that
we are not as the beasts that die ; that we are as the gods
that live ! That for which we were made is immortality •
and our journey is rough, straight, sharp, burdensome,
with many tears. Our journey is not to the grave. 7
am not growing into old age to be blind, and to be deaf
and to be rheumatic, and to shrink a miserable cripple
into the corner, shaking and tottering and forgetting all
that I ever knew. The best part of me is untouched. I
sit enshrined within the 7ne. The soul ; the reason ; the
moral sense ; the power to think ; the power to will ; the
power to love; the power to admire purity, and to reach
out after it — that is not touched by time, though its
instrument and means of outer demonstration be corroded
and failing. No physical weakness touches the soul.
Only the body is touched by sickness. And shake that
down I shake it down ! Let it go ! For, as the chrysalis
bursts open, and the covering which confines the perfected
insect is dropped, that he may come out into brightness
of form and largeness of life ; so this body is but a chrys-
alis ; and when we break through it, we rise on wings by
the attraction of God, and by the propulsion of our own
inevitable desire and need, and are forever with the Lord.

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IMMORTALITY.

287

th ray soul after

PRAYER BEFORE THE SERMON.

Lift upon us, this morning, the light of thy countenance, brighter
to our souls than the light of the sun travelling in the greatness of
hift strength — a light where our dark thoughts wander; a light
where orr footsteps of hope stumble ; a light to those doubts and
to thosi enshrouding fears which so often take possession of
our souL^ and would lead them captive, yet wandering upon
earth in their darkness. When we are nearest to that which is
best within us, we have most faith of thee and of immortality.
When we rebound to that which is lowest and which brings us to
the soil and to the beast again, we are most beclouded and most in
doubt.

Evermore, then, draw ua near to our better selves, that out of
these gracious affections we may discern clearly the truths of our
salvation, that we may know more of thee, and be more sure that
thou art, and thou art near to every one who needs and seeks thee.
Bring to us the assurance of that other life the glory of which tran-
scends all thought or knowledge. For how are we perpetually at
odds with this life ! How we, when walking most firmly, perpet-
ually stumble ; and when most vigilant, lose our way ; and when
strongest, are overcome with sudden and unexpected weakness I
We are children of darkness ; and all marks of our rudeness and
imperfection cling to us ; and yet we are filled with half-sights.
We have expectations and yearnings. We are strangely drawn
away from our lower selves. We hear sounds inarticulate which
we cannot put together, but which seem to syllable joy to us afar
off. In some hours we do understand voices which speak to us. It
is the Spirit and the Bride that say from off the heavenly battle-
ments to our souls that are wondering, Come home ! We do
understood the yearnings when we seek again that which we have
once loved with all our souls' immortality. Can it be gone forever
from us ? Do we not seek our children in such a way that we must
find them ? Do we not seek our companions, and all to whom we
have given that which is best in our souls ? And shall we not find
them ? Can it be that they have gone out, or that they have been
extinguished, because they are no longer visible to these mortal
senses, and because we cannot with these earthly bodies touch them ?
Are they gone from that which is purest, and highesi, and serenest
in us ? Hast thou not given us a nature that speaks of heaven as
well as a nature which touches the earth ? Do we not discern by
the higher life of our souls not only the things which to the senses
are invisible, but the things which the intellect cannot reason
about ? O Lord our God, give strength to that which is God-like
in us to-day, that we may mount up through all the realm of doubt ^

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and through all the drudgery of tho senses, and stand in the midst
of the substantial blessings of those who nro freed from the body,
and have risen into spiritual life, and spiritual promise, and arc
forever with the Lord. Blessed company ! How large 1 Swcllin<'
through the ages, more and more blessed in immortal experience!
Into that great ocean flood we send rills from our hearts. There
are our children. There arc our parents. There are our brothois
and sisters. There are those, called by earthly names, that have
been dearest and nearest to us. And though, going, they left us
in tears and in darkness, now how do they rain clown joys upon us
and help us ! With invisible hands of sweet affection, how are \ve
lifted by them 1 How through memory are wo brought very near
to the throne by those whose going seemed our greatest loss and
disaster ! How are they fulfilling- in us, through our yearnings and
upward reaching, all the promises which thou didst make, in the
sanctification of our sorrow, and our enfranchisement through it I
Verily, by wounding us thou hast made us better. By pnming we
have been made to bring forth more fruit. That part which bore
fruit of the flesh, thou art chastising. That part which would not
bear fruit to hope, and faith, and love, thou art causing to be full
of blossom and full of cluster.

We thank thee for all that invisible way and all that mystery of
conduct by which our life has been blessed, and by which we have
been exalted from our low and sordid conditions, into the realms of
hope and expectation, which shall be unchanged, except that they
shall be over-mastered and excelled by realization. We bless thee
for all that we hope and expect of the heavenly land. We thank
thee in behalf of those who have toiled through all the ages, and
who have been comforted by the sweet dew which has fallen on
them from above How many have been outcast that could not
have lived but for the hope of heaven ! How many have walked
through darkness, and persecution, and suflering, even unto blood,
strengthened by the hope of heaven I How many are now in fast-
nesses, how many are bowed down, how many are mourning,
bereaved, whose strength is in the expectancy of heaven ! How
many are there to-day who need thee, O Lord Jesus, risen, a token
and pledge that they shall rise ! If w<3, too, may break through all
the encumbrances of life and cerements of death ; if we, too, may
rise because thou hast risen, and with irresistible power may c?fl
up to thee with the consciousness that we are thine, then what is
there in life that we need to fear ? What burden can be too heavy
for the hand of God that is under us ? What experience can be too
quick for souls that are comforted by the Holy Ghost ? What
consolations can be witheld from those that are but a step from
heaven ? What sorrows can be unrelieved which are known to
Christ, and which are felt by him in our behalf?

We beseech of thee that thou wilt grant to eyery one in thy

IMMORTALITY.

289

presence sue. a nearness, to-day, of the heavenly influenco, such a
sense of the power of Christ's resurrection, such vehemence of liopc,
Buch gladness of faith, such lovo in our immortal part — in our
soul-life — that all that is within us shall bless thy name. Wo take
hold of thee, unknown, invisible, all-bdoved Saviour. We do not
understand what God is. Wo cannot throw the circuit of our
thought around about the mnjesty of the universe. We cannot fill up
the vast reach of infinite beinjjf. But out from the trreat unknown and
invisible realm there comes to us the warmth, and the liftht, and tho
cheer of love. And wo come back to see what it moans in thy life
and in thy words. We lift up those words and that life again,
and enshrine them in our thought, in the heavenly realm. And
thou dost interpret God to us. Thou art to us as tho sprinj?, with
all its sweet sounds and budding promises to those who aro
weary of tho winter. Thou art to us what the summer is to thoso
that long for the summer.

thou blessed, evor-rcjoicinj:^ Christ ! draw near to each one, this
moraincf, in thy presence. Draw near to us, thy dear children.
Cause the cup of our joy to overflow. Draw near to those who are
afar from thee — who have forgotten their first love. Bring them
back again with renewed -consecration. Draw near to thoso who
are pained and oppressed with burdens and sorrows. Let them
know that there is emancipation, that there is yet glorious light
and liberty for them. Draw near to those who have had doubts
and distressing fears, that their prison doors may be opened, and
that they may be brought out by the Emancipator. Draw near to
those who have been in the midst of sin, and under transgression, that
they may know that there is a Heart that feels for them even in tho
seat of justice. O Lord Jesus, withhold not thy mercies from any
this day. Be with those who are rjathered in thine house, or who
are confined in their own dwellings, or irho wander at large with-
out thought of God or thought of the sanctuary. Be with all thy
children everywhere. Shine upon them, to-day, with thy Spirit.
As the sun not only comes forth to those who are good and just,
but pours abroad everywhere his fulness of light and warmth so
shine thou with infinite fulness of mercy and of love upon the good
^nd the bad ; upon the just and the unjust ; upon the righteous and
the unrighteous ; upon all who need thy saving power.

We beseech of thee that thou wilt accept our thanks for all the
mercies which we have had as a church and people ; for all the
mercies of our households ; for all the mercies of our personal lives.

We pray that thou wilt extend the same blessings which are ours
to those who are without them. Spread abroad the new salvation
of Jesus Christ to every part of this land, and of all lands. Gather
in all nations. And at last may the whole earth sec thy salvation.

And to the Father, the Son, and the Spirit shall be praisQ
evermoi'e. Amen.

i\\

lAtii

EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR DIVINE

PROVIDENCE.

» ♦ '

" For it is God which workcth iu you both to will anil to do of his good
pleasure."— Phil, il, 13. . •.

HIS may be called a distinct declaration of the
doctrine of an interior spiritual providence.
Our Lord comforted his disciples with the as-
surance of an external divine providence. He assured
them that their lives, their whole career, their safety,
their defense, was a matter of Divine oversight and
care. He did not tell them how. He never philoso-
phized. He merely stated this grand fact, addressing
it, not to their reason as a thing to be understood, but
to their heart, to their hope, to their courage, as a thing
to be accepted and used for their comfort in life.

This providence was one which took charge of them
even in their minutest physical wants. Take no thought
for your food nor for your raiment is the command — that
is, take no grinding anxiety. To take thought, in old
English, was to take anxious thought, — to be troubled
about. And the declaration of the Master was this :
" Give yourself no undue anxiety about what you shall
eat, or what you shall drink, or wherewithall you shall
be clothed. God knows that you have need of these
things."

He calls attention to that work of divine providence
by which the mfnutest things — little birds, the flowcr^i

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

291

do of his good

of tho field, and the grass — are all provided for. In
God'b great arrangement, in the organism of nature,
there was provision made for the things that are most
delicate and helpless. Everything in the vast sphere of
divine providence was cared for. " And are you not,
he says, " better than birds and flowers ? God will
take care of you."

Still he did not say how. lie did not teach them
botany. lie did not instruct them in the physiology
of vegetable growth. lie said, " you will be taken care
of," but he did not teach the processes by which they
should be taken care of.

Further than that, he told them that as reformers, as
builders of society on a better pattern, they would have
troubles, and would be brought before the rulers of the
synagogue, and would be put to death, many of them;
" but let it not trouble you," he says, ^'be prepared,
and I will take you through the emergency."

That was a providence which not merely touched the
body, but went within. And later, he gave them a
most unequivocal assurance that there was a providence
which went through. " I will come and abide with
you, and in you," he declared. Such was the impres-
sion which was made on the apostles that they brought
this out in the most bold manner, and declared, as in
our text, that God works in men to will and to do ; He
works in nature simply to do — for nature does not will ;
but in man he works both to will and to do. He works
in the germination and in the whole conduct of thought
and feeling. He works in the relations of thought and
feeling to practical life. And he teaches men that
he has a providence on the inside which takes care of
thinkings and plannings, as divine providence outside
takes care of all acts and issues of physical life.

He assures them, then, that in the inward, the silent,
the invisible world of the soul, there is a providence
which is the equivalent of, and still more glorious than,
that providence which takes cognizance of the visible,

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EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR

IS' ;!

the tangible and the physical. It ia to this last, which
is so little regarded, and whose comfort is so little ex-
tracted, that we shall call your attention ; and it is that
part of the divine providence over men and the world
which is transcendently the most important.

Consider, for instance, the prodigious fruitfulness of
the individual life in any human being -at any rate, in
any degree of civilization. Consider what lives we
are living daily. Is there anything else so active
as burning souls, carrying so many parts, and every
part continually producing so many effects, visible
or invisible? Consider how many trains of thought
are set agoing by the senses from, day to day. Con-
sider how much of the action of the mind there is that
is conscious and recognized, and how much there is
that is unconscious and unrecognized, from the time
that w^e rise in the morning to the time that we ]ie
down and are lost in sleep at night. "Who can measure
tne amount of thought that passes through an ordinary
active rnind from first to last ? If it were written in a
book what voluminous lives we si^ould be found to live,
whose thoughts through one single twelve hours would
fill a volume ! It would not, perhaps, be a volum-^
filled with the most useful matter ; but the bulk would
be there. The amount, if it were written out and re-
duced to physical conditions, of the inward life of one
single part of our nature — the thinking and observing
part — is beyond computation ; and it is not the less im-
portant because we have not been accustomed to
measure it, estimate it, and conform it to any definite
measurement.

Add to this genius. Add the images which it is all
the time forming. Add the effects which it produces
on the reasoning and observing powers. Add all the
judgments which men are incessantly forming. Add
the reasoning processes which they go through, and
the observations which they make to arrive at thei^
conclusions.

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

293

Add to these the emotions which come up in the
mind, of hope and despondency, of courage and despair,
of like and dislike, of love and hate. Add the suhtle
interplay of the ten thousand feelings which are going
on all the time. What a vast activity there is stored up
in the invisible chamber of every man's life ? This is
the case even in tranquil moments ; but consider how
much increased this is by conflicts, by rivalries, by all
those things which give rapidity and fruitfulness to the
faculties of the mind. What a loom we carry in us !
We stand by the side of a Jacquard loom, and wonder
how wit could invent a machine that should act so like
life. We wonder how any apparatus can be constructed
to produce a fabric, which shall come out with figures
on it of birds, and men, and all manner of figures
wrought apparently by the intelligent intent of the
machine itself. But, strange as that may seem, it is
not to be thought of in comparison with that loom
which, without crank or shuttle, is perpetually pro-
ducing fabrics with every sort of figure in the form of
reason, and moral sentiments, and social aflfections, and
passions and appetites. What a vast activity there is
going on in the human mind, so silently that there is
EO clanking heard ! We go by men QYery day in each
ci whom are these fiery, flashing elements of power.
Here are companies of them, here is an army of them,
here is a city full of them, ^nd there is the vastest ac-
tivity in the mind of each; and who can conceive what is
going on in the multitude of beating, throbbing lives
which are flaming forth and reaching cut to the ut-
termost in every direction, all as silent as the dew
which is distilled on the myriad flowers in the meadow ?
Really vast, infinite, is this activity, when you think of
it ; and yei it goes on in perfect silence.

Consider, too, that large as is the outward achieve-
ment of human wit and wisdom, the inward history of
it is far larger than the thing itself. In other words,
the spiritual element, which works itself out into some

EXTERIOB AND INTERIOR

io'i

physical exponent, is, in the sight of God, without a
doubt, and is in .jur own sight when we think upon it,
larger and more transcendent than that physical ex-
ponent.

When a man builds a curions house, men look it
over, and speak of it as being economic ; as being well
arranged; as being finished beautifully in this respect
or in that ; as being admirable in such and such points.
We praise it. And we pay the architect in a better
coin than the landlord pays him, when, with a height-
ened conception of him and his work, we say, *' We
will build, one of these days (for that is the day-dream
which every man has I suppose) ; and we will have a
plan from him." There stands that little home cottage,
which we so much admire, and which we mean with
some modifications to reproduce ; but the house which
the architect builds inbide is a great deal more curious
than the house that he builds outside. All the thoughts
that he had ; all the processes that he devised ; all the
plans that he concoted — these are more wondrous a
thousand times than that which he finally produced,
The invisible building is more than the visible building.

When the artist puts his pencil to the canvas, and
brings out a picture which lives a thousand years, men
can scarcely find terms in which to express admiration
for that picture ; but the picture itself is not so wonder-
ful as was that inside painter that first conceived of it;
and all the strokes which were put upon it, all the
colors and tints which were given to it, are not co be
compared with those myriad thoughts ^f which these are
but feeble representations, j^ 11 those visions out of
which he selected ; all those thoughts ^vhich came down
around about him ; which he arranged and re-arranged,
which he rejected and called back again ; which he
finally chose among — these, he tells you, infinitely
transcend anything that he has suceeded in producing.
The p? inter is more than the painting, a thousand
times over.

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

205

When a musician has written his tune, when he has
written a monody, he has written but a slender stream
of that great spring of genius which is welling up in his
soul. He will tell you that that tune whicl sounded
in his inward ear was never sung afterwards as it was
first sung to him. The silent songs that genius hears, the
invisible pictures that genius sees, the hidden buildings
which men of genius construct, being castles in the air
(literally castles in the air) — these are a thousand times
more beautiful than those which get out into the visible
world.

We see a household brought up well. A mother
who took alone the burden of life when her husband
laid it down, without much property, out of her penury,
by her planning and industry, night and day, by her
willfulness of love, by her fidelity, brings up her
children ; and life has six men, all of whom are like
pillars in the temple of God. And oh ! do not read to
me of the campaigns of Csesar ; tell me nothing about
Napoleon's wonderful exploits ; I tell you that, as God
and the angels look down upon the silent history of
that woman's administration, and upon those men-
building-processes which went on in her heart and
mind through a score of years, nothing exterior, no
outward development of kingdoms, no empire-building
can compare with what she has done, Nothing can
compare in beauty, and wonder, and admirableness,
and divinity itself, to the silent work in obscure dwell-
ings of faithful women bringing up their children to
honor and virtue and piety. I tell you, the inside is
larger than the outside. The loom is more than the
fabric. The thinker is more than the thought. The
builder is more than the building. »

Consider, too, that this silent, invisible life within
us is not only all the time working, and immensely
fruitful, mu Ititudinous in results, and greater than any
or all of its exponents ; but that it is all the time, while
it is working outwardly, working on itself. It is not

hmmt

' 'Hi!'

296

EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR

! I

so much a life that is working out results independent
of itself, as it is a self-building process. All the
thoughts that flow from us are working channels of
thought in us.

As in the dark caves of Kentucky the lime that is
held in solution forms, as the stream trickles from the
roof, stalactites, or, as the water drops to the ground,
stalagmites, so the process of thought leaves incrusta-
tions on the soul within, as well as outside of the soul.
It is producing a result. It is perpetually building
walls, if you liken it to architecture. It is working
channels, if you liken it to a stream. It is adding
stroke after stroke to the portrait, if you liken it to art.
!N"othing moves in this world that it does not exert an
influence on the universe in some degree. The flight
of a bird, the falling of a leaf to the earth, the scuffling
of two birds, or their chasing each other through the
air, the vibration of a note, anything which causes the
least impact, changes the whole universe, as streams
that run to the sea and empty themselves into it change
the sea, and change the channel from the top to the
bottom. The sea roars and murmurs, and then wipes
its brow, and is calm again ; but it is never the same
sea ; it is nevar the same shore ; it is never the same
waves. The waves striking the shore, and retreating,
never leave it as it was.

Now, if it is so in hard matter, if it is so in visible
and physical things, ho"Vv much more is it so in such
mobile and subtle elements as those which constitutes
the soul's life ? How much more is it so with the soul
which changes at a glance or a thought, which is more
mobile than a thermometer, and which is more sensi-
tive than any bdErometer ! And men are not conscious
of it. Nor are they conscious of other changes which
we know are going on.

I have lately kept an account of invisible things to a
certain extent. I have made myself a companion of
things not seen. For my barometer is all the time

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

297

telling me of the chanj^es of the mystic fluid in which
I live. They are registered night and day, and I see
what is going on where I cannot see. My barometer
is likewise telling me of the increase or decrease of heat
wliich is going on. And my difierential thermometer
is telling me, all the time, of the moisture that is in the
atmosphere. So I know the hydrometric conditions of
the world in which I live. And I have come to feel
that the things which are going forward on the vastest
scale I do not know anything about, or that they do not
report themselves to the eye.

Professor Tyndall tells us that what we see of light
is not all of light, and that rays which are operative,
and which can be demonstrated to exist, have no means
of reporting themselves to the eye. There is a vast
amount going on which is palpable in this physical
globe ; but how much more there is that is subtle and
impalpable ! Light, heat, and electricity are a motive
power and formative power which is playing through
every single soul that lives, and thinks, and is acting,
and is acted upon. The activity of that self whi(?li we
carry is going forward every day, and changing, modify-
ing, building, unbuilding, piling up and pulling down
the elements of our being. There is a perpetual forma-
tive process going on in the silent world about us : but
the outward world is not so big as the inside world
within us.

Men know about how they stand in some respects.
Men know how they stand in regard to their bank
account — sometimes. Men know how they stand in
regard to their property — some men do. We have
certain rough, coarse estimates which we make of our-
selves. A man can usually tell about how tall he is ;
about how much he weighs ; about how much he is
worth — though he usually makes it twice as much at it
really is. A man may be able 1 .) tell j^ou that he stands
reasonably well with his fellow men, that he is success-
ful in business, and all that. But what coarse measures

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EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR

H'^l

m •

■m ,.

t '
t

■ .

■

I'ffliiil

-r

those are which take cognizance of such things ! They
do not touch a man's real manhood. What man can
tell y^ou to-day what is about tho condition of his reason,
of his observing power, of his power to philosophize ?
What man understands the workings of his reasoning
intellect? What man has any guage or mode of
estimating, or can give any intelligent conception of
the actual moral state in which he is existing ? . What
man can tell, not simply whether he has lied or sworn,
but what is the condition of his moral sensibility ? What
man can tell what is its fiber, its power, its growth, its
richness or poverty, its admirableness or ignobleness?
What man can give any true measurement of himself
in these respects ?

We are going on, and going up, and building ; but we
are like men who are building in the night, and do not
see what they are building. Did you ever have a thought
come to you in the night, and try to write it down with-
out a light, and see in the morning what queer writing
you had done ? Queerer yet would be the writing which
you would do if you were to attempt to write down what
you are inside. And yet, the unknown, the unseen facts
which are going on in the great invisible world are a
thousand times more significant than those which are
going on outside.

I look at what summer is doing and has done. What
do I see when I go to my little hillside ? I perceive that
my evergreens are three feet higher than they were last
summer, and are proportionally finer and better ; but what
do I know of all that the little roots have been doing? of
the ramifications that they are making ? of the supplies
which they are gathering from the earth? of the various
processes by which they are supporting the life of the
shrubs? What do I know in regard to their condition as
regards health or unhealth ? What do I know of the
bark ? What do I know of the leaves ?

We look at nature with a coarse eye, and see a few
gross things ; but the silent processes by which sap is fur-

DIVIWE PROVIDENCE.

299

nished to the plant, and by which root, and fiber, and
bark, and leaf, and blossom, and fruit are nourished and
maintained, we are comparatively ignorant of We look
upon the various parts of a tree, but we look upon them
in the most superficial manner, not suspecting that their
interior nature is measurable and analyzable.

Who knows what the summer has done to the tree of
life inside of us ? Who knows where its roots have gone ?
Who knows what has been the secret history of the ele-
ments that have entered into the growth of this tree ?
Who knows what sap has gone through it and organ-
ized new growths in its branches ? Who knows the
methods by which its fruit is produced ? Who can stand
before man in imagination and picture the workings of
his mind for any given period ? We cannot write down
the products of human life in a single year, and not even
in a single month. How profoundly ignorant we are of
ourselves ; and yet it is in ourselves that we live, if any-
where. The man inside is the real man. The outside
man is the mere shell or crust. That which goes to make
manhood is not that which addresses itself to the outward
senses ; it is love, anc'. truth, and fidelity, and aspiration,
and spirituality ; and what do you know about these ?
What have you by which 1 3 trace and measure them ?
How can you estimate them ? Yet you are sailing
through the air, you are voyaging across the sea, you are
carrying this great invisible realm of yourself upward and
onward, to be reported by and by, when death shall come ;
and yet, how little do you know about it !

Notwithstanding all these sublime forces which exist in
a man, how helpless he is to take care of himself ! Not a
babe of months, left to cook its own food, would be more
helpless to supply his wants than the wisest man, left.
alone, is to fashion his own spiritual ailmerit, and take
care of his inside life.

Thank God, science is now more and more, by analog-
ies, pointing in the same direction, and teaching that ^31

300

EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR

■l:\

(

growths in this life are along a line which pronises a
higher spiritual development.

If then, we know so little of men, and of things below, how
much less do we know of the other life ? Hdw much less do
we know of things which are indispensible to the shaping of
that immortality in which we believe, or seek to believe ?

Upon the basis of these representations, the doctrine of
a providence exterior and interior is one which every man
ought to believe, and which I think every man of a
higher reason does believe. I most fully believe in the ex-
terior providence of God, and I more fully and earnestly
believe in his interior work. " Work out your own sal-
vation with fear and trembling," says the apostle, " for it
is God that worketh in you to will and to do." I want
the divine providence, the providence of clouds, and
storms, and rains ; I want the providence of summer and
winter ; I want the general providence of God, to make
physical industry successful, and to guide me in all my
ways. As a business man, as a merchant, as a lawyer, as
a physician, I need to act in a sphere of external provi-
dence; but living there is comparatively easy. It is not
to be compared with living in that other sphere, which is
so vast, and which involves such momentous interests.
That is where we especially need God's providence.
And when God says, " I work in you to wiU and
to do," the heart says : " Blessed be God, that there is a
providence in the inside as well as on the outside."

Brethren, I know there are a great many who doubt
whether there is a divine providence; yet, I know that if
you take it as it is laid down in the New Testament, it is
not only easily comprehendible, but employable, and that
it is full of bounty and fruit. But if you attempt to
frame and fashion the method of it, and cast yourself on
science for a solution of it, you come to grief, and are
like a man who should cast himself on a hedge of thorns.
Our Master never told us how he managed his providenco.
What did he say ? He simply said : " Confide in me. I
am the Guide ; I am the Father ; and I take care of aU

;^nj— «t

BTVTNE PHOVTDT^NCK.

noi

men. I take care of the beasts, of the grass of the field,
aud of the flowers ; and certainly I take care of you.
Therefore trust in me. Lean back your weary head, and
believe that you arc not the only one there is that con-
cerns himself with your fate. Believe that there is God
the Father, who looks after your welfare.' " How, Lord?"
" That is my business."

It is our philosophical curiosity or impertinence that
runs forward and undertakes to say that God's providence
works in this way, or that way, or the other way. It is
the attempting ^.o arrive at an explanation of the provi-
dence of God that brings us to grief in our reasonings.

" Why, does not God govern by natural law ?' say men.
" Do you suppose men can change natural laws ? Do you
suppose men's thoughts and wishes are going to change
the organism which from eternity was laid down ?" I
say, I do not know anything about it. But then, I know
that the God who makes natural laws, can use them to do
what he wishes to have them do. I do not know how
God ordains and administers his providence, but I know
he has declared that he has a providence ; and I know
that I am a thousand times happier in believing it than I
should be in disbelieving it. I am a thousand times more
active when I am working under the influence of hope
than when I am working under the influence of despair.
When I put my trust in myself, or in any human power, I
fall back discouraged and sick at heart ; but when I say to
myself, " Fool, why give yourself anxious thought ? Does
not God think enough for all his creatures ? Do not dis-
trust him," I am cheerful, and buoyant, and full of courage.
I have seen skepticism on the subject of the providence of
God, and I have seen anxiety about the future, in men. I
have seen it in women. I have seen it in this man. And
I have asked myself, after the manner of the sublime sar-
casm of Christ : " Which of you, by taking thought, can
add a cubit to his stature ?" Suppose you are four feet
high, and suppose you worry yourself almost to death
about it, do you grow by worrying ? Does it make any

'\1

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802

KXTERTOR AND fNTERfOR

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difference? Do fretting and anxiety do you any good?
Do they not consume your happiness, use up your strength
and maivoyou less fit for life and its enjoyments ?

Do not you know some round, healthy-blooded woman
who, while other people are crying, and all the time coin-
ing to grief, does not trouble lierself, and comes out as well
as they do, and has comfort all the time, too ?

Do not you find men that are driven from pillar to post,
tliat are racked with anxiety, that cannot sleep at nights,
and that do not know what they shall do to get along bet-
ter ? And are they not like a water-logged ship ? And
do they not use up their strength by mere fretting and
worrying ? And therefore is it not better to trust God
and do what you can ? Is it not better, after you have
acted according to your highest wisdom, to leave the re-
sults to Providence ? " But," says a man, " I shall be bank-
rupt." Very well, when you get to bankruptcy you
cannot go any further : make up your mind to that and
be at ease. " But suppose sickness comes V' Well, what
can sickness do ? It can kill } ou — that is all ; and if you
]iad just as lief die as live, that ends it. Your book-keep-
ing is too operose. You do not keep your accounts on the
right plan. Living or dying you are the Lord's.

I should like to have these men who doubt providence
in external things, (for I am now speaking to such) over-
hear their children in the nursery talking in this wise :
Here are little Robert and little Mary. The elder is only
ten years of age, and the other eight ; and below them
are brothers and sisters, six, five, four years of age, and
so on all the way down. They are talking to themselves
as to where 'pa and 'ma are going to get their clothes and
food. They cannot see. They do not understand 'pa's
business. And they are fretting and worrying about
where they are going to get what they need to eat, and
drink, and wear. And the mother stands and listens,
and thinks, " Would not that make a capital story for a
Sunday-school paper ? The idea of those young children
feeling anxious about liow they are going to get along !

PTVFNE n^OVrDFXCE.

non

Just aa though wo were not going to take care of them !"

And yet, (loe.s not that mother heiHelf, when Hickness
comes, and little Robert in lying sick of one distase in
one room, and little Mary is lying sick of another disease
in another room, play the child, and a V/ahe at that, and
do just the same thing that she saw these chilrlren doing?
And do not we do the same thing ? And does not Cod
laugh at us, and chide us ? " Your heavenly Father
knoweth that ye have need of these things," is the con-
solation which God breathes into our ears ; and if you
say, ". How ?" the reply is, " None of your business."
If you find out before God tells yo.., you will do more
than others have been able to do. But will you not
believe until you do know how ?

Suppose you are in danger of bankruptcy, and it is
sharp 2.30, and the bank closes at 8.00, and you have
got to pay five thousand dollars or fail, and you come to
me, and I let you have the money ; before taking it, will
you ask me, "Where did you get it ?" "I got it, and got
it for you; and that is all you want to know about it."

Some men seem more foolish than those Indians or
heathens who scarify their bodies and torment them-
selves. It would seem as though men tried to make
their troubles and sorrows that are minatorial worse than
they are.

Now, if this is so in regard to the outside providence,
which takes care of our physical comforts and material
wants, how is it respecting that inside providence which
takes care of our thoughts, and feelings, and imagina-
tions, and lays the foundation of immortality in us,
building up that something which is by and by to stand
before God ? We have no chart nor compass on the sea
of inward life over which we are voyaging, except God.
He is our Hope and Help in this great inner realm
through which we are passing, not by the senses, but by
faith. And if we live by faith and not by sight, how
sweet and comforting it is to hear our Master say to us,
"Work out your own salvation, and go forward with

Willi

IDIV

804

EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR

r'» '»

hope and cournpfo, for it is God tlmt is working in you to

will and to do of his good pIcaHunv"

Listen to those other words which arc contained in tho

Epistle to the Colossians :

" Set your nflcctlons on tlilnps above, and not on thlDgs on the earth :
for ye arc dead ; and your lile !» Iiid."

This great inward life is hid. Where Is it hid?

"Tour life is hid witli Christ in God."

You are living, as it were, in tli^ bosom of the Eternal.

•' When Christ, who is our life, ehull appear, then shall ye also appear
ivith him in elory."

Lift your droo})ing head, O soul, much desponding, but
easily conscious of little that is good and much that is
evil ! soul, much t('m])ted, much tried, sorrowful,
waiting, sometimes ccm])elled to patience ! lift up your
head. Your life is more than appears What is going
on in your life you have no registry of, but God has ke])t
an account of it all. He has been molding you by a mil-
lion touches ; by thorghts and feelings he has been
building a structure within you ; and when he takes
away the scafibld, as he will ere long, then you will
appear giorious to him, to angels, to men, and to yourself
And then you will be satisfied, first with yourself, when
you see that you are wrought in the image of the Lord
Jesus Christ.

" Commit yourselves to the providence of God in out-
ward things ; commit yourselves to the dear providence
of God in inward things ; and believe that neither your
father, nor your mother, nor the wife of your bosom, nor
your ov/n self even, loves you half so much as the God
who made you, the God who keeps you, and the God who
manifested his love for you by the gift of his Son Jesus
Christ, our Saviour, who is God in you the hope of glory.

Let us draw near to God, dear Christian brethren, this
morning, with renewed confidence and trust. Let us, as
we partake of these emblems of the broken body of
Christ, and of his blood shed for the remission of our
sins, renew our hope, and become, even in these dark

N»1

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

305

(Inyn, childron of li^lit. Let flic ])rornisos of Ood be like
BO mnny clinplets round nltout our licad. Let uh stniid
Btrong, not in our own wisdom, and not in cur own j^ood-
ncss, but in tliis : He loves us ; and having loved us, ho
will love us unto the end.

I now affect i on ately invito all who need divine help, all
who arc conscious of their own sinfidness, all who are ear-
nestly and honestly desiring to live a Christian life, and all
who are willing to take the bounty which God proffers to
them — 1 now affectionately invite all such to ]»artako
with us of these emblems, which are not alone for church
folks, nor for eminently Christian ])eoplc. I present to
vou your dear Jesus, who, when he walked upon the
earth, was a fiiend of publicans and sinners. And if there
be here any who, being sinful, long for regeneration, for
uplifting, and for nobility in God, he is your Jesus, your
Saviour ; and you have a right to these humljle memo-
rials, if you accept them sincerely, as a help to a better
and a higher life. Whether yon belong to one church
or another, or to no church, if you covenant to give
yourself to the Lord Jesus Christ, and to live, as far as in
you lies, by the help of God, a high and holy life, I invite
you to tarry with us. I invite sinners to partake of the
bounty and blessing of their promised Saviour.

• PRAYER BEFORE THE SERMON.

Our heiavenly Father, wr thank thee that thou art, though thou
art 80 much above our reach, and that thou art everywhere. To our
homes we CQme by weary journeyinpjs ; but it is home for the soul
anywheie throughout the vast domain of God. Where there is want
or sorrow or need, thou art close at hand. Though thou doet not
now manifest thyself to those our bodily eyes ; though mm may no
longer reach out their hand to thee, yet thou knowest how to make
known thy presence and power to our inward lite, and our souls
greet thee, and take hold upon thee. We rejoice when we have
ppiritut^l fruition of our Ood, that this uigher communion, is granted

306

EXTERIOR AND INTERIOR

to US, and that we are not left to the earth to be earthy by a mere
physical communion. We rejoice that we are drawn to a higher
life ; that we are drawn into the better part of ourselves ; that wc
are growing ; and that by faith we come to that manhood which la
appointed to those who follow thee.

"We rejoice, O Lord, that thy testimonies are sure, and that the
witnesses which have now swelled through the ages of the faith of
God toward his people are not vain witnesses. We ourselves also
testify to thy divine goodness. Ever since we can remember, thy
mercies have been round about us. Thou hast done exceeding
abundantly more for us than we could ask or think. Thou hast
glied the light of thy countenanca upon us ; and it has been daylight
indeed to our souls. Thou hast been witli us in the storm and in
the calm ; in sickness and in health ; in perplexity and in times
when all things were clear and tranquil. Thou hast been a God.
for the soul. Thou hast met its wants and exigenci s. Thou hast
blessed us in the innermost recesses of our life. Thou hast made it
profitable for us to call upon thee in prayer. Thou hast granted
unto us thai communion which has cast its light out in all the times
of strife and struggle in the world. We rejoice to belive that thou
wilt not leave us nor forsake us ; and that having loved thine owu
thou wilt love them unto the end.

We thank thee that more and more are finding their way to the
unknown God. We thank thee that more and more are coming
through their nobler part to that kingdom which is the realm of
the spirit, and not of the body. Especially may thy blessing rest
upon thy servants who have been gathered to-day into this visible
church, and who are joined to the company of those who live by
faith. Be with them in all their relations of life. Grant that they
may live more and more godly, with their eye upon the world that
is to come ; that their hopes may be more and more radiant ; that
their hearts may be stirred within them, both to obey thee in the
silence of their thoughts and to work out before thee with their
hands the things which are becoming. We pray that thou wilt
comfort them in their household relations. Sanctify their afflittions.
Bless to them their prosperity. Take from it all its dangers. May
they find every single day that their strength is in God. May they
walk more happily than ever before. May they be more cheer-
ful, more hopeful, more courageous. May they bear such a testi-
mony by their life that men shall be led to draw near to their
Saviour, and find the same bounty and blessing which they enjoy.
We pray that thy blessing may rest upon the families of this
church. We thank thee for all thy great goodness to it in times gone
by ; for the unity of feeling which exists in it ; for the absence
which there has been of division, and hardness, and coldness, one
toward another. Thou hast united this church in thee, and so in

DIVINE PROVIDENCE.

307

thy by a mere
Ti to a higher
Ives ; that we
hood wliich ig

and that the
of the faith of
Durselves also
Binember, thy
Qe exceeding
. Thou hast
been daylight
storm and in
and in times

been a God
». Thou hast
hast made it
hast granted
I all the times
ive that thou
ed thine own

r way to the
|e are coming
the realm of
blessing rest
this visible
who live by
mt that they
e world that
idiant ; that
J thee in the
5 with their
t thou wilt
ir afflittions.
igers. May
May they
more cheer-
ich a testi-
Jar to their

they enjoy,
lies of this

times gone
the absence

IdnesB, one
and 80 in

itself. And we rray that still thou wilt go on in ways of mercy
with it.

May thy truth evermore be clear. May it search the innermost
thoughts of men. May it lead to nobler lives, and to higher con-
ceptions of character, and to more blessed fruitfulness.

We pray that thou wilt grant thy blessing to rest upon parents
who are attempting to rear their children unto manhood. May
they never be weary in well-doing. May they not be discouraged
nor give up so long as life shall last.

We pray that thou wilt bless the labors of thy servants who are
devoting themselves to the welfare of those who are less favored
than themselves. May those that cprry light into dark places,
those who go to houses of distress bearing comfort, those who carry
instruction among the ignorant, and those who endeavor to help
such as need help around them — may they be themselves guided
and sanctified and abundantly blessed of God.

We pray, O Lord o'lr God, that thou wilt put it into the hearts
of more not to live for self, not to live for things transient, but to
live in the spirit of Him who went about doing good, and who said
It is more blessed to give than to receive. More and more may this
spirit be diffused throughout the land.

May churches no longer be divided one over against another.
May they learn those things which make for peace and union. May
love prevail. May the power of the malign passions be more and
more banished from the earth, until at last the beast shall be up-
rooted, and the man shall emerge and come forth in all the purity
and beauty that is in Christ Jesus.

Now, may the services of this sanctuary be acceptable in thy
sight. We would please thee. Thy pleasure is our joy.

We pray that thou wilt grant to every one who is present with
us a portion of thy blessing. Remember those who are strangers
in our midst. Grant that the blessing of God may rest upon them,
and that they may find fellowship in thy sanctuaiy with thee and
with us. Remember those dear ones who are far away in their
households. Follow their decires and prayers this morning.

Spread the word of truth throughout all the world. May the
number of those who labor to carry the Gospel to their fellow men
be increased. May those who bear the name of Christ be precious
everywhere. May nations no longer bruise and wound each other.
May they no longer throw themselves with desolations one upon
another. May the time of peace and gladness come when Christ
shall reign over all the earth. '

And to thy name shall be the praise, Father, Son, and Spirit,
evermore. A-mm.

III.

REASOE" m RELIGION.

"For when for the time ye oufrht to be tcnolicrs, ye Tiave need that one
teach you iiffain m hich tx^ Ihe fn>t prhiciplcs of the oraclos of God ; and are
become sudi as have need of milk, and not of strong meat. For every one
that upeth milk is unsl\iirul in ilie word of ]i>_''litenusness ; for he is a babe.
But fironir nuat belonceth to them that are of full asre, even those who by
reason of use hive their senses exercised to discern both good and evil."—
Hbb. v. 13-14.

HIS is a chiding. It is a chiding for want of
intelligence. It is a reproach for an indolent
use, or rather for the disuse, of reason in the
province of duty. The sucred Scripture stands almost
alone as a book of religious directions in exhorting to a
full, tree and constant use of the reason. From be2;iii-
ning to end, it takes for granted that man is a reasonable
creature, to be dealt with by motives intelligently pre-
sented. Men are best dealt with by an appeal to tlieir
reasoning faculties; and, in consequence, the Word of
God ip constructed substantially upon that plan. It
addresses the reason primarily. It challenges men to
-examine the different commands by the light of reason.
Some have thought that the question of the apostle,
"Who art thou that repliest against God?" was a
dissuasion from meddling with the human understand-
ing in ttiings divine. If it be, it stands solitary in
the word of God. " Come now, and let us reason
tOjQether, sa'th the Lord." Throughout the Old and
Xew Testaments there are inducements and persuasions
of every kind to the examination of God's commands ;

REASON IN RELIGION. ' 309

and it Is declared that they are reasonable ; that they are
right, just, true, good. Everywhere throughout the Word
of God arc provocatives to the fullest and largest usb of
our understanding in judging of things fit or unfit, right
or wrong, true or false. ISo that it may be said that the
Word of God is constructed upon the very principle of
exciting men to the uso of their reasoning faculties.

On the other hand, dullness, and stupidity, and indif-
ference, and that simplicity which indicates want of
culture and ignorance, are made criminal. Men are re-
proached, blamed for them. And one of the efiects
which may be expected from the soul's being touched by
the Divine Spirit is that it will mount up into a higher
realm of intfUigence. In no instance that I remember
is there a command w^hich should lead men to lean on
others f 'r their knowledge. Certainly, there is nothing
like a servile acceptance of imposed conclusions recom-
mended in the Word of God.

Nor is it anywhere authoritatively hinted at, or clearly
stated, that God has reposed his truths in the keeping of
any body of men from whom their fellow-men are to
receive them implicitly and unthinkingly. Not even
from himself are we to take, uiu-hallenged and unex-
amined, the truths which are fundamental to our char-
acter and our lives ; and still less are we commanded to
take I hem at the hands of the Church, or ot any priestly
body whatever.

In so far as reason is concerned, the Word of God is a
grand encourager of the supreme use of the understanding
of men, both in things secular' and in things spiritual and
divine. So far from our reason being limited by autho-
rity in any arbitrary body, it is made to be the duty of
each individual to think, to judge, to choose, to be vital.
Not that men should do it without h^lp ; not that men
who are combined for the pursuit of truth are to be
treated with disrespect; not that there aie not many
presumptions that men who betake themselves to any
line of thought will be more likely to be right than those

mwmt

310

REASON IN RELIGION.

■ l .-' . 1 . .

who do not ; but whaterer help we may gain from pre-
cedent, from authority, from men of any profession, jt is
the duty of every individual man to weigh, to judge, "to
prove all things, and to hold fast that which is good."

The Word of God is an enlightener ; and wherever it
has been a free Bible, wherever it has been generally
read, and wherever its influence has really entered into
the lives and hearts of men, there intelligence has pre-
vailed, and there the human understanding has unfolded
its best workp, and developed its best efibrts. So tliat
the Word of God is not a tyrant book. It imposes no
manacles and no restraints, except those which belong to
the nature of the human mind, and the nature of the
subjects which the human mind is called to investigate.

When, therefore, the hierarchical churches cast dis-
esteem upon the human reason, and reproach thof «) wlio
lean to their own understanding, as if the declarations of
the Old Testament were to have literal application, tliev
depart from the genius and the spirit of the Word of God.
And yet, the Protestant spirit is liable to go to the otlier
extreme. The reason is not infallible any more than the
Pope or the Church. Men have cast down the hier-
archies, and refused to accept them, questioning their
edicts. Men have denied the right of any class to think
for them. They have gone almost to the extent of idol-
izing the reason. There are a great many kinds of idols
in the world: there are those that are made of sticks, and
stones, and clay, and precious metals ; and then there are
churches that are idols ; and there are creeds that are
made to be idols ; and there is such a thing as idolizing
the Bible itself — which is the idol of many and many a
Protestant ; and t^:^.e reason is the idol of still others. Li
many instances, the Eoman tendency, and the modern
free-thinking tendency, stand at the opposite extremes—
both of them alike in error ; for the human reason is
neither so acute, nor so cornprehensive, nor so sure in its
deductions as men think. It is not any safer in many
i^Btances, and in some not so safe, as an authority, as

REASON IN RELIGION.

:ni

custom or experience. In ten thousand ways men are ob-
liged to do that which they scoff at and acorn the hierarchy
for doing or enjoining. Do I do all the thinking which
leads to the things that I believe in ? I believe in the
whole system of mathematics, whether abstract or ap-
plied ; but have I thought it all out ? I never have, and
thank God 1 never shall ! It is not for me to think out
the great system of astronomy in order to believe the
astronomical truths of my time. I accept them at the
hands of the Church of AsLronomers. It is not for me
to go through all the earth and explore geographical
tacts, in order to believe them. I accept them at the
] lands of the professional explorers. I trust them for the
truth of these things. It is not for me to unbed the cus-
toms which stud society all over, and run back to its real
facts, in order to believe in its philosophy. It is enough
for me to know the averrige experience of society, upon
which these customs are based. I take them as they have
been handed down to me. It is not for me to undertake
to traverse or analyze the reasons of art. I take from
artists the great canons of truth in that department,
beoause I believe that they have found them out. I trust
to their authority in such matters. And when you come
to look into affairs in general, there is no man who is not
constantly pinning his faith on the sleeve of some other
men for knowledge — and that in the very sphere to which
liis avocation contines him. Everybody, in some direc-
tions, is doing that which we abuse the Roman Catholic
for doing in religion ; he is not so far wrong after all, in
spots. The grocer in many parts of his b usiness acts on
hearsay. He goes according to other men's judgments
and thinkings. The Surgeon and the Physician are
perpetually doing it. The Lawyer lives upon precedenta.
The Astronomer is always receiving truths from others.
He gives them more or less examination ; and yet, in the
main, he takes them on trust. There is no sphere of
human life in which a man stands where he is not the
centre of innumerable rays of light which come in y.poa

imi

312

REASON IN RELIGION.

I :" '

him ; and he takes them without analysis. It is not in
the power of a man to give independent and personal
investigation to them all, so as to know them of himself.

If, therefore, to follow out every line of truth wiih one's
own individual reasonings and deductions were a neces-
sity of intelligent conviction, men could believe but a few
things, it is not in our power in this life to master many
subjects. There is only time enough for one to think
about a limici^'d number. It transcenls the power of men
to cover much ground by investigation in this world.

So, then, there are both of these principles at work.
It is indispensably necessary that men should think, and
that they should think for themselves. It is necessary,
in repeated instances, that they should make their own
deductions and conclusions, and follow in the lines of
conduct which flow from them. But on the other hand,
men cannot, in all things, think for themselves. It is
right, it is wise, it is reasonable, to accept the thoughts of
others. We give and take. In one place a man thinks
for you, and in another place you think for him. There
is this interchange of knowledge on the great p"inciple of
tiie faith of man in man. We trust each others thinkings.
And yet there is, over all this faith and trust, an investi-
gating tendency; a thoughtfulness ; a right to stop every
conclusion, and question it, and obi ge it to show its pa}5s-
port and prove its origin.

Both of these tendencies are at work. We teach men,
but they are left independent and free to think. Odier
men teach us; but we are independent and free to thiuk.
In certain lines, we take the results of each other's think-
ings ; but not without the right ot questioning them.

When, therefore, men insist upon it that to be in the
full exercise of reason, one must throw off the past, and
lift up his head into an iridependent sphere, where no
man before has been, and think out all things, to him may
be applied the words of the proverb :

"Se^st thou a man wise ia Ms own conceit? There is more hope of a
fool than of him."

REASON IN KELIGION.

813

more hope of a

Kot ^^ilosophy, but folly inheres there.

Let us louk a little then at the elements and the proofs
of that reason which meu talk so much about, and know
60 little of.

First and lowest, is that which we possess with the
whole range of the lower animals — perceptive reason —
that part ot the human understanding vvhich takes cog-
nizance of physical facts and events that are exterior to
ourselves; which perceives the existence of things, and
their various qualities : which recognizes whatever
belongs to the framework or physical structure of the
globe.

Therft is evidence that we possess this phase of reason
in connection with the lower creation. In many respects
they have sharper senses than \\ e have. 1 he eagle and
the vulture can see a thousand-fold more accurately at id
distinctly than we can. The hound has a sense of smell
which interprets things to him as no sense of smell
ever interprets things to men. There is a sense of touch
possessed by manj* -inimals which is finer and more
authoritative than any sense of touch which is committed
to us. But no animal has an average so high and of so
many senses, extending over such a large radius of the
physical world as man.

Where the results of observation are brouo-ht toscether
in certain affiliations, we have what we call the realm of
sensuous, physical science, which is dependent mainly on
the quality of perceiving.

Now, if any man supposes that there is certainty in
this realm, he has given very little consideration to it.
Men say, "Do you not believe the sight of your own
eyes?" • I have nothing better, 1 admit, by which to see
things. A man's hearing is the best thing he has for
that side of truth which is taken in through the ear. His
sense of smell, his sense of taste, and his sense of touch —
they are the best instruments which he has for perceiving
particular phases of truth. But aro» these instrumentsso

perfect that men mnv rplv nnnn tlipm iinnlipitlv 'd

may rely upon

iplicitly

REASON IN RELIGION.

Every court of justice shows tliat the same event, being
looked at by two, by foui*, by six diiferent men, is not,
although they are honest, and mean to state the truth,
seen by any two of them alike. The sense of seeing in
each one acts imperfectly, and each sees diiferently Irom
the others, and makes a different report from theirs. Mer
think that they see things with absolute accuracy ; but
experience has' taught the scientist that one observation is
not enough — that a score of observations are necessary
in order to correct the fallibility of the sense of seeing.

The same is true of the sense of hearing. Men do not
hear half that there is going on to begin with. Let the
leader of a choir or a band hear a semi-tone of discord,
and his ear will detect it instantly. Mine doe^ not. The
great rush of sound I hear ; I take in certain great effects
that are produced ; but all that fine analysis by which
the ear, under suitable training, detects the slightest shade
or element — ^that I am deficient in. That belongs only to
the musician, and comes only by education.

Hearing is not Tery accurate as between one man and
another. In some it is far bettter than in others. It is
not very accurate as between one period of a man's life
and another. Different statements are given where men
listen carefully and report truly what they have heard.

The same is true in respect to the sense of touch. The
five senses, with the perceptive intellect back of them are
alike in this respect. The sense of color, the sense of
shape, the sense of quality, all ^he senses, when you
apply the test to them, and measure their accuracy, are
found to be very unreliable. Notliing is more inaccurate
than the reports of a man's perceptive intellect. And
yet, with what arrogance do men speak of it ! It answers
the common purposes of society ; but not without falling
into innumerable errors which need to be corrected.

When a young physiologist came with great zeal to
Cuvier, and said that he had discovered a new muscle in
the frog, the old naturalist waived him off kindly, and
said, " Oome to me again in ten years." He never came.

REASON IN RELIGION.

315

Fartlier investigation proved to him that he had not
found a new muselo.

Every school of natural history, every school of physi-^s,
in the broadest domain, know s perfectly well that the
senses need to be trained, and tb' t there are very few
men whose knowledge of the senses can be relied upon.
The genius of knowing even the lowest form of truth is
a rare genius ; and in respect to the great mass of men
tlie senses are fallible. Though they answer a certain
rough use of life, and aiford a basis for general confidence,
yet, after all, w^hen the question is one of exactitude,
there is nothing less to be trusted than the senses, until
they have been trained. And there are not many men
who are capable of being trained so that their senses
shall be irreproachable.

This is one of the grounds and signs of the skepticism
of science. Men who are scientific investigators apply
to truth the tests of physical investigation. They per-
ceive the mistakes which are made by others and them-
selves, and they come to have a realizing sense, as the
old mirn'sters used to say, of the fallibility of man's per-
ceptive reason. When they hear a man reasoning from
the Bible, and forming judgments and drawing deductions
therefrom, they hold these judgments and deductions in
suspicion and say, " That man is not using his understand-
ing accurately." If you go still higher to the reflective
reason, it is that which recognizes the relations of things
to the relations of truths. All truths are in their abstract
forms subjective. They belong to you. They spring
out of your inner consciousness. All things are mainly
external to you ; but the reflective reason recognizes the
results of matter in its own sphere, and also the results
of states of mind, and of all that belongs to human con-
sciousness and human faculty and human power. Ordi-
narily we call the use of this reason philosophy. Where
it exists in certain forms, and considers everything in the
most abstract way, we call it metaphysics.

Now, when we look at the reliableness of this superior

lit-

81«

REASON IN RELIGION.

,** 'I

^Itit

reason, has it proved to be a safe ground for trnst ? For
I know not how many liundreds and thousands of years
men have been heaping up system alter system ; and the
chief object of each succeedmg philosopliy or theory ha?
been to show that the one which preceded it was false in
the higher realm of the philosopliical intellect. Men have
been lor ages reasoning, drilling, training, accumidating;
and after all, the consciousness of mankind is that the re-
flective reason, while it has vast adva?itages, while it sup.
plies a human want and a human necessity, is as far
Irom being infallible as anything can be. ^o man can
afford to lean his whole weight upon it without suspicion,
without test, without trial. It partakes of the fallibility
of human nature.

Nor does it follow, because a great many different
minds, in different directions, come together on a truth,
that it is more true than it would otherwise be.
Whole generations have believed together, and a new
generation has, by new methods of investigation, upset
their belief. There have been times when the whole drift
of the world was in certain directions ; and they were
always followed by new developments ; and speedily the
current turned right round and flowed the other way-
showing that while men individually have been fallible hi
their reflective reason, they have likewise been so collec-
tively. The thinking of masses of men in a given direc-
tion does not necessarily authenticate any truth. The
fact that things have been accepted Irom the days of the
patriarchs may create a presumption or probability that
they are true, but it is not absolute evidence of their
truth; for many things have been believed from the dajs
of the patriarchs that have proved not to be true, and
been taken out of the category of truths.

When, then, you come to judge of the action of the
understandings of men — their perceptive reason and their
reflective reason — you will find that though they have
practical serviceableness, they are so crude, so untrained,
svad so disturbed by the emotions of the mind, that they

REASON IN T^EIJGION.

arc not infallible, nor absolute, nor to be depended
upon.

There is another Bphero of the reason — tha t one in which
truths are apprehended in their social an.d moral rela-
tions. We coiiie into tho knowledge of trnt.lis of fact and
matter by the mediation of our senses ; but there is a
higher realm than that of fact and matter. There is an
invisible realm where emotion, where senti;ment, where
spirituality reside. We come into communis m with that
realm by theunder8tandinoj,throudi the mediiationof our
personal emotions and feelings. I will iilus'trate it.

I do not suppose that to a butterfly there ie> any thought
of beauty ; but it is itself beautiiul. I think that there
is not in the animal creation — except possibly in a few of
the more highly organized animah — any considerable
sense of beauty. But the heaven is beautiful, and the
earth is beautiful.

There are a great many mon who, in this respect, are
hke the animal kingdom — men of strong reasoning power ;
men of sharp observing pov/er; men of great pcwer of
creativeness ; men who know "how to turn ideas into things,
and yet apparently have no siense of that subtle element
which pervades the atmospluire, which influences human
conduct, and which is, as it wrould seem, a letting down
of one of the greatest attributes of God on earth — tho
sense of things beautiful. M an does not perceive this.
What is the matter?

Take a little air, or strain, w^hich an organist may give
you. It shall be some familiar time, like iJundee, or some
old carol. Let hitn, by-and-bv, after playing it on one or
two small stops, introduce another stop — a hautbois, or a
wood-flute, for instance : and you will see that while the
air remains, there is u new qiialitj in it. Let him intro-
duce another st(>p, and another; and you will see that it
is still the same melody and harmony, but that something
additional has gone into it; that it is richer, sweeter,
stronger. We have not language to follow these subtle
things very far.

318

REASON IN RELIGION.

mm-

Ti'.

|.'-t

ilTow, it is so with the human mind. The intellect I3
looking at things ; and it all the emotions were shut off
and were not allowed to color them, how barren, how
unrich they would be ! But you draw one emotion, and
instantly the things perceived through the intellect aru
aftected by that emotion. As in playing a tune, every
additional stop that is introduced adds a new quality tu
the sound, so the understanding is modified, changed, en-
riched, by this or that emotion which is let on.

When the intellect is thus electrified, magnetized, polar-
ized, it comes to a recognition of the greater truths of
aftection and sentiment. For instance, a man who is ab-
solutely without love for children or pets will sit in a
nursery where children are playinsj, without any sort of
feeling ; but put me where those cliildren are and I am
asparkle all over, because I love children. The moment
my perceptive reason and my reflective reason are shot
through with the magnetism of this emotion of love for
children, I become competent to perceive thoughts and
feelings and relations which I never could have perceived
by any ordinary process of thinking. It is the thinking-
power, waked up and acting through the color of an
emotion, that brings one into relation to the truths which
belong to that emotion.

Take a man who has no conscience naturally (it wonld
not be difficult to find sr.ck men !), and let him stand in
the midst of actions and jji'csentations, whatever they are,
and he will perceive no sense of equity ; he will have no
fine appreciation of honor, no intense feeling of what is
right or wrong ; he will be entirely without any such
emotion ; but others, standing right by him, and highly
constituted in their moral nature, will be sensible to what
is right, and true, and noble, and just. In other words,
where emotion is absent from a man, his understanding
cannot know or comprehend certain feelings which belong
to emotion ; but where emotion is present in a man, it
unites with his understanding, and enables him to take in
these feelings. The feeling of conscience joining itself

REASON TN RF.TJniON.

nio

to tlio reason, to the understanding^, enables it to perceive
those things which belong to the reahn of conscience.
Tiic understanding is always the knowing part ; but what
it knows depends on what it has before it, or behind it,
or within it.

Take the emotion of ideality, which we call imagina-
tion, fancy, aspiration, yearning, and what not. Where
that joins itself to the understanding, it makes the onitor,
the poet, the mystic, the dreamer. It makes men see
truths in regions where they do not outwardly appear.
In all such cases the understanding is magnetized ])y that
feeling which brings them in relation to things invisible —
to superior truths. Throughout the world, the sentiment
of benevolence, the sentiment of hope, the sentiment of
faith, the sentiment of conscience, the sentiment of love,
bring us into relation to spheres of truth which are infinite,
divine, transcendent.

When, then, you come to look at what are called moral
intuitions in men, v\hat are they but results of such a
highly' organized, sensitive state of mind, that feeling,
flashing upon the understanding, brings into the form of
knowledge or perception all the truths that belong to the
emotion which has colored, or magnetized, or polarized
the understanding ?

Now, in this realm, what style and degree of certainty
is there ? I think, generally speaking, it may be said
that those intuitions which are against nature — using
nature in a qualified sense — are more apt to be true thaa
those which are with nature. In other words, the spon-
taneous feelings which a man has in the direction of the
animal sphere — anger, pride, cruelty, and the like — are,
generally speaking, more erroneous than those intuitions
which go out toward the generous, the Loble, the pure,
the self-denying. It is more natural for a man to act with
those immense swells of feeling which work toward the
animal, than to act with those emotions which work to-
ward the spiritual, and yet in that direction he most often
acts wrongly. It is only by long practice with reason and

820

REASON IN RELIGION.

H I

(

■

f^^l

H^^'

^^^Bsfil '

feeling that we have learned to discern the right from the
wron^ — the good from the bad. It requii-es education—
that 13 to say, thie introduction of the element of habit
upon this joint action of the reason and the emotions—
to enable us to make just moral distinctions. Men re-
quire the sharpening of drill before they can discern
what is high; what is right; what is symmetrical; what
is beautiful — before they can discern any of those noble
qualities which belong to them, and which are implied in
the terms cwillzcUion and spirituality. These are all
reached through an imperfect medium. Emotion and
reason, working together on a highe. plane, are tran-
scmdently valuable ; but they are tar from being infalli-
ble. They are full of faults and mistakes.

So far, then, as to the fallibility of men's reason.

It would seem, at first thought, in looking over this
subject, as though there was a strong argument in favor
of iiaving the Church think for men, and tell them what
is ri^rht and what is wrong ; but there is always this
fallacy : that where the Church thinks out a truth, and
tells it to me, 1 have to think of it before I can under-
stand it. I meet the same liabilities to error in accepting
from the Ch urch what it says as infallible, that I do in
the exercise, of my own thought independent of the
Church. 7jl\\q very act of receiving truths from other
persons or from bodies of persons, is attended with as
many riskis as the act of searching for truths unaided by
others. I am liable in accepting what comes to me from
others, to no less limitations and mistakes than I would
be if I we:nt forth and gathered my own materials and
made my own deductions.

Moreover, we have had the experience of ages, which
shows us that the truths which are handed down to us by
corporate bodies are not any more true than those which
are developed by our own individual experiences.

Take the household. The father and the mother can
think for the children until they are fifteen, or eigbteen,
or twenty years of age ; but then they must think for

REASON IN RELIGION.

321

themselves. AVliy ? Because no child is like its father
and mother. All truth is relative to the person by whom
it is applied. Every man has his specialty which renders
it impossible for him to take the shape, the color, the
proportions, the exact elements of discrimination, which
belong to the mind of any other person. No two persons
ever agree. No two persons ever see alike, or hear alike,
or feel alike, or think alike.

I have a kaleidoscope at home (just now that is the
plaything), and in turning it round probably five hun-
dred times, and causing thousands of combinations, I
have never seen two combinations in it that were alike.
There are just so many (twenty or thirty) pieces of glass
in it; and the sphere is very small in which they work ;
and yet, the combinations are never repeat 3d, are never
reproduced. I do not know as they would be if I were
to turn the kaleidoscope five hundred years. Although.
there are only twenty or thirty of these bits of glass, there
is always some little difterence in the combinations which
they form, and which report themselves to the eye.

If that be so in respect to twenty or thirty little bits
of glass, which maintain their own individual forms, and
can only change in their relative positions, what a kal-
eidoscope the human mind must be, that has thirty or
forty feelings, which are never the same, which are always
changing in qualify and intensity, and each of which
forms endless combinations with the others! A vast,
voluminous, intricate, changing thing, in its outworking,
Vv'ould the human mind seem to us to be if we had an eye
of divinity by which we could give form to all the thoughts
and feelings of men as they flow out. No two men think
like each other ; and no man thinks like himself in any
two consecutive moments.

When, therefore, bodies of men attempt to impose theii*
views on their fellow-men, they act contrary to the
nature of the mind, and contrary to the experience of
mankind. Views so imposed cannot be helpful or
profitable. No wise man will ever reject or neglect tha

11;

\ !

822

REASON IN RELIGION.

I'''

I
i

results wliicli have been arrived at by any other wise
man, or any body of wise men ; he will always look with
great respect, and with a recognition of the presumption
of their truth, on things which have come down through
long periods, and which have approved themselves to
generations of men ; but no certainty attaches to them.
We cannot afford to take them as absolute. There is
nothing infallible but God ; and he is hid.

-When, therefore, it is proposed that this limitation,
this fallibility, of the human mind shall be remedied by
some authoritative tribunal, that tribunal itself is subject
to all the liabilities to error which the individual is who
accepts its dictum.

Then next, let me speak of the arrogance of those who
are throwing aside, or attempting to disesteem, or to
disown, all the deductions of the spiritual sense ; all the
results of the action of the upper understanding. Look
at the scientilic tendency by which men would bring
everything down to the sphere of tiie perceptive reason.
There are inany honorable exceptions. I do not say that
it is the tendency of the professors themselves to overvalue
the accuracy of scientific investigation. The fallibility of
the lower forms of physical reason, or of that which tends
to phy files, should teach men the fallibility, also, of the
higher faculties of mankind.

When, therefore, men disown morality, or its founda-
tion, sociology, or its great elemental foundation ; spiritu-
ality, with all its experiences, on the ground that they
do not come within the purview and investigatory power
of the lower reason, it seems to me that they act in the
most incomprehensibly unphilosophic manner. Shall I
disown the sounds that fill the air, because, applying my
eye to them, I cannot see them? Shall I disown ail
odors, because, putting my ear to the flower, I cannot
smell them? Shall men disown truths, because they
cannot taste them, when they are discoverable only
through the joint action of passion or affection or spiritual
emotion, and the higher understanding? Shall men

REASON IX RELIGION.

323

apply the crucible, or the mathematical rnlcs or any out-
ward measure, to things that, if perceived at all, must be
perceived through the channel of higher thoughts and
feelinc^s, and disown them ])ecause they cannot stand the
test of the lower r 'ason ? The lower reason has its tests,
the superior unspiritualized reason has its tests, and the
spiritualized reason has its tests ; and each must rest on
its own ground.

It is arrogance, then, even if it be maintained in silence,
to suppose that all the grea^ truths of spiritual Christianity
are to be rejected, or held in doubt, because they refuse
to submit themselves to the test of scientific reason. There
is a higher realm than that in which the senses bear
sway; and the lower court cannot control the higher.
The justice of the ])eace may appeal up to the judge, but
the judge never appeals down to the justice. And the
higher reason is unjudged by the lower, though it judges
the lower.

One other point. In view of the carefulness required
in the investigation of truth; in view of the time and
training and discipline that are required ; in view of the
nature of the niind, and the skill required to judge of its
actions rightly, I say to all those who are speaking lightly
of the faith of their lathers, and of the manners and cus-
toms of their childhood ; I say to all those who, without
any special knowledge, are talking of progress and
emancipation, and of the glorious era of reason ; I say to
all those who are curveting in physical philosophy, as
against the higher modes of arriving at the truth, " You
are going too fast and too far. Ko man is wise who
leaves his head behind him ; and you are travelling faster
than your brain can go."

To bring new thought to the balancing of truth; to put
thouorhts to thouo;hts, and to make them march In ranks
and train together to form systematic facts and co-opera-
ting truths — this is a slow, a cautious and difficult process.
Not one in a hundred can reach the higher forms of truth
without having been schooled. You would not think of

li!

324

REASON IN RlilLIGION.

'■■i!

111! i :!

:''i

judging of painting without having studied the art. You
would not think ol judging of the operations in an astrono-
mical observatory without having thoroughly investigated
those operations. And yet, men take the old Bible, and
sling it behind them, and say, "This may have been good
enough for my father and mother, but it will not answer
my purpose. I am going to read scientific facts. I am
going to find out what is true in other directions. I am not
going to be held down by those superstitions, those old
women's fables, those fantastic iiotions. I am going to be
emancipated from everything of that sort " If you come
to that result by the action of your nobler nature in its
best condition, I admit that it i^^ legitimate; but if, when
you have scarcely been born into the light ; if, while you
are raw, and untrained; if, with no more thought on the
subject than you can give to it in walking from your
house to the ferry ; it, without seeking for knowledge as
a hid treasure ; if, without scales, or measures, or alem-
bics, inside, or outside, or anywhere, jou rush into those
themes which embrace infinity and eternity, which cover
the whole destiny of man, which relates to the condition
of States, the foundations of households, and the economy
of industrial life — everything that concerns us here and
hereafter — and undertake to settle all these matters by
scientific generalizations, you are a fool — with my compli
ments. And how many persons you will find[ who do
these very things ! How many there are who refuse to go
to church, as their fathers did ! How many say, Let those
who will take their grandmother's spectacles and read that
old Book ; but as for me, I have been born the forerunner
of a new sphere, and of new times !"

Youjuust equilibrate in this matter ; you must take
things that men believed in the past ; you must trust the
conclusions of men who have gone before you ; but yon
may carefully think, and conscientiously reason to test
the ultimate truth of those convictions. You cannot rise
to a high and honorable place in business life, or civil life,
or political life, except by those stepping-stones which

REASON IN RELIGION.

325

were squared and laid down by tl\e industry of those who
have preceded you. Knowledi2:e, virtue, morality, spirit-
uality, manhood can only be acquired by long effort and
practice.

Men gradually find new elements of truth, or larger
proportions of old truths. Be willing to receive new
light; but until you have something substantial and clear
?s crystal to take the place of the old, hold on to what
you already have. Nothing is so bad as for a man to be
afloat. Nothing is so bad as for a man to lose faith in
everything.

Put in 1 skiff, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, a
babe that knows neither the stars, nor the sea. nor storms,
nor sail, nor compass, nor rudder, and what such a child
i3, tliat is the young man who drifts through life, con-
temning all faith, all knowledge of the pa^t, yet with-
out having acquired any knowledge of the present, or
gained any intuitions of the future.

"Seest thou a man wise ia his own conceit? There is more hope of a
fool than of him."

Prove all things; but as a condition of doing it, and
after you have done it, holdfast to that which is good.

iffiVMl 4

PRAYER BEFORE THE SERMON.

We are not afraid to draw near to Thee, O thou Holy^One. "We
are not afraid of thy justice, nor of thy wrath. For, though we
know that thine hand is against evil, we know that thy heart is
toward the children of men, even in their degraded condition. It
is thy will that they shall be drawn up by the power of' thine in-
telligence, and of thy holiness, an'^ of thy goodness, until they
shall see thee as thou art, and feel thy presence, and bs trans-
formed into thine image. We are far from thee, but thou hast
pushed us away, that our journey miy be toward thee. Though
we are unlike thee ; thous^li thou art not of a form like ours ;
though thou art not bound to the clay as we are, yet, inwardly,
we believe that thou hast given us the beginnings of divine thought

S2G

EEASON IN RELIGION.

\ I'

•ij

! i

:! i

nnrl fccHn<.*, and that thou wilt shape ua into the image of thyself.
We draw near to thee this morning, knowing our weakness, our
want, our ignorance, and our transgression, in that limited sphere
where we know what is right and what is wrong. We draw near
to obtain thy help; to experience thy compassion; to be warmed
by thy love ; to be formed by thy power, which works perpetually
in the hearts of those who will.

Enter, O Divine Spirit, into our souls, with light, and warmth,
and life, and love, and joy; and may we be able, this morning,
in entertaining thee, to cast out all rivals ; to lay aside everything
which offends thee. Speak to us as thou didst of old to thy
disciples, Peace be witli you ; and may all turbulent passions, and
all sensuous appetites, and all unsatisfied and wearisome longings,
and uU burdensome doubts, and all trying memories, and all
blinding clouds, and all things which disturb the calm of our
s-attled peace, depart from thy presence ; and may we dwell with
thee, this morning, in that restfulness and in that childlike confidence
which shall make us supremely happy in the Lord.

We desire, O Lord, to confess thy great goodness, and our
un worthiness of it. We look back to the way in which we have
been led to admire thee, and upon the rod and the chastisement
which have been laid upon us; and we see that they have been
blessings ; and we commit ourselves again unknowing, but con-
fiding, to that hand which hath guided us thus far. A.11 that we
have we commit to thee Thou art sovereign. Thy thoughts
never forsake the earth, but are always abroad. Evermore the
Watchman, thou art, of Israel, that slumberest not nor sleepest.
Thou hast all power, and thou hast all goodness. We commit
ourselves to thy thought, and thy purpose, and thy power ; and
desire to find peace in the perfect submission of ourselves to thee.

We pray that thou wilt deliver us, in the various spheres in which
our life is cast, from untruthfulness ; from anfaith ; from tempta-
tions which are stronger than our resisting power. Deliver us from
all evil, and give to us, day by day, such intimations of thy pre-
sence and of thy complacency as shall fill our horizon with light,
that we may call ourselves the children of light — the sons of God.
We pray that thou wilt bless all who are in thy presence accord-
ing as thou seest that they need in their special wants and in their
personal lA^cessities. Be to every one a present help. Grant
abundantly outward blessings to those who have inward strength ;
and gr'int inward strength to those who are surrounded by outward
tokens of thy goodness. Be to all that which they need ; not that
which they plead for in their ignorance, but that which thou, in
thy wisdom, seest to be best for them.

We pray that thou wilt grant thy blessing to rest upon all those
who are laboring in their respective spheres to build up the king-

HEASON IN HELIGION.

327

dom of God in this world and in the great world beyond. Oh,
may they be wise ! May they themselves be enlightened. May
they not be weary in well-doing, lor in due seasOn they shall reap
if they faint not.

Bless our Sabbath-schools, and all that teach and all that are
taught in them. "We pray that the army of children that are
growing up in our midst may grow up better men than we have
been ; with a larger thought ot the work of God in this world ;
and with a better and earlier consecration thereto.

We pray that thou wilt grant thy blessing t o all those who go
forth to-day on missions of mercy to the imprisoned, to the sick,
and to the wandering. May they go in the spirit of the Master ;
and may they find that it is not in vain that they carry out the
merciful dispensations of the Gospel among their fellow-men.

We pray for the reformation of those who are given to vice and
to crime. "We pray for more virtue and wisdom in our laws and
in our institutions. Wilt thou increase, we pray thee, the restor-
ing power of thy truth in the midst of men. We pray that thou
wilt bless all who teach, in every sphere of learning. Remember
all those who are teacliing in our common schools ; all those
who are te: ching in obscure and destitute places ; and all those
who, with pains and self-denial, devote themselves to the good of
the young.

We pray for schools for those who but lately were in bondage
and darkness ; for schools in far distant settlements, where
ignorance prevails.

May all seminaries of learning come up in remembrance before
thee, and be gieatly blessed of God.

We pray that thy kingdom may come, and that thy will may be
done throughout the whole world. Unite the nations together in
a common desire for peace. May that love of blood and of segre-
gation, and may that spirit of avarice and of combativeness,
which have desolated the world so long, at last be restrained; and
may the spirit of intelligence, and of humanity, and of love come
in the place of these disastrous evils. We pray that thy Church
may everywhere spread, and purify the nations of the earth. May
the day speedily come when, from the rising of the sun to the going
down of the same, men shall know and love the Lord.

And to thy name shall be the praise, Father, Sou, and Spirit.
Amen,

^ I

IV.

11^ '

U '

.;.-,■ I

i^W?

- THE USE OF IDEALS.

'•And base things of tlic world, and tilings which are despised, hath God
chosen, yea, and things which are not. to brinir to nauyht things ihat are :
that no flesh should glory in His presenci-. But of Him are ye in < hiist
Jesus, who of (iod is made nnto us wisdom, and righttousneps, and sancti-
flcation, and redemption : That, according as it is written, He that glorietb,
le< him glory in the Lord. "—1 Cor. i. 28-31.

HE apostle believed a good deal more than lio
taught. He saw a great many things which were
true, but which it was not possible lor him to im-
part, because men were not ready to receive them. Ko
one can read the close of the thirteenth chapter of 1st
Corinthians without receiving Paul's idea of the great
truth of the relative and of the absolute far beyond any
exprepsion which he ever gave to it ineootenso ; and there
shines up through the passage which I have read a
philosophy of the apostle which we may develop, but
which would not have litted the times or circumstances
in which he lived. It lay in his own mind an under-
truth, out of which came direction and instruction which
was adapted to the wants of the disciples of his time.
What did he mean when he spoke of " things that are"
as being subdued by " things which are not" ? Did he
mean to say that nothing is stronger than something?
Did he mean to affirm that a noncntitv has an actual
power over a reality? No; he meant siuijily that as
compared with physical realities, as compared with
sensuous life and organization, there is a power in the
thought-realm, invisible, intangible, unorganized, which

THE USE OP IDEALS.

329

is Btroiiger than any clcVclopment in the forrp -^f matter.
Kingdoms are not so strong as arc the impnlses and the
invisible tendencies of men which go to make kingdoms.
But in this connection it '«»'f»«*not the invisible in general
that he was speaking of: it ,v'as that which we call in our
time the ideal. He was describing the conflict of the
truth of the Gospel with the great realities of philosophy
and of worship which existed in the world. The better
thought of God, and the better thought of manhood, and
the better thought of character and of life, which is the
ideal thought — this was in conflict with the tangible and
the visible. The unseen, as men regarded it at that time,
was simply au imagination — a thing without an existence.
At the best it was but poetry, they said. It was mostly
fantasy, moonshine, mere supposition. There was no
reality in it. Ijut Paul said :

"Things which are despised hath God chosen, yea sud thinqre which are
not [ideal thiugs], to briug to nought things that urc " [real thinge].

In other words, he declared that things which are not
in any philosophy, and which are not in any outward
form of organization, are mightiar than the things which
are recognized by philosophy, and which are organized
in some outward ibrm.

*' That no flesh should glory in his presence. But of Him are ye in Christ
Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righleousnt-ss and sanctifl-
cation, and redemption. That, according as it is written, He that glorieth,
let him glory in the Lord."

The appositeness of this passage — the connecting us
with Christ Jesus in this remarkable way — I shall call
your attention to in the closing of this discourse, only
saying now, in respect to this, that the doctrixie of the
imputation of Christ's righteousness which the theologians
of former times attempted to teach has been rejecti d by
sound thinkers, and is scarcely taught at all. But they
were feeling after an illustrious truth. Their mistake
consisted, not in the fact that there was no truth in that
(direction, but that they took an imperfect view of it, and

m *

830

THE USE 0' IDEALS.

did not f^i've an expression w]ii(;]i wus w(M'tliy of tlio tliinrj
that was sought by them. But tluit will come \i[) in tlu;
sequel.

I propose to speak of The Use and Almse of Ideals.

There is a power in the human mind, wlifch all recog-
nize, to see tilings as they ^re — that is to say, as they
embody themselves to our senses ; but there is equally u
power to see things as they might be. There is a con-
structive power as well as an interpretative power. Aiul
it is not the result of education, although education
develops it. It antecedes development. It is found in
children even more than in men grown. It is found in
the most savage nations, just as much as in the most
civilized. There is in the human mind a power to receive
the truths which are exterior to the mind, and vvhicli
embody themselves and come in through the ear-gate and
the eye-gate to the senses. There is also a power in the
human mind, as clear and distinct, to see things that are
not — that is, things which the senses would say do not
exist. It is the power to see things in their imagined
condition. A child that sees an apple as large as it can
hold in its hand, has no trouble in seeing an apple as
large as it can hold in both hands, or twenty times as
large and as beautiful. He has the power to create it.
And it may be more powerful in its influence upon the
child's mind than the thing that is.

Among the ignorant, in all nations, this power of
fashioning pictures, visions, ideals, iuxs existed; and it is
where it has depended upon ignorance that it has led to
fantastic visions, and even to impossible things. But,
however imperfectly it has worked among the nations in
times gone by, this power of fashioning an imaginary
thing, and then having that imaginary thing come back
and act upon the sonl that fashioned it, has been working
out one of the most energizing and divine elements that
is in the human composition. For although there is
great nse and great glory in the management of things
that are, and are apparent to the senses, yet there is even

THE USB OP IDEALS.

331

e as it can

) create it.

kre iS even

infinitely more glory in tlio fashioning of things that tho
hand cannot handle, nor tlie eye see, nor the car hear,
nor tho tongne taste. Eightly used, the power of raising
up an ideal — that is to say, anything more perfect in tho
imagination than its prototype — belbre the senses; tho
power to put a better thing in the place of the thing
that is before you, or that you have, is a power which
lies at the root of all growth in the individual, and of
civilization in the community.

A man dwells first in a cave ; and by and by there
conies to him the thought, " If instead of living in a cave,
or worse, in a hoUowed-out tree, I were to put up'*four
posts, and cover them in, would not that oe better?"
The thought of a hut to a man who has been brought up
in a cave or a hollow tree is a thought of genius. It is
an ideal.

But when children brought up in huts begin to say,
"Why should we fore\^er live in this one room, where all
things go on together ? Why should we not have two
rooms, and put the dirt in one and the clean in the other ?
Why should we not have a house?" they also give
expression to an ideal. He who from a hut goes to a
house, has an ideal in his mind before he does it. No-
body ever stumbled upon a thing like that.

And when men had lived in houses, the thoughts of
multiplied apartments, and of more convenient ones, and
of passages, and of decorations, and of ten thousand
machineries of use dawned one by one upon their minds ;
and they were ideals before they were reals. They never
would have been reals if they had not first been ideals.
It is the things that you think of that leads to the things
that you do.

A man, himself a savage, found a crab-apple tree in
the wood^, and ate of the crab-apples, and scarcely thought
he would eat again, till hunger drove him to it; and yet
he thought, ^' May be there are better, or these may be
made better." Ah ! may he made better — that is genius
to him. The apple that ho thinks of is the ideal apple*

332

THE USE OF IDEALS.

^^1 ;ii 'I

T'iift acerb cnib-applo, puckery, iiiisatlstylnn;, i6 the real
applo. Looking at it he says, " Out of this may coinc
Bomothing bettor ;" and he plants the seed in a fairer soil
under better circumstances, and the products do prove
better. And some other man says, " If they are made
i)etter by transplanting once, why may they not be twice?"
And so, step by step, is developed the orchard.

It was by these processes, long delayed, and continued
through ages, through a thousand years, that the ideal
led on, step by step, to a higher ground.

Men saw that the acorn, which the squirrel, or some
other animal, scratched leaves or soil over, sprouted or
grow ; and they said, *' Why would they not grow if 1
should cover them with earth ?" So they began to open
the soil, and put in the seed. At first they opened the
soil with a sharp stick, pulling it themselves, and scratch-
ing a furrow. And tlien they said, " Why should I pall
the stick? Why should not animals do it?" And tliej
made the animals do it — and did not take out a patent-
right for it either ! And then the thought occurred to
them, "Why not have something better than a stick?
Why not shoe the stick with irun?" And by and by
came the plow. But the real wt ^ the sharp-pointed
stick ; and the ideal led on, from step to step, till we
have the plow ; and not only a plow pulled by animals
but a steam-plow, which is the final form of a rude stick
propelled by hand.

So we go from the real to something better. There is
something in us that says, " This is not as good as it may
be. There may come c ut of it something better." And
where a man, in looking on a thing which exists, has
power to conceive of a better form or quality or use for
that thing, or a larger sphere in which it may be em-
ployed, he has an ideal of that thing.

An ideal, then, is the conception of higher forms, or
qualities, in things, in conduct, in character. Every man
who is at all civilized iias ten thousand ideas. Everv
man who is a man with any vitality, if he has been civil-
ized or Christianized, has come into that condition in

THE USK OF IDEALS.

S33

which hia whole head sparkles and swarms with concep-
tions of thinj^a. lie is not content witli things as they
arc, but is incessantly Bugccstini^ to himself now they
might bo. And tlie might be is the ideal. How good or
how poor this is depends upon the nature of the man that
tiiinks it. To some it is meager. To others it is better.
To yet others it is very fine. To still others it is trans-
cendent. These last are geniuses — the highest forms of
men.

There can be no doubt, then, that this is a part of the
nature of the mind which God gave to it, and which is
necessary to it in the conditions in which it exists, and
through which it is to be developed ; namely, not to be
content with things as they are — neither with nature out-
side, nor with manhood inside ; but to have the power of
conceiving betterment, and then to have the power of
following that conception. And men in life — comprehen-
sively speakinir, society — are rich, not in proportion to
what they ha\ c realized, but in proportion to their power
of idealizing.

Sometimes we use the term ideal^ referring to things
as they are, and looking at them in an abstract light ; but
I am using it in the sense of holding up a rare pattern or
conception by which we may strive for improvement.
And it is the use and abuse of this faculty that I wish to
speak to you about this morning.

First, this capacity of having ideals ; of seeing things
which are not ; of perceiving what the things which are
may become — this capacity inspires life. It is this which
is perpetually waking up in men a desire to better them-
selves, and to better their circumstances.

Man is an unfolding animal. Whatever may be the
whole truth in respect to modern philosophy, there can
be no more question that man is a seed, and that in his
generation he unfolds, than that man exists at all. That
the race has been through a sei^ies of unfoldings is a thing
established, I think, beyond any perad venture. Now, it
necessary that such a creature, with such a peculiar or-

iiiiiiii r

334

THE USE OF IDEALS.

ftf ^^iBpi^n^HiH^^^^^^H

i '

\f '

ganization, by which he is to rise through unfoldings step
by step to a higher development, should have something
to stimulate him to this higher development. Content
in one sense, is animalism. Ideals makes blessed discon-
tent; not murmuring, not repining, but aspiration— a
sense of the unfitness of things. And a love for that
which is better is divine in a man.

The horse knows nothing about that, and the dog knows
nothing about it, so far as we know. The dogs and
horses never told me their secrets ; but there is no evi-
dence that any animal, except the rational animal, man,
has any sense of the value of the superior over the inferior ;
of the ideal over the real ; of things as they might be
over things as tboy are. This qii&lity belongs distinctively
to man. It is that very quality which sets him on the
way of development and improvement.

That which makes a man all the whiie fruitful of sug-
gestion ; that in a man which leads him to say : " What
is a matter of fact to-day may be better to-morrow ; and
what is a matter of fact to-morrow may be better the
next day "; that which keeps alive in a man the sense of
bettering and bettering, unfolding and unfolding is
divine. Ideas are the forces by which God brings society
up. Paine and penalties, in one sense, force men away
from gross animalism. Their attempts to live a large life
in the lower sphere are all the time met and thwarted.
God does not mean that men should live as animals do.
Wlen they attempt to live so he brings upon them per-
petual stripes. It is as if God were saying to men in their
universal experience ; " not down there, not down there ;
up, out ! up, out !" to drive them from a lowe r sphere to
the higher life.

There are these glowing suggestions, these golden
thoughts, these star-light ideals, that hang in the air above
men, and p/re winning them upward. These two things
—the pressure from below, and the drawing from above
— ^both together are continually leading men to untold,
to develop, to grow, and rise to the nobler and higher
spheres of manhood.

THE USE OP IDEALS.

335

A m an may be contented with liis fare. He may be con-
tented if he has brown bread, hard brown bread, Prussian
brown bread, and none other. If a man is in prison, he
may say : " I will be content with that ; I am too much
of a man to grumble because my food is not milled in
that way or in this." But a people, as a people, ought
to have higher food. A nation of men ought not to sit
down and say, " Poor, hard, innutritions, soggy bread is
good enough for us." For a race to do that is to make
swine of themselves. For special reasons an individual
man may rise above his circumstances. For a man who
is a martyr, and who has been accustomed to higher
things, and who is disdainful of lower things, it is noble
to have this content, and to scorn repining ; but for a man
regarded as a member of the great growing race or
species to have such contentment is beggarly. It is beastly.
It is being willing to stay in the egg when he ought to
want to be hatched. It is being willing to remain in the
nest when he ought to want to fly with the eagle. It is
being willing to be an animal when he ought to feel the
pulsations ot manhood far above the animal. Many seem
to think that to be content is a Christian virtue, tinder
some circumstances it is ; but under other circumstances
it is base.

There lived on the Miami Bottom the richest man in
all the county. He owned more hogs than any three
farmers in that region ; and he had more acres of corn to
feed his swine on than any of his neighbors. He had a
double log cabin with a second story to it. He lived up-
stairs, and the other hogs lived down stairs. The floor
was so loose and clattery that when the horses and hogs
got to kicking and squealing below, he could shove a
board one side and halloo at them to keep order. His
knife was a corn-cob with an old razor in it. There was
not a man in the county who had as much money, and as
much ground J and as many swine as he had. 1 will not
mention his name, for he may have some relations alive !

i^ow tell me, my friends, is the coarse, corn-eating,

u| r

836

THE USE OF IDEALS.

piff-swilling man who is master of a thousand hogs, him-
self the chief, and who is content with his condition, and
does not want anything better, an example of Christian
contentment ? Is snch contentment as his manly ?

"When the Prodigal Son champed his pod by the side
of the swine, should he have said, " This is good enough
for me; I will stay here and eat with these swine f
When he said, "I will arise," was it not the manhood
that spoke in him? Everywhere it is the divine in man
that says, " Arise ; look higher ; think more nobly ;
endeavor better !" To be content under certain circum-
stances is degrading ; it is devilish. But aspiration, tlie
having .. ideal and reaching toward it — that is divine,
That belongs to the higher manhood.

Ideals, then, rightly used, inspire life, and the truest
life, in men.

Ideals also redeem men from a life which is purely
sensuous, from a life that is unspiritual, and opens up to
him a future and invisible life. And this is true in regard
to every part of life that we touch. Faith means the
sense of things not seen. And the sphere of faith is a
most important sphere. It relates to character, and it
relates also to the future. There is no man that worb
and carries his work in his head, who has not the lower
form of faith. The man is thinking of things unseen who
lies awake at night and thinks of a new invention or of
the development of some machine. And it is a noble
thing for a man to work in physics in such a way that the
chamber where he works is invisible, though the work
itself when it comes out is to be visible. It is opening
up a higher realm when the workman is discontented
with the thing he does, and the manner of executing that
thing.

. It is said that a Yankee is restless, and is never con-
tented until he has changed anything that he has received.
Although this may be carried to excess ; although change
is not always improvement and advancement ; yet tlie
attempt to see if something cannot be made better at

THE USE OF IDEALS.

837

land hogs, Iiim.
5 condition, ai]f]

le of Christian
3 manly?
od by the side
s good enougl]

these swine?"
t the manhood
divine in man

more nobly
certain circum-
aspiration, the
that is divine.

,nd the truest

3ich is purely
3 opens up to
true in regard
th means tlie
' of faith is a
racter, and it
m that works
not the lower
:s unseen who
mention or of
it is a noble
way that the
Jgh the work-
It is opening
discontented
:ecuting that

s never con-
las received,
mgh change
!nt ; yG\ tlie
de better at

every step in our daily work is noble, and is pointing to-
ward the spiritual and invisible,

Still more is it so when it is applied to conduct. It is
noble for a man to endeavor to do the best things that
are done. The young man has any number of practical
examples before him, and he can select those who shall
be his models. He can select the highest and noblest
models of conduct, or he can select those which are
coarse and unmannerly, patterning after those who rely
on their muscle, and " strike out from the shoulder." A
man can follow those who are brutal and rude, or thoso
who are refined and aspiring. But when a man has made
his selection, and undertaken to follow his model, a higher
ideal may be suggested to him. He may have awakened
in him a desire to develop his true manhood. The
ambition may be set at work in his thoughts to do belter
than the average of those with whom ho associates.
And a man's conduct should be nobler than that of
ordinary men. One who is content to act just as every-
body else acts, and no better, is dead, to all intents arid
purposes. It is only the man who aspires, and seeks to
make his conduct better, and truer, and purer, and nobler,
and larger that is really alive.

If this be true in respect to conduct, still more is it
true in respect to character, or the interior conduct of a
man — the conduct of thought and feeling, and the
permanence which comes to it. !No man should be con-
tent with his thinking power, nor any part of it. No
man has ever yet learned to be so skilll'ul that he can
afford to say, " I do not want to be any more skillful."
Ko man can train his power of observation so that he can
afford to say, " I do not desire to have any better power
of observation." No man can be so high in reasoning or
generalizing that he can afford to say, " I do not want to
reason or generalize any better." No man can use any
of his disciplined parts so as to be able to say, " For all
my purposes I have reached the maximum." No man
whose disposition is naturally generous, and who has been

IMI

338

THE USE Ob IDEALS.

educated by his parents to higli-mindedness, can afford to
saT , in respect to any part of his inward character, "I
arfl good enough. I am hotter than men require ine to
be." True nobility never should be satisfied with any-
thing in any direction so long as there is anything better.
It is to go on from grace to grace, from fineness to fine-
ness, from good to better, from lower to higher. As long
as life lasts growth is to go on.

That is a good tree of which I say, every spring when
I go up to the country, " Ah ! It is l:)roader than it was last
summer. I noticed, a year ago, that I could see light be-
tween that and yonder evergreen ; but there is no space
there now. And I see that it has sprouts shootiug tbrei!
feet into the air this summer." I pronounce this to be a
wholesome tree. But not far from it there is another tree.
When I look upon that I see it has not grown. Leaves
cover it ; but there are no new shoots on the top, on the
side, or anywhere. And I say, " There is something at
the root or something is the matter with the bark ; or the
circulating system is out of order." A tree that does not
grow is not a sound or wholesome tree. And when I find
the next summer that half of it is dead, I do not change
my mind. And if I find the next summer that it is two-
thirds dead, I do not change my mind then. And when
at last the old tree stands and waves one branch, like a
sunk swimmer with one hand above the water, saying,
" So much of me is alive yet, but all the rest is dead," J
say to the axeman, " Cut it down : why cumbereth it the
ground ? "

When I see men who are all the time growing taller
and broader in their character ; and who, by the devel-
opment of their mind are fulfilling the divine intent, I
say that they are useful members of society ; but when I
see men stand still, growing neither taller nor broader, I
say, "Something ails them." When I see men whose
outward form remains, but in whom no sap is left, from
whom part after part has been taken away, in whom there
is no vitality, who are shrunk and shrunk, so that there

THE USE OF IDEALS.

339^

are only one or two faculties which are not cxtinguiBhe'i,
I say, " It is time that they were taken away. They are
useless."

It is life ; it is pressing forward ; it is the influence of
ideals which lift you uj), and never will let you have any
peace where you are — it is these things which go to make
a true and essential manhood.

Therefore, ideals prevent stagnation ; as where they
lead men to aspire who, if it were not for them, would be
content with things as they are in society. And this
leads to that everlasting question — in our land at any
rate — of the eonservatwe and the progressive. Who shall
decide between them ? One man says, " 1 am conserva-
tive." Another man says, "I am progressive." I ''ay
that if you are a wise man, you are both conservative and
progressive. If a man is wise, his back is conservative,
and his front progi'essive ; and to cut him in two is to kill
him ! If a man is all progressive, he is not sound and right,
and if a man is all conservative he is not sound and right.
I never saw a man that I cared anything about who had
not both the conservative and the progressive elements.
If a man is to be of much use he must have them both.

Some men, you know, when the team is at the top of
the hill, say, " Now, be free ! Do not use the breeching.
Use the traces. Loosen the reins. Go as fast as you
can." 1 say that that is unwise progression.

Other men, you know, are just the reverse. They will
not let you use the traces at the bottom of the hill, but
they will stop the team, and buckle the breeching as
tight as they can, and block the wheels for fear the horses
will run up hill too fast !

Now, both of these elements are indispensable to
society and to the individual. Every man should be
progressive, and every man should be conservative.
Every man should shake, and every man should gather.
Every man should sow, and every man should reap.
Every man should take seed, and throw it away ; and
when it comes back he should put it in the garner, that

340

THE USE OF IDEALS.

i|.

.^t, may have seed to plant a^ain. One of these elements
is the gleaning power, and the otheris the keeping power.
One cuts, and the other binds the sheaf. They onght to
he friends, and not enemies.

When men made the tread-wheel they imitated GodV
globe ; for when people are on tread-wheels, however
much they may like to sit down, they do not do it.
They are not allowed to. They travel on ; or, as tbo
wheel turns, stand still and walk. Tlie globe turns over
every day, and says to men, '' Keep ste^ !" It gives them
no time to rest. While they are in the world they must
work. Their business is to develop, Irom the lower
sphere into a higher. So long as men live in this world,
life means activity — activity in thought, activity in plan,
activity in desire. It means efibrt. It means out-reacli-
ing aspiration.

No man should think that he is good enough. IN'o man
should think that his household is good enough. No
man should think that liis house is good enough. I do
not believe in a peasant who is content with his dwelling.
I do not believe in a man who is so well satisfied with his
house that he does not want the chimney, the walls, the
floors, the windows, the appointments, something or other,
better. I do not believe in a man who cannot think of
some sort of improvement, though he may not be able to
make it with his own hand. It is not necessary that yon
should run to extravagance ; but you are not to look upon
your household arrangements as being sufficient. Yon
ought to regard them as things to be refined, to be im-
proved, to be made better.

There are elements in every-day life which vex it, tor-
ment it, hamper it, anger it ; and these should be watched
for and overcome. Every man should study to have
better thoughts, and to have a better speech. Men
should study to elevate the tone of their intercourse witli
those among whom they move. There is not a man who
always speaks across his table as he ought to. There
is not a woman who alway replies as she ought to. We

THE USE OF IDEALS.

341

know what the mnsic of life is ; but what jangling there
is in the air, like the sound of discordant bells from dif-
ferent steeples? How that which God meant to be
wonderful in its balm and blessing is made to produce
pain and sorrow ! For yon and me there is a better way
of intercourse ; there is a better way of business ; there
is a better way in the store ; there is a better way in the
shop ; there is a better way on the farm ; there is a better
way on the sea ; there is a better way in the street ; and
it becomes us to hunt for better ways in those spheres
where we are providentially placed. It is by trying little
by little to discover and put in practice better ways that
we are to elevate our lives. Nothing else will do it.

This is the foundation of all heroism ; for only by
dwelling upon things better than the level of life can a
man prepare himself to be a hero. Brethren, there are
not many heroes in the world ; 1 ut there is a vast amount
of heroism. "Whoever does a thing that is above the or-
dinary line of doing, so far rises toward heroism ; and if
it is a thing which can not be done without self-sacrifice,
it is heroic. There is man}^ a woman who is heroic be-
cause she can hold her tongue. Ah ! do not laugh. You
tie a man to the stake, and let Indians dance about him,
and stick slivers into him, and with torches light them,
and if he bears his suffering patiently, do not you see
that he is heroic ? And let a woman stand where every
inch of her nature, which is exquisitively sensitive, is
subjected to the extremest torture, and let her in spite of
it all manifest a disposition which is inexpressibly lovely,
and stands patiently, and "having done all, stand," — is
not she heroic ? There is many and manv a hero bv
reason of the virtue of silence. And I tell you that
God's histories will reveal more names than men's do of
heroism. There is scarcely a neighborhood in which
there are not heroic things done. Every day and every
hour there are heroic things done in our kitchens. I ask
the men who are acquainted with the lives of hard-work-
ing servant girls, " l5o they spend their money for them-

842

THE USE OF IDEALS.

g^vM i

selves or for others ?" And the report on every hand is
that they toil night and day, year after year, to earn
enouffh to enable them to send money to their kindred.
And do you tell me that there is no heroism in the kitchen 'i
You think heroism must be on Mount Athos. It is on
the plain below !

Wherever a heart beats for others, and goes out to
succor others, and acts disinterestedly, at its own cost and
sacrifice, for something else or somebody else, there is
heroism. Alas ! that we cannot join heroism to heroism ;
but it is expensive food. Men cannot aiford to be heroic
except in spots. Yet, if a man is never heroic, why is he
on earth ? Why is he not dead ? He is dead ; why is he
not buried ? Men break out here and there with patience
in places where it requires a vast amount of grace to be
patient. Men perform deeds, nm risks, go through perils,
for the sake of doing good. And such men manifest a
spirit of heroism. But I am sorry to say that a sort of
average conventional goodness seems to deaden heroism.
I tell you, I love my kind so much that I am always glad
to know that even bad men have something good in them.
I hardly dare repeat to you a fact that came to my know-
ledge ; but I will.

The San Francisco was carrying a cargo of women of
the street, and she was overtaken by a storm, and it was
evident that but few of those on board could be saved ; and
one who was there told me that not one on that ship in
their distress was more calm and disinterested and help-
ful of others than these low creatures. And from the
bottom of my soul I thanked God. Do you want to see
every spark of virtue trod out of those that are degraded 'i
Are you not glad when you find that there is a glimmer
of it left* in them? I was.

There are many bad men here and there in whom you
will see heroisms. And whenever you see an act of dis-
interestedness above the level of ordinary endeavor and
conduct, be sure that an ideal of heroism has been there.
For heroism is born of forethought. You cannot sow

THE USE OF IDEALS.

343

cockle-seed and thistle-seed and find an oak tree growing
from them. "Wherever you see an oak tree growing, you
may rest assured that an acorn has been there. Heroism
does not spring out of that which is all vulgar ; and yet
heroism comes from those in whom there is much vul-
garity. Thervs are many persons who are living not far
from the firey gate of hell, but who have thoughts that
are heroic. And oh, that they had the power of resur«
rection in them by which they might lift themselves up
out of the slougn an(^ make these occasional thoughts
frequent and these frequent thoughts habitual, and so
save themselves ?

Ideals also prevent conceit. How men become vain
when their standard is low ! How natural it is for men,
having a low standard, and never raising it, to th'^^k, not
only that they have come up to it, but that they really
have overgrown it ! I have seen the Glycene Chinensis
grow eighty feet high ; and everything ought to grow to
the extent of the capacity which it has in it; but I have seen
it come far short of that, I had one myself. Although
it was planted in the best of soil it would not grow a bit
the first year. The second year it grew about an inch.
The third year . it grew about a foot. In the course of
five or six years it got up some six feet high — about on a
level with the balustrade of my veranda. I have no
doubt that that Glycene felt proud and conceited, and
looked down, and said, " "Well I am up above this balcony,
ain't I ? "Why, I have done splendidly well." If you
will only make your ideal mean enough, you can every
one of you feel that you are heroic. I pulled nip the old
thing, and threw it away. And it did it good ; for when
Mr. Turner found it, and carried it to another place and
planted it, it took the hint, and commenced to grow, and
became quite large !

What men want, is something to give them a better
ideal of growing. No man who looks down for his
measure will rise. It is a shame for a man to excuse
himself for the undeveloped condition which he is in by

THE USE OF IDEALS.

Baying, " The law lets me do so and so." "Whom was the
lawjcnade for? For those who could not go higher than
tlie average strength of the whole community. And are
you not stronger than the average of the community ?
No man lives who should not be honester than the law
requires him to be. There is no man that should not be
more generous than he is required to be by public senti-
ment. There is no man who ought not to be a better
man than his circumstances require. Every man should
be more highly developed in manhood and truth and
wisdom than the majority of men in society. You should
set your standard high, and then strive to reach it.

A man who looks up all the time is never a great man
to himself. Are you a poet ? Then do not get poetasters
to read, and say, " I write better poems tlian they do,
and therefore I am a better poet." i».ead Milton ; read
Shakespeare; read Homer ; go t) the old Englishmen of
immjrtal thought, whose drums and trumpets have
sounded clear down through the ages to this day ; go to
the grandest and noblest of our thinkers and writers ; sit
in council with them ; and then see if you are not a
dwarf — a pigmy. It will make you humble to have high
ideals. But a man who forever measures himself by
pigmies and dwarfs, and thinks he is better than they —
what is he but a mountebank among pigmies and dwarfs ?
A true ideal tends to cure the conceit of men, and to rank
them. Says the apostle, " Let every man think of him-
self as he ought to ttiink, soberly, according as God hath
dealt to every man the measure of faith." The measure
of faith? What is faith? It is the sight of invisible
excellence. It is the sight of noble qualities unseen. It
is the sight of ideal grandeur. Let every man measure
himself by that conception, and then think of himself as
he ought to think ; let him think of himself as lowly and
poor and neeedy ; and he may well call out for help and
for grace.

I will add one more head to this side of the subject.

The ideal is peculiarly Christian ; because Christ came

THE USE OF IDEALS.

S45

to give us a new life ; lio came to give renovation to
(;liaracter. Christianity is simply the theory and the
pliilosophy which tcacfies how to deal with that character
which is superinduced upon the animal conditions of man.
It may be that man sprang from the animal. I have no
objections to that. It may be that he came to his higher
nature by development. However that may be, this
higher nature which has been developed on and above
the animal nature is the part of man which Christianity
comes to instruct you how to develop still higher — how
to make salvable and immortal. And every man must
of necessity, if he is going to be a Christian, have an
ideal character. God must be an ideal to him — that is,
something conceived, rather than something seen. And
heaven must be an ideal to him — that is, something that
is before him in his thought, and not before him by his
senses. And so, all that throng of angelic influences—
the communion of the Saints with the world ; the con-
ditions of the upper sphere ; that ministration of angels
which has been recognized in the old dispensation and in
the new, but which has almost died out of men's faith —
all these come through the medium of the ideal.

When, therefore, the Apostle says that G-od has chosen
the thinors that are not to brinoj to nousfht the thinojsthat
are, m the light of this discussion does it not become a
very plain thing ? Does not the declaration, that God
hrings to nought the things that are, become very plain
when he treads down vulgarism by the ideal of a higher
manhood ; when he treads down vice and violence, and
puts under all things that are, and makes them subject to
the higher and nobler nature ? When this element of
faith ; when this conception of an ampler life, and of a
nobler self; when these invisible, intangible things —
things that are not — when all these things shall take the
place of things external, and fill the whole world with
their light and glory, and m3n shall develop anl aspire,
do not you see that a new mjaning will be given to tha
Gospel, and that God hath chosen, the foolish things of

346

THE USE OF IDEALS.

ths world to confound the wise, and the weak things of tht
world to confound the things which arc mighty^ and the
hose things of the worlds and thi»,gs which are despised^
and things which are not, to bring to nought things that
aref

Brethren, take hoijae this fiubject to yourselves. Thoro
is a plentiful application which you can, every one of you,
by your thoughts, minister to your own cases. Have you
an ideal in every part of your life? Do you liold the
light of better things over every one of your passions and
appetities, over every institution and relation, over all
social economies, over all business, over all civic and
political relations ? Do you live by the bright picture of
something better than that which you have attained ]
Do you chasten the vulgarity of daily life ? Do you
refine the cares and necessities of daily life ? Are yon
growing larger, sweeter, finer, and better ? If so, then
you are children of God, and heaven is already begun in
you.

PRATER BEFORE THE SERMON.

How fair is the world which thou hast made, O Lord our God I
How wonderful art thou in thy glory, and in all thy thoughts of
beauty, and in all the excellence which the earth doth show forth !
And yet, where hast thou made anything so beautiful or so full
of sweetness as little children are ? They are of thee, and they
bear something of thy nature, and shall go back to thee, to report
what history has befallen them upon earth. They are thine, and
are lent to us. And what joy do they bring ! Though they come
crying, how do they come to bear smiles and laughter, and full-
handed joy, in years and years that flow on ? How light is the
house with them ! and how dark it is without them ! How full of
strength dost thou make their little weakness to those who arc
called td take care of i-hem ! How in nourishing them, do wc
nourish ourselves ! How in teaching them, do we ourselves learn I
How are we taught what God is by that which he makes us to be
by those little ones that are so dear to us !

"SA

THE USE OF IDEALS.

847

: *^^^^>'98 of ik,

fjhtyy and the

are despised

ht things that

)lves. Tliore
i7 one of you,
K Have yoii
you liold'the
'passions and
;ion, over all
ill civic and
jlit picture of
|V6 attained \
e ? Do you
3 ? Are von
■Tf Bo, then
dy begun in

ord our God I
y thoughts of
1 show forth !
iful or so full
ee, and they
lee, to report
■e thine, and
;h they come
er, and full-
light is the
How full of
ose who arc
hem, do wc
lelves learn!
kes us to be

When we look back and think of our childhood ; of ourpleasure
in our father's house ; of all the golden hours and rich experiences
which wo passed through : when wc think of what our own
children have been to us, and how much there has been of joy
even in our care of them, and how much of sweetness in our
Borrow in connection with them, and of rest in our labor for them,
oh, what reward do we see that thou hast brought to ua I and how
much over and above what wo have suflfered ! How can we enough
thank thee that life begins thus at the smallest — at the seed ? How
can we thank thee enough for the helplessness of the infant, and
for all its growing days, and for its waxing knowledge ?

Wo thank thee that society is so organized, that the strong must
care for the weak ; that though men in their strength are arrogant,
yot little children can lead them ; that they are cocpelled to bow
down to the cradle ; that they must nccas humble themselves
before the helpless and needy.

We rejoice in all that thou hast done for the household, and in
the household. We thank thee for its purity, for its sweetness,
for its light, for its joy, for all the tokens of heaven that ure in it.

And we beseech of thee. Lord Jesus, again do what thou didst
upon earth: take these little children into thine arms. None
forbid the parents, now, to bring them ; and none think that little
children are too small for thy care ; for thine example, and thy
beneficent love, have wrought more and more through the ages,
till we know that God thinks of the least things. Look after these
little ones. May their lives and their health be precious in thy
sight ; and wilt thou go before them, and prepare the way for
them.

Prepare the way, also, for the blessing that comes with sorrow
in the parents' hearts. We beseech of thee that thou v-ilt be
gracious to these parents Quench not the light of that hopf
which they have. May they hold up these children, and behold
them as angels in the sun. Holding them before the face of their
Father, may they seem to them as God's little ones. May they
look upon them with thee for a background. With their loving,
may they think of thy loving. And so may human hearts answer
to the divine throb : so may there be deepened in them a sense
of what it is to be parents, and of what it is to rear children for
life ..nd immortality.

We pray that thou wilt grant, this morning, as hundreds look
upon this scene, and call to mind their own children, that those
whose hearts are sore and heavy yet with grief and unspent tears,
may have a blessing. Baptize, even with the dews of divine
grace, those who monm for their little children; and we pray that
thou wilt comfort their hearts if they are heavy, and enlighten
them if they aro dark.

348

THE USE OF IDEALS.

We beceech of thee that thou wilt grant thy blessing to rest
upon all those who find the burden of their life very heavy for
them. Bless all parents who mourn because they cannot do lor
their children what they would. Console those who see others
bringing up their children in prosperity, and opening for them the
doors of knowledge and skill, while they in their poverty an^l
weakness and obscurity cannot do anything for those that tliev
love so much. Lord God, may they have such a sense of thy
providence, and such a trust in thee, that they shall feel sure that
their Father in heaven can do for their little ones what they on
earth cannot do for them.

And we beseech of thee that thou wilt be with those who mourn
over children that have come to them sick or deformed, and that
have no prospect in life, and look with sad eyes upon the ways ol'
men. We pray thai thou wilt have mercy upon them, and give
them a power of faith by which they shall see their children, not
as they are in the infirmities of this mortal life, but as they shall
be in the perfection of the life which is to come.

Have compassion, we beseech of thee, upon all those who have
reared their children sadly, and drank deep the cup of aflliction
for them. Grant, O Lord, that they may have such a sense of the
other life, that they m.ay have such a sense of the great mercy of
God, and of the power of the Spirit, that they shall not feel that
all is lost, and that all hope is gone. We pray that thou wilt
strengthen those] who still combat with evil in their offspring.
and lead them to a greater patience, to a conquering faith, and
to a sense of God ever present — Immanuel — that shall enable them
to go on from day to day, and bear as long as thou dost think it
best that they shall bear.

We pray that thou wilt join us together by affection more and
more. Purify our hearts ; and add to our love, wisdom. Bring
forth faith in us ; and may it be a faith that evermore works by
love. May we in faith, and simplicity, and innocence be little
children ourselves. We pray that thou wilt grant that more and
more wo may grow up into a manhood of true Christian expe-
rience. May the day come, when from childhood our children
shall be brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.
We pray for the cradle. We pray that the paths which lead
from it may lead upward, all over our land, and throughout the
world.

We pray that thou will grant a blessing to those who give their
time and strength to the teaching of the poor and ignorant.
Instruct them. Strengthen them. Grant that they may reap their
joy aa they go along from day to day, and have no need of
sympathy from others, or of any other blessing than that which
thev receive in doing good. May they know, from their own

THE USE OF IDEALS.

34.9

blessing to rest
very heavy for
y cannot do Ibr
who 3ce others
ng for them the
eir poverty anrl
those that thev
a sense of thy
ill feel sure that
es what they on

hose who mourn
irmecl, and that
pon the ways of
them, and give
2ir children, not
3Ut as they shall
e.

those wlio have

cup of affliction

h a sense of the

B great mercy of

all not feel tliat

y that thou wilt

their offspring,

ring faith, and

all enable them

u dost think it

Iction more and
isdom. Bring
■more works by
icence be little
that more and
Ihristian expo-
our children
•n of the Lord.
jis which lead
hroughout the

Iwho give their
]and ignorant,
lay reap their
|e no need of
m that which
lom their own

experience, that it is more blessed to give than to receive. And
while they water, may they themselves be watered. While they
pour out, O Lord God, do tlinu pour in, that their hearts may be
ever-flowing fountains, undiminished.

Grant thy blessing to rest upon this church ; upon all the
families in it ; and upon those members of it who are scattered
abroad throughout the world.

Look in compassion ujjou those who are present with us to-day.
All that are in trouble ; all that are heavily laden ; all that need
help of any kind, may they find thee here to-day. Look with
compassion upon all who are home-sick ; upon strangers in a
strange land ; and upon all who think of their dear children left
behind them. Grant to them the blessing of the presence of God,
and the sanctifying influence of the Spirit. May they put all their
trust in God, and feel that everything shall be well with them.

Now, Lord, we pray for thy blessing upon the further services
of the sanctuary to-day ; upon all our duties ; and upon our labor

through the week

and grant

that we may go on from Sabbath

to Sabbath, from Sunday to Sunday, until at last we reach that
great joy-day above, whence avc shall go out no more, and where
we shall be forever with the Lord.

And to thy name shall be the praise, Father, Son, and Spirit. —
Amen.

^^;x'::l?^:-:->->:^^:V:V^

WUU^^^^SSSk

THE HARMONY OF JUSTICE AND LOVE.

" Now the end of the commandment is charity out of a t)ure heart, aud
of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned. "—1 Tim. i., 5.

HE object that the Apostle ha i in uttering these
words is shown in the verse preceeding :

" Neither give heed to fables and Godless genealogies wLieh
minister questions [that is discussions], rather than godly edifying which is
infalth." .

He is giving an exhortation to Timothy. He is instruct-
ing him how he shall carry himself, and how he shall teach
others to carry themselves. His exhortation is this, sub-
stantially: "The little, petty questions that spring up
among the Jews, and among the Jewish Christians, about
descent, and about ordinances, and about days, and about
observances, and about genealogies — there is no end to
them. They only make men dispute one with another;
and you never can settle them in the world. They do
not make men better. They do not improve their temper ;
they almost always make them more irritable. They do
not make them more lovely ; they almost always make
them more unlovely. They do not instruct them: they
almost always blind them. They make them think that
they kno\7, when they do not know. They do not minis-
ter to edification." Thus he speaks of those questions
which they were so likely to discuss.

Then he declares what the great end and object of
preaching is. The end of the commandment — that is,

THE HARMONY OF JUSTICE AND LOVE.

351

the foundation on which we and everybody must stand ;
the foundation of all public and private instruction; the
thing which the commandment undertakes to bring about
in this world; the result which it is to produce — this, the
apostle says, is charity, by which we mean love — the
largest kind of love — love formed "out of a pure heart,
and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned." This
is the object of all teaching, of all organization, of all re-
ligious institutions.

Now, any system of theology that, being legitimately
preached, does not produce "charity out of a pure heart,
and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned," is false,
no matter what the materials are that are put into it.
A;^d every church organization that does not produce
"charity out of a pure heart, and of a good conscience,
and of faith unfeigned," is not a Christian organization.
And any administration of the truth, in the hands of any
church or sect, no matter whether it was apostolic or not,
no matter if Paul, and Peter, and a dozen like them,
living to be as old as Methuselah, had come down to
that church or sect, and to that administration, if it
did not produce in its members " charity out of a pure
and of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned,"
would not be a Christian administration. For the end
of the commandment is that. That is the thing to be
produced by the administration of truth, and by orga-
nization, and by preaching. That is the thing which
every man is to aim at. That is to be the fruit by
which we shall know that men are Christians.

This exposition is remarkable. There are many
things in it which I shall not trouble you with to-day
— for I shall resume it. But the exposition of the text
itself is full of philosophy.

Following Christ's declaration that on love hung all
the Old Testament dispensation^ Paul says, yet more com-
prehensively, that the whole end and aim of the com-
mand — that is, the old dispensation and the new one —
is Love. He declares on that they center. He saya

352

THE HARMONf OF

Hi!

that this is the one great supreme end. But that which
is peculiar' here, is this : that he unfolds that love aa
complex, cither in its nature, or else in its mode of de-
veloping the mind. It is not a mere complacency. It
is not gf)od-nature and general kindness without any
other moral consideration. True Christianity — that
which the term Christianity means in its highest in-
spiration — when it speaks of divine love, requires that
it shall not be an effection proceeding out of moral in-
difF3rence, or out of a low, flabby state of half-animal,
half-spiritual kindness ; but that it shall be a love " out
of a pure heart." It is that benevolence which springs
from a nature in which the highest moral sentiment
predominates, '^o man is capable of issuing divine
love, who is living under the control of his animal ap-
petites — of his pride and selfishness. For the love that
the Bible means, and that the apostle here expounds, is
that love which is capable of being generated and issued
out of pure thoughts ; out of the highest spiritual sen-
timents ; out of the noblest moral instincts. It is the
fruit and voice and spirit of the highv^st part of a man's
nature, and not of tlio lower parts of his nature. It ia
therefore a love that belongs first to God, and next to
us by so much as we are divine, or are able to approach
in sympathy to the divine elements.

But this is not all. It is a love which must have
other attributes ; or rather, it is a love which must car-
ry with it those elements which we erect into attributes
as if they were separate from it, and different from it.
It is a love which carries with it, as a part of itself, " a
good conscience."

Now, conscience, is but the generic term for moral
sense. It is the fountain of truth ; and so it carries the
intellect with it. It is the fountain of recitude ; and
so it carries righteousness with it. It is the fountain
of honor ; and so it carries all that glow and sensi-
bility which surrounds the highest experience of recti-
tude. A true Christian love is one which must spring

■■^n

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

353

out of the highest moral sentiment, and which must
also carry with it "a good co'iiscience." "A good
conscience" is a part of it. ''A good conscience"
ribs it up, and gives it backbone, and makes it clear to
the core, solid, strong, efficacious. Love without any
conscience is namby-pamby. It is mush. True love
lias in it the noblest sense of charater, "out of a pure
heart." True love has in it an all-embracing sense
of truth — the beauty of it, and the reality of it. True
love is made up of elements which render it necessary
that it shall have a discriminating regard for that which
is right* It carries beauty and philosophy and moral
excellence in it. tt is a comprehensive affection of the
soul.

Even all that does not exhaust the wonder of this di-
vine experience ot true charity, or love ; for its full
scope and quality can not be known until we see it
with its own atmosphere about it. If it be simply an
affection of time and change, limiting itself bj^ the tran-
sient elements of this world, then it can in no respect
resemble that affection of love which God experiences.
Therefore it must have elevation above all physical con-
ditions. A true, divine and Christian love must take
hold on the invisible, on the future, on the infinite, on
the eternal. And that is the scope of the term " faith "
here used as the last-named source of that "charity "
which is the end of the commandment — which is that
for which God put the commandment into this life.

What, now, is chanty ? It is that sublime likeness
to God which carries with it purity of heart, conscience,
and faith. It is the generic term for the truths which
lie outside of this life — for supersensuous truths— for
truth that are invisible — for truths which belong to
places and realms that are beyond the reach of the
body, or of scientific truths ; for science limits itself
to that which the body can take hold of. And this is
that which the apostle says the commandment was put
into the world for. And his business was so to preach

354

THE HARMONY OF

li-

and to hold up that commandment as to produce this
kind of love, or chanty.

From this consideration of the nature of true divine
love, or charity, light may be thrown upon the ad-
ministration of justice and benevolence in the divine
government.

It has been the habit of men, on the one side, to feel,
and sometimes to teach, that justice has a field all to
itself, and that mercy has a field all to itself; as if they
were two very different things, not only, but as if when
one acted the other did not. In other words, as in hu-
man experience men are angry, thoroughly angry, so
that they feel nothing else but anger, and then, when
that has passed away they are thoroughly good-natured
so as not to be at all angry, — their minds being like a
handle with two blades, one of which being open ; the
other must be shut, or one of which being shut, the other
must be opened ; so men have transferred this purely
human affection, according to its weakness, to the divine
administration ; and there has been an impression that
God was a God of benevolence, to be sure, but that he was
also a God of justice. It has been supposed that some-
times he is a God of j ustice, and sometimes a God of love ;
and that when he is the one, he can not be the other.
And when he is a God of justice it behooves sinners to
look out for his sword, that goes flashing through the uni-
verse — that and nothing else ; but when he has vindi-
cated his will, then his sword is put up, and then comes
the scepter of mercy — that, and nothing else. As if
mercy ever could exist, and be a divine quality, unlessi
it had justice in it all the time ! As if any justice could
exist that had not mercy in it to the very grain and
core ! As if you could separate the two ! As if, be-
cause we, in our whole animal conditions, do separate
them, and because we are unable to rise to the highest
forms of moral development, we were to carry the
analogue up, and separate love and mercy in the divine

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

355

administration, and make God as poor and meagre as
men are ! Bat such has been the habit.

This has tended to raise up reacting views. There
has come up on the two sides of this disposition, two
general schools or theology, one of which revolves
around the conception of God as a benevolent gover-
nor. And his benevolence, to their thought, is largely
a benevolence of moral indiiference, or of fatalism — or
fatal good nature. They usually are a rebound from
the other school — from those men who have constitu-
tionally a large conscience, and large reflective facul-
ties.

These latter form to themselves an idea of govern-
ment among men. They believe that law is indispen-
sable to good government, to national life, and to indi-
vidual happiness. And by their constitution they are
on the side of justice, as the administration of law.
"Put down," they say, "put down whatever will dis-
turb society. If it will get out of the way, let it ; but
if it will not, put it down. And as much pain as is
necessary to do it, must be inflicted.' They transfer
that which is human to the divine nature, and gay, " In
the infinite realm God is just, and he must govern by
truth, and law and justice ; and all that will be true
and just and upright shall be happy ; and all that will
not must take the consequences, and be overwhelmed
— or, if they are not, it will be because there is some
special interposition of divine mercy. They hold up
the mechanical character of a God governing, first, by
justice. " For," pay they, " he must be true." ''■ First
pure," they say, " and then peaceable." But has not
a man a right to be peaceable until he is pure ? Do
you suppose it is the absolute, philosophical, arithme
tical order, that a men shall be first pure and then
peaceable ? Must we quarrel until we are pure ? And
yet, this question is discussed, and arguments are plied
to show that God must be just before there is room for
anything besides justice. It is said, not only that he

356

THE HARMONY OF

- 1 1

must be just, but that in order to save by his Son he
must exact justice before ho can j^rant happiness.
Mercy, according to their view, must stand back, as if
i* were something separable from justice, and different
from it. They believe that in the Government of God,
first is justice, with all its infinite modes of administra-
tion ; with all its infinite penalties, with all its
infinite outlying consequences. Their idea of God
is that of a Being who stands in a justice tliat is
fcjomr thing other and different from the spirit of
lO"'.. And this idea has been lifted up before men.
And "^ do not hesitate to say that where the most *' Gos-
pel " i<9^. been preached (strange inconsistency !), there
the preuu ainent idea, to this day, of Christians is, that
God is a Being to be feared, that he is a " consuming
fire," as he is represented to be in the Old Testament.
That has been tlie one thought which has cast a lurid
light over communities. Religion has been made un-
attractive, and sometimes even repulsive, because men
have helo' that God was a God of justice, and of a jus-
tice which was separate and different from love. As if
there could be any justice but that which love inspires
and directs ! And yet that idea has crept into men's
beliefs, and the result has been that there have risen up
two systems of theology, in onfe of which the predomi-
nent idea has been, justice administered by divine power.
And this idea has gone on augmenting and intensify-
ing, until the hell made by justice has been a caldron
only smaller than the heaven into which myriad ages
have been pouring contributions. And God, because
he was just, has all this time been sitting in the top-
most heaven, carrying on this gigantic slaughter of
creation ! He has gone on creating the eight hundred
million creatures of the globe, and pouring them end-
lessly down, untaught, unhelped, without good neigh-
borhood, without Christ, without the Bible, without
revelation from any source, under the pressure of the
circumstances around about them, swept by a resistless

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

357

fate to their pitiful end, all because God could not
spare, or did not spare, or would not spare ! That has
been preached and held up before men.

I. do not wonder, therefore, that there has been a " r-
ritic rebound; and that there has risen up on the u*-,:.. er
side a school of men that said, " Away with suc.j a
bloody tyranny ! Away with such a notion of God !
God is good — too good to make sutt'ering." And yet,
the wail of poverty in the street ; the winter wind that
brings dismay to thousands and thousands of our fel-
low creatures ; the myriad forms of distress which exist
throughout the world — these all teach us that there is a
God that will allow suffering.

The whole creation has " groa ^e< and travailed in
pain until now." And can it b sa". that there is no
purpose in it, no motive tor it ^ Can it be said that
there is to be no disciplinary su'^'eringin this world,
and in the world to come ? \nd yet there have been
men who have made God on. » j be a Being so good
and kind that he cannot bear to cause a sigh, or see a
tear, that he cannot bear to produce suffering ; who
have made him out to be a pellucid, smiling,
easy-going, good-natured God, that excused every-
body; that said, " You had better not do so and so,''
but still, if they will, lets them, and does not punish
them for it ; whose indulgence is like that of a foolish
parent, who, seeing a child going headlong to destruc-
tion, is too kind to subject the child to that discipline
which is necessary to arrest it in its downward course.

And so there has sprung up that swollen, obese and
miserable conception of a Governor in heaven, who in
his administration, made no difference between right
and wrong ; no difference between sin and righteous-
ness ; no difference between guilt and merit ; no dif-
ference between obedience and disobedience to law.

If there is anything taught by nature and providence,
it is that God is a God of justice as well as of love ; that
when love rules in heaven, and puts its soft arms

S58

thb: harmony of

C
^

'■"1

around men and lays its soft handa on men, there arc
bones in those arms and in those hands ; that love
means truth ; that love means justice ; that /ot*e meanp
government ; that love tends to produce the one and
the other, all the way through ; and that l^ore is no
difForence between them. Love working by enforce-
raenta is justice, and justice working by kindness is
love. They are not to be separated. That love which
includes justice, is the one identic dvelopment of the
divine disposition by which, not the means, but the
ends are to be looked at.

What is God administering for? What is the pur-
pose of the problem of life but to develop men, and
bring out their powers, and carry them forward to a
better state of existence ? And in working out this
problem, God punishes those that are disobedient. He
stimulates those who are prone to self-indulgence or dis-
couragement. Tears are lessons. Groans are modes of
instruction. Sufferings are ways of discipline. But they
are sufferings inflicted, not for the sake of giving pain ;
not for the sake of avenging any wrong committed ; but
for the sake of refashioning, reforming. And the love-
work of God throughout the universe is the production
of love. In other words, " The end of the command-
ment is love out of a pure heart, and of a good con-
science, and of faith unfeigned."

This whole error springs from the habit of regarding
divine attributes purely in the light of human infirmi-
ties. It is true that man must reason from his own self
to the divine. This is h difficult process of reasoning.
It is one tliat is beset with liabilities to error. Neverthe-
less, it is the only ladder by which we can ascend from
our own moral consciousness to the divine consciousness.
You have just as much knowledge of God as you have
in yourselves the mond susceptibility to interpret from.
If you have no feeling of conscience, you have no means
of understanding what conscience is in God. If you
have no love, if you have no patience, if you have no

ill

JUSTICE AND LOVE,

359

long-suffering, then 3'on hnvo no elements by which you
can gain a t»'ue conception of the divine nature. And so
we must fashion our own idea of God from some moral
consciousness in ourselves.

But scrupulous care is required that we shall not se-
lect our lower nature, and transfer the conception which
comes from that to the divine nature. Nor should we
take the imperfections of our higher moral nature — those
strains of experience which we have by reason of onr
limitation and our lowness — and raise them up as tlic
ideals and models after which to fashion our conceptions
and ideals in reference to God. We are to seize the
luminous hours in our experience which reveal the
higher manhood of the soul ; and fi-om these we are to
get an ideal from which v^e can reason toward God.
And even then we shall sec Ilim as through a glass
darkly. Our best conceptions, our truest ideals, onr
highest moods — even these interpret but very imper-
fectly the divine nature to us. And yet, it is this, if
anything, that must interpret him to us.

!Now, in interpreting God from ourselves, why should
we disjoin these moral emotions, as if there were not in
us the hints and beginnings of that which is in God in
its perfect form ! As men are uncultivated, their facul-
ties work separately and individually. As men are cul-
tivated, their faculties more and more work together.
What we mean by civilization and education is not simply
the development of force in each facultj^, but subordina-
tion in groups of faculties, and, above all, selection and
harmonization between faculties, so that the mind
comes out of many different tendencies to a certain sort
of moral unity. By education and civilization we mean
especially this : the so using of any faculty, or any set
of faculties, that all the rest shall be in harmony
with it. Men, when they are yet uncultivated, separate
feeling and intellect. Intellect goes one way, and feel-
ing another. As men grow truly cultivated, the feelings
carry with theiQ intellect, and the intellect carries with

860

THE HARMONY OF

it feeling ; and tlicy are not separated. That h a
spurious refinement wliieh makes men bo fastidious that
they must have a power that will not let feeling conio
up and mix with it. All true culture and development
carries feeling in reason, and reason in feeling; for true
culture tends toward harmonization and unity. When
men are low, there is no such thing as taste, there is
nothing hut sent^e, to them. They want fact. They
want exactitude. They want literality. They want
bestiality, almost. But as men carry up their develop,
ments, not simply in the realm or sense, or that which
is accurate, or that which is eftectual, but in the realm of
imaginatioji, of taste, of the higher emotions, these two
realms do not interfere with each other, but harmonize.
They come together easily iu a high state of develop-
ment.

In the lower forms of life personal liberty leaves men
unbound. They throw off law and throw off all res-
traint. But in the higher forms of development, men
find that the way to be perfectly free is to be perfectly
faithful to duty. That is, obligation, obedience to the
highest conception of duty, carries the highest personal
liberty to man. Duty and unity belong to the higher
conditions of life.

I have already illustrated that love in its lower
forms, tends to act toward justice or anger, at one
time, and toward mercy at another time ; but as men
grow wiser and come into , better relations, we see how
it is that lovO carries a perpetual justice, and justice a
perpetual love. We see then the noblest representa-
tion of the unity of these feelings and their inseparahle-
ness, not alone in the houseliold, not alone in the
parental relation, but in the relations of friendship.

There is nothing that you are more sensitive to than
the excellence of those whom you love most. You
cannot bear that those whom you love should not be
pure and true. You can tolerate imperfection in any

' !

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

861

others better than in thoBO whom you love. You
want them to represent your hi^liest ideal.

Take the familiar instance of a mother. I think
that a great-minded woman, who is all but a Christian
by nature, and who is then enriched by grace, und
brought into the conscious syr.ipathy and affinity of
the Lord Jesus Christ — I think that such a woman,
administering in the household, presents the best con-
ception of moral government, and the best conception
of mediatorial work, and the best conception of aton-
ing love, which it is possible to present on earth. Men
have gone to kings to get it : I go to my queen. Men
go to states : I go to my household. Men go to generic
sources : I gu to specific. You shall nowhere find a
pattern so near to the Lord Jesus Christ, and to the
grounds and reasons of moral government, in the
atoning grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, as in a great,
rich, ripe, sweet-minded woman, who is bringing up her
household of perhaps six, seven, eight, nine children.
And the illustration is all the more striking where, as
is sometimes the case, a woman does this with poverty
in her own family, and yet is sweet-minded, and is
always working, though never for herself, and is never
weary, and is willing to be interrupted by this, that, or
the other one, and is always living for others, in
others, under others, spending or being spent to lift
up those that are weaker than she — those that first
drew nutriment from her breast, and who all the rest
of their days have been drawing life from her heart of
love, she continually pouring out the spirit of love for
them.

And yet does she not bring tears from them ? Is
here anybody else so rigorous against meanness as
she ? Oh ! how she hates it in her children ! But does
she gnash her teeth at them, because she hates it?
Does she smite them ? Yes, sometimes ; and she ought
to ; for she cannot always get along without it. if the
infliction of physical pain can be avoided, it is boti er to

862

THE HABMONY OP

avoid it ; but there are times when it must be resorted
to. It is a matter of temperament and constitution,
whether you shall bring in physical as well as moral or
other motives. But this is the thought : that in the
administration of love in the family, pain and pleasure
are instruments, alternatives. And for the sake of
what ? for the sake of making suffering ? for the sake
of satisfying a broken law of the household ? for the
sake of vindicating tne dignity and personality of tJie
mother ? No. The end of her administration is to
work those children up to a disposition '* of love out of
a pure heart, and of a good conscience, and of faith
unfeigned ;" and she administers to that end, mingling
all the time with her administration, truth, purity, duty,
and integrity. And her sternest moments of integrity
are wrapped about with the atmosphere of love and
goodness. And you cannot take the two elements
apart. There she stands in the household, and is God
to those children till they have grown up ; and Ijcr
example there is one of beneficencCj and furnishes tlie
best conception that we can have upon earth of a gov-
ernment which consists of self-sacrifice ; of living for
otherR ; of pouring out one's life for others, and of ad-
ministering so as t bring them up from their low estate
to a life of excellence. And in her treatment of them,
punishing or rewarding them according to the dictates
of her best judgment as to what will promote their high-
est welfare, you get a better ideal of the government of
God than in the whole realm of human life besides. No
king, no schedule of kingly government, ever came
half so near to representing the divine government as
this mother's administration in the household.

Now, is it necessary, even in reasoning of the divine
nature from our experience, that we should separate
love and justice, and make two Gods — one a God of
mercy, and another a God of justice ? or that we should
make God a God of love at one time, and a God of jus-
tice at another ? that wo should make him now a C)od

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

363

of sternness, and then a God of mercy ? Not at all. God
is alwa^^s just, or he is never just ; he is always merciful,
or he IS never merciful. lie is the same yesterday,
to-day, and forever. He always mingles love and jus-
tice together ; and both of them are instruments for
building men up from the lowest forms to a glorious
perfected state of manhood in the future.

All such representations, then, of the divine moral
f^overnment, as naturally and necessarily leave the
impression that because God is good he is careless of
moral distinctions ; all such representations as leave the
impression that God is good-natured^ rather than good ;
that he will not permit suifering ; that he will not pun-
ish the wrong-doer ; that he leaves nature, a vast
machine, to turn out results without praise or blame-
worthiness — all such representations proceed upon a
theory of benevolence which is neither Scriptural,
experimental, rational nor philosophical. The general
effect of such views, if left alone, is to lower the tone of
conscience, to diminish the inspiration of spiritual life,
and to deteriorate, ultimately, the morals of the
community.

On the other hand, any representations ot divine jus-
tice in the moral government of God which leave it
before men as doing or permitting things which fairly
shock an intelligent benevolence, does so upon a false
philosophy both of government and of the attributes of
justice.

The quality of justice is indispensable to the highest
form of love. Love thinks, reasons, discriminates, pre -
fers, chooses, condemns, punishes, and yet is never
cruel, but is always love. Love i.s just. It is the nature
of love to be just, to be true. It does not take two
natures to mike the two things. It is the office of love,
when it shall have risen up out of its lower co'idition,
ami out of its traiuiug-grouii I, to bring forth fruit of
justice as well as of love. That is the way it acts, and
pursues its end.

364

THE HARMONY OP

It is perfectly fair, then, judging ot the truth by
various representations of the divine government and
of the divine nature, to say that any view which shocks
that feeling educated under Christian teaching, in
Christian families, and by legitimate Christian truth,
is false. In other words, that moral susceptibility, that
moral sense of rectitude, and that moral sense of
obligation which are the legitimate fruits of Christianity
In us, become a tribunal before which we have a right
to judge, not God, but men's representations of God;
not everlasting truth, but the systems of truth which
men propose for our adjudication and for our acceptance.
And the moral sense of Christendom is obliged to
review, in every few centuries, the systems of theology
which exist, and to take out the naturalism and heathen-
ism which there is in them, and substitute for them the
truth as it is in Christ Jesus.

There is but one other poiut that I shall make. As
yet, I think no man can frame a system for the actual
history and the actual events of the world which unites
both sides — divine justice and divine love. They are
separable among men, but united in God. We have
never risen high enough to lay an explanatory conception
on the course of histor3\ I do not despair of its being
done in this world, but I do not expect that it will be
done in my day. The mystery of history is an unsoluble
problem. Take the highest idea of moral government
ovor the world, and attempt to apply it to the events
that have chequered the flow of human life in this
world, and you are met at every step by questions un-
answerable. In Job you will find precisely the same
reasonings that are advanced to-day ; you will tind there
the same line of argument which may be found in Byron's
works, in G oethe's Faust, and in the philosophy of each
succeeding intelligent age. You And as magnificently
set forth in Job as in any subsequent literature of the
world, tlie question of how to reconcile the facts in life
with the conception of the nature of a divine Governor

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

S65

who discriminates between right and wrong. That is
a question that is not solved ; and we hav^e not risen
high enough, as yet, to solve it. Ages may do it ; but
we are not in a state to do it now.

And as we cannot go backward, and lay an explan-
atory philosophy on all the events of history, still less
are we able to go forward with it. That is to say, it is
impossible for a man to lay down a schedule of what
God must do and will do in the future. I am shocked
to see how little I know, sometimes ; and oftener to see
how much other people know. I hear people discussing
theology and showing a familiarity with the divine na-
ture and the divine government which is perfectly
wonderful. I hear men say that God cannot do this,
and that He can do that, as though they had been in
His counsels, and found out everything that he knows.
"AVho by searching can find out God?" why, a theo-
logian — a theological professor ! Everything in the
alphabet not only, but everything that the alphabet can
be made to spell out, he knows. Men make their
wicker-work systemsof theology the basisof a familiarity
with divine thought and divine action and divine being,
which is truly astounding. One would think that a
man's soul would feel itself abashed, as the revelator
did, before angels, and much more before God, whose
immensity of experience so far transcends our highest
moods of experience ; and yet, men look up and say,
'' God goes just so far in that direction, and just so far
in that; he is just so long, and just so broad." They
have the doctrine of the divines nature and the divine
government all studied out. They can tell you exactly
how it opens and shuts. It is like a Chinese puzzle ;
and if you do not know how you cannot, and if you do
know you can, put in every piece just right. If you
believe just so, you are ''orthodox," but if you do not,
you are a " heretic." If you believe so and so, you are
a " Pelagian ;" or, if you are not that, you are a
"semi-Pelagian." And what an awful thing it is to bo

366

THE HARMONY OF

a "Pelagian'' or a "semi-Pelagian" all one's life, and
not know it ! " You arc no better than an Arminian,"
says the Professor. Yo do not know what that is ; but
whatever it is, you wish you were not that. And you
are afraid of being an "Arian,'' a " Socinian," a
"Pelagian," and pretty much everything else. "We
have ever so many mad-dog names on points that are
mystical, or on points which human knowledge is inad-
equate to grasp. These blind theories of government
are the ones on which there has been more persecution
than on any others ; and they are to-day the test ques-
tions, the shibboleths, that separate between church and
church. Is there on earth a body of men that God has
more blessed than He has the Methodist church and
ministry ? And why do they stand separated from the
great Presbyterian body ? The " Five Points of Calviu-
ism," "Foreordination," the "Decrees," the "Decree
of Reprobation" and the "Decree of Election," an
" Efficacious Calling," so that a mar: nhall not fall from
grace, and a score of other doctrines (I have forgotten
them ; my education is incomplete in this regard) —
what are they but so many metaphysical views of the
divine government, and the divine character, which
separate these two great bodies of Ch:istians ? And so
tlie Arminian stands firing at the Calvinist, and the
Calvinist stands +'"iag back at die Arminian. They
are at j»greemvra i respect to the great essentials
of religion, and yei these non-essentials are a wall of
separation between them — though, thank God, the wall
is getting lower and lower, and the spirit of love is
growing stronger and stronger.

Only see how those that are alike in theologies, and
in church polities and sympathies — the great Baptist
brotherhood and the Pedo- Baptists — are separated by
their difference of belief on one or two minor points of
doctrine? One says, "You may baptize children."
The other says, "You niay not." One says, "You
must put them all under." Tbe other sa^'s, " It is only

[■4 _.i'^]

JUSTICE AND LOVE.

367

necessary to sprinkle them," That is all that separates
them. There is not a turnpike so hard, there is
not a way so hroad, that these brethren can travel on it
together with this little bit of difference between them.
They hold the same general doctrines, and employ the
same symbols ; but this slight variation in the mode ot
administering a rite keeps them apart.

And so it is all the way through Christendom. You
shall find churches split up, here on doctrine, there on
polity; here on organization, there on robes ; here on
days. There are the "Seventh-day Baptists," and
there the *' Sixth-day Baptists" — no, not Sixth-day
Baptists — yes ; at any rate there are those that say } oa
must keep Saturday, and there are others that say you
must keep Sunday. And ii I laugh at them and say
"What diflerence does it make," the}' say, " None, so
far as the da}^ is concerned ; but is not ohecliertcc some-
thing ? That is the question," " Eh," says the Seventh-
day Baptists, " Did not God command us to observe
the seventh day? And is of?5o6fc/2>7?ce nothing?" And
80 they entrench themselves behind this tecL^iicalit/ of
obedience or disobedience.

If I go to those who believe in immersion, and Bny,
"Do you really think that it makes any di-f^ere:ice, Vrhen
one is baptized, whether he goes under tho v'ator, or is
sprinkled ? " they say " It makes no dift'erei.'-o so far as
the mere effect on the individual is (oncernei; but if
Christ said, ' Go under the wat •,' the obedience or dis-
obedience makes a great deal difference." Well, I
cannot get away from that. They have got me tiiere.

If I go to an Episcopalian, and say, "Now, do you
think it makes any difference about my salvation
whether I am in the 'true ( tiurch' or not ? Do you
not suppose that I can get to Heaven out of my own
church as well as out of yours? "he says, "TVelL the
mere church is nothing, but if Christ said that thii-^. was
the true church, then obedience is something."

And so they all have their little catch- word obedience^

8G8

THE HARMONY OF

as if that were the marrow ot Christianity ; as if God
thought of tliese little screws, and nail-heads, and tacks I
They may have some value in the machinery ; but they
are only parts, and minor parts of it. " The end of the
commandment," says the ttpostle, the whole thing which
the commandment aims at and is designed to produce,
" is charity out of a pure heart, aud of a good conscience,
and of faith unfeigned."

Now go home and quarrel over your doxies. Go
home and quarrel over your churches. But remember
that he who loves God, and is accepted of him, he whose
love is outpouring an intelligent beneficence from a
pure heart, from a sound conscience, and from a true,
unfeigned faith in th future, is the sweet product, the
golden fruit of the tree of life. And pray, whatever
may become of baptisms, and days, and ordinances, and
rituals, which are permissable, but not authoritative —
pray that the end which the commandment seeks, may
be wrought out in you.

PRAYER BEFORE THE SERMON.

Our Fatlior, teach us to pray. As thy disciples gathered about
thee, blessed Saviour, and asked knowledge of the way of thought
an i faith and love, so do we. We do not need to ask thee for daily
bread, as though we were hungry ; for our wants are abundantly
supplied. It is rather for us to give thanks than to solicit. Nor
do we come to thee to ask thy help by which we shall be able to
live in all this outward estate. Already thou hast so inspired us,
and hast surrounded up by so many influences, that w^e are guided
aid taught and sustained. But how shall we come to thee as chil-
dreii come ? How shall we understand thee when only out of our-
selves can we find and fashion those elements of thought by which
to ^'isccm thee ? Oh ! how poor are we in goodness! nud how is
lov itself but a struggling taper in us ! Often plunged in selfish-
l: ; ; olkn worldly and calcidating ; seldom shining far above the
hi izon, md beyond tlie reach of mist and vapor; poor as the stars,
lie ^ Hhall wc uaderstjind thy nature of love and infinite beneficence

JUSTICE AND L0^T5.

3C9

thnt wearies not ; that never forsakes truth ; that never forsakes
justice; that never forsakes goodness ; that "bears in itself eternal
truth and justice and fjoodncsH, and y(!t forever loves, beneficent on
every side, in act, in thought, in plan, in administration, in attri-
bute, and in fruit and outcome ; that in all things is full of the
desire to create happiness in men, and to continue them in enjoy-
ment ? How shall we form anything in ourselves that shall raise us
to the conception of the goodness of thy nature ? What do we
know of long-suflFering, who are tired in a day? If thou that sittest
on the circle of the earth art not tired ; if thou that art ever on the
battle-field of life art unwearied ; if thou art the same yesterday
today and Cprever, what is there in us that can interpret thee?
Who, by searching, can find out God ? And if we draw near to thee
to pray ; if we would commune with thee, exchanging our thoughts
for thine, speaking with thee as children may speak with a parent,
then we need to say to thee, Lord, teach us how to pray. Teach
us better things in life. Teach us nobler feelings. Teach us those
aspirations that shall break upward toward thee. Teach us that
renunciation that shall cure pride, and selfishness, and envy, and
jealousy, and every hateful and malign passion. Teach us to live
above the power of the senses, and in the realm and under the do-
minion of faith, more and more, from day to day, so that every day
we may be better fitted for communion with thee.

And now, Lord, we desire to thank thee, this morning, for the
help of days past. For our sky is not altogether clouded. Bright
is it in places, though there are storms in the heavens which our
passions bring. We discern thee afar ofi", though we see b\it thy
retreating glory. Thy face we cannot see while we are in the flesh.
We rejoice in our past experience, and in the hope which it begets
in us for the future. And we desire to give ourselves to the
ministration of thy good Spirit opening our hearts wide, and not
grieving thee by our coldness or want of the disposition to welcome
thee. Enter, O Spirit of light and comfort and purity ! and cleanse
onr hearts. Illumiue them, and fill them with the divine life.
And we pray that we may walk with a holy hope and faith of that
life which is not far beyond us, and to which we aspire. We shall
not carry thither all our joys. Many of them are earthly joys,
which dry up upon the stalk, and which the wind rattles ;
and these shall be left behind. We shall not always be
seeking those things which perish in the using. We shall not
say to the eye, thou art my God ; nor to the ear thou art my
king. We shall yet live and be as the sons of God, and dwell
in an immortality of nobler pleasures, and brighter joys, and purer
aspirations, forever fulfilling themselves. We shall be as the cbil-
dven of the living God.

Grant that that life beyond may never q^uite fade out, and that

870

THE HARMONY OP

there may come more frequent hours "when it shall shine out llko
the very gateof Jieaven. Speak to us, O thou blessed God! by thy
inaudible voice, 'hat the soul only knows. Gjant us the witness of
the Spirit that ,ve arc sons of God And if v. e do not know wliat
that means, may it rise up in us as music heard afar ofl', Avhose tones
cannot be distinguished. And may it centre in us. And so may
wc hear the sounds and feel the influences from the heavenly lund.
And may wc long-, if it be the will of God, to lay down our burden,
and our duty, and our life, that we may find our nobler life and our
better joys with thee.

Accept the thanks of all those who come up this morning to thank
thee that thou hast heard their prayers; of those that thank thoe
for strength given them to accomplish the purposes about which
they were sent in thy providence ; of those that thank thee for groat
escapes from circumstances oi" fear; of those that thank thee for re-
stored health ; of those tliat thank thee that in the midst of deep
bereavements and afflictions and distress, thou hast held their head
up above the wave. Accept the tlianksgiving of those that would
thank thee if they dared, but think that they must not. Break through
all such fears, and show thyself not only to those that are near, but
to those that are afar oS all the more. Be with those who tliink
themselves to be thy children, and give thanks to-day. And thoiie
that are wandering from the fold, away from their Father's house.
Grant that they may have a better mood to-day, and lift them up
to a plane where they shall have some thoughts of thanksgiving to
their God.

And we beseech of thee that thou wilt bless all that are in trouble.
And if they have come up here to have their troubles lightened,
give them not release unless it be best for them ; but say to them
(and may they feel thine arm about them), " My grace shall be suf-
ficient for thee." And we jjray that there may be this release, that
we shall be able to bear trouble by the grace of God, and to become
stronger by it, and clearer in the faith of the Lord Jesus Christ, by
darkness and by light.

And we beseech of thee tliat thou will be near to those that can-
not come unto us, nor mingle their voices here ; who are shut up it
may be, by sickness. Be gracious to them, and send thine angels
to minister sw^eet thoughts to them of that rest which remaineth
for the people of God. May there open up before them light from
the other world, and may all their gloom and sadness be cheered
away by the communications of thy dear Spirit.

And we beseech of thee that thou wilt be near to those that
watch with the sick ; to those that curry great burdens ; to those
who, in beholding the i^lay of life, recall their own lives, and ail the
multitude of the mercies of it. Shed the influence of thy Spirit
upon them, we beseech of thee. ,

JUSTICE AND LOVR.

871

) those that

And we pray for those who nro disconsolate, and -who sit in dark-
ness of mind. May a prent light arise upon them. Go to them,
thou comlbrtinjT Saviour.

And if there be those who mourn over their sins to-day ; if Iherc
he those who are heart -hrokon in view ot their own wickedness;
if there be those whose consciences bear witness npainst them, rnd
all of whose better nature stands up and accuses them, stand thou,
dear Saviour, on their side. Justify them ; speak peace to them,
though they be sinful. And grant that they may hear thy voico
saying to them, Love and justice are united. Thy sins are forgiven
thee. Rise, go, and sin no more.

"We beseech oif theo, O Lord our God, that thou wilt grant thy
blessing to rest upon all, according to their own circumBtances— in
the unmentionable circumstances of their life ; in their hidden
thoughts, or hidden joys, or hidden griefs ; in those troubles that
they cannot themselves understand, or that, if they could under-
stand them, they coukl not mention.

Be with those that nre lar from us to-dny on errands of thy
providence, wherever they are. May thy Spirit go with them.
May they find a home ; mny they enjoy the Sabbath ; and may they
find a sanctuary of worship, though it be in the wilderness.

Be with those that have gone down upon the great deep. Espe-
cially be with thy servant, our brother, who for so many years has
ministered near unto ub, and here frequently. Be with him, and
■with his ; and keep him yet in the hollow of thy hand. And during
the months of his separation from his people, and in distant lands,
Lord bless him in body and in soul. And spare him to come back
again, and to shine brighter, and be stronger and mcvre fruitful in
the work of the Master than ever he has been before. And keep
the people of his charge, and a'.i their households. May death
spare them, and light abound with them. And may the sanctuary
still be strong, and thy servants labor together lor the things that
are lacking now in their midst.

And so we beseech of thee that thou wilt bless all the churches
near unto us. May we think more and more of them, and not
altogether of ourselves. May we seek to take hold of hands with
all that love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. And carry
forward thy great work in this city, and throughout all our cities,
and throughout this whole land.

We pray for schools and colleges, and seminaries of training.

We pray for all that are in authority in this nation. We pray
that thou wilt give us magistrates that shall fear God. May our
laws become purer ; and may the administration of them become
more and more righteous. We beseech of thee that thou wilt
remember all governors and counsellors in this Union. Be pleased
to remember the President of these United States, and his cabinet

,?■

872

TnW HARMONY OF JTTSTTCFl AND LOVE.

Mi!

in counsel with him. Give thrm wisdom, and give thrm tho
Bpirit of the living God, that they may do their duty as in the
fear of the Lord.

Bless all that are in authority throughout the world. May tliov
rule diligently, and in mercy, and without selfishness, and without
oppression.

Wc beseech of thee that wars may speedily come to an end.
May men learn a better way. May they learn to lift up the light
of knowledge upon the whole earth. May darkness and supcrsti
tionflee away, and tlie bright day of knowledge and of piety couic
and all the eartli see thy salvation.

Which mercies we ask in the name of the Father, of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit, Amen,

►VB.

give them tho
duty as in tln>

)r\f\. May tlioy
!S8, and without

rac to an ond.
lift up the lifriii
SH and supcrsti
i\ of piety come,

her, of the Son,

VI.

LOVE,
THE COMMON LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

"Now the end of the commandment is charity out of a pure
of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned." — 1 Tim. i., 5.

heart, and

HAVE already spoken from this passage, defining
what "the end of the commandment" means —
namely, the rcsnlts at whicli it aims ; the frnits
which it seeks to prodnce ; the reason which it has for
being, for exercising authority, and for its activity in the
world.

It aims to secure the great, the universal spirit of
benevolence, charity, love — by whichever term your ])hil-
osophy styles it. But that it may not be supjtosed that
charity, as here employed, is a mere mild sentiment, a
mere well-wdshing, kind, but weak, or at least feeble, the
apo&tle gives his conception of Christif.'U charity. It is a
feeling that arises, not from any casual imjuilse of nature.
No experience can rise to the height that justifies you in
calling it charity or love, whicli springs merely from
interest, or momentary generosity. It is that charity or
that state of love wdiich can spring, and does spring, only
from a pure heart — or, in other words, a heart which has
been divinely developed; which has been opened up into
a state of symmetry and purity. That is a heart in which
the moral and spiritual elements predominate over all
casual impulses, and over all the lower nature of man.

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WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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374

LOVE, THE COMMON

I*'

That is, out of the very highest moral and spiritual ele-
ments of man's being must this love spring which it is
the nature of the law to produce. Nor ought we to think
that this love, or good-will, which springs from men's
noblest faculties, always works by ihe conferring of
happiness, or that it seeks only present good. It seeks
men's enjoyment by men's perfection. Therefore it is
always an element that goes with the spirit of justice,
equity, righteousness. Love out of a pure heart — out of
the noblest instincts of nature, love that goes with a
sound conscience — that is, with that whole mood of our
moral being which discriminates between right and wrong,
gcod and bad, high and low in character — this is the
love which always carries with it moral purity, and
* which carries with it, also, discriminating equity.

But then, it might still be thought that it was a senti-
ment V hich was exerted upon mtn for the sake of their
lower life, for their present convenience; and. therefore
it is added, " By faith unfeigned."

Now, *' Faith is the evidence of things not seen."
Faith is the soul's realization of those trulhs which are
invisible. In othtr words, the action of that part of our
mind is supersensuous. It does not work by the senses.
It is higher than the scientific side of the mind, therefore,
if by science you mean the art of knowledge that comes
tarough the senses.

So, then, we conclude that benevolence, or the love
which Christianity develops and. makes the supreme end
of its existence, is not a monochord ; that it is a composite
thing ; that it carries with it the great sterling elements
of truth, of righteousness, of justice; that it carries with
it, not the present existence alone, but the life that is to
come — the great realm of faith. It is the largest and
supremest action of the mind which is conceivable.

Certain inferences were made during our former con-
sideratidh of this passage which we shall not recapitulate.
Certain questions were argued which it is not necessary
now to argue again. There is further matter to be derived
firom the words Qf the Apostle. Aad I remark :

LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

375

1. The commandment given to men may be assumed
to be, as it is taught in the word of God to be, a com-
mandment which represents God's life and disposition.
Not only is it a transcript of the divine will, but it is
also a transcript, to a certain extent, of the divine life.
That there are many things that man is commanded to
do, either by words addressed directly to him, or by the
organized laws of nature, which do not belong to the
divine Being, is not to be denied; but of the fact that the
jjjreat ends of human existence are the same as those ends
which God himself pursues, we are not left in doubt.
And when that, on which all the law and the prophets
liang, when the law of the New Testament — the new
commandment — is declared to be love, and love in that
large way in which it is expounded by the apostle, it is
fair to say that this is the universal law — a law not for
man alone, relative to his lower condition, but for all
])eings in the universe, in their vanous conditions, from
the highest to the lowest. It is because man is a member
of the universe, and because God is training the whole
universe to final unity, and because all his intelligent
creatures are to come into unity with eaah other by
coming into likeness and unity with him, that this great
law of love is instituted. And this law is the law of
heaven as really as it is the law of earth ; and of God as
really as of any of his children. It is a law which in-
cludes all beings alike — the highest and the lowest ; the
least developed and the most nearly perfected.

Always, then, and everywhere, now and hereafter, we
are under a law which is turning us toward this one great
element that the apostle declares to be the end and object
of the world's existence — the production in us of this
^ superlative and overraling feeling of true benevolence ;
not aa indifference to gjodiiess ; not an indifference to
truth ; not an indifference to right and wrori». It is a be-
nevolence which includes in it all tliese thmgs ; which
makes them a part of itself : which wraps them up, and
strengthens them, and gives them vigor.

■i

•MM

■sfe"' ■

i«3.''

SL:-^:-r-

376

LOVE, THE COMMON

2. The genius of creation and the genius of the universe
may therefore be inferred, properly, to be benevolence,
this does not exclude the use of stern or of forceful ele-
ments, by any means ; but it does determine the purpose
for which they are used; and it does determine the
average direction which it may be supposed is taken by an
economy in which all things are used under the super-
vision and inspiration of a central and divine benevolence.
Which way time is traveling, which way the universe i^
traveling, and under what power of inspiration, is a matter
of profound importance. Nature has the power of teacli-
iug much. It has taught but little. It is susceptible of
teaching far more than men have ever yet found out by it.
Men have found in nature, comparatively speaking, but
little in respect to God; and that little has been, if I may
so say, on the side of the natural or physical attributes of
God. We have found out from nature how God treats
matter ; we have found out from nature how he treats the
lower forms of animated existence ; we have found out
from nature how he treats the lower forms of humanity :
but hitherto nature has been studied by men who were
undeveloped themselves, and only parts of what it is
capable of teaching has been found out. The higher
reaches of knowledge nature has not disclosed as it has
the power of disclosing them. Even the apostle, reason-
ing in Romans, declares that men might have found out
God's '' Eternal power and God-head" " by the things
that are made" ; but the apostle does not say that we can
learn God's benevolence from nature. I do not believe
that the terms and arguments of divine benevolence can
be sustained by that argument. ]N^ature is full of apparent
contradictions. Force, in the history ot the world, has
been stronger than right. Cruelty has had more scope
than kindness among men. Thero is that mystery of or- '
ganization by which, from the lower to the higher, each
thing is more or less made to depend upon tlie destruc-
tion of something beneath it. We see on every hand the
working of that law by which being feeds on being, clear

LAW OP THE UNIVERSE.

377

up to man. And there it is only reversed wlien the
Gospel comes in, teaching us rather to suffer for another
than to make anotlier suffer for our good. At that point
is introduced the law of benevolence. But looking
through nature comprehensively, in its low^r ranges, it
would be difficult to discern the evidence of a law of
benevolence administered by a divine providence. In the
material world there is much that is beautiful, and there
is much that is lit, and there is much that can be made to
serve benevolent uses ; but the question whether the world
itself, in its construction, indicates a benevolent Artificer,
will be settled very much according to the circumstances
and education of the person that reasons. If he is himself
evenly balanced in constitution ; if he has been brought
up charmingly ; if he has been very happy : if those around
about him have been very happy ; and if he has looked
upon every thing from the churchly point of view, and
seen every thing under the most favorable circumstances,
he will be likely to think that nature says that God is a
God of love. Nature evidently makes him wise and
powerful ; but when you look at the outlying race ; when
you look, not at the few that are fortunately circumstanced,
not at the few that are housed and husbanded in the
family, but at the masses of mankind ; when you look at
the vast volume of animal life, and attempt to find in
their history evidence of the divine benevolence, you fail.
To me it is impossible to see in the lower history of the
universe proof that God is benevolent. That part of
nature does not determine it.

But then, we find this : that the lowest part of creation,
inorganic elements, and the lowest forms of organic
material existence, are governed by absolute force. Rising
higher, we find, in the lowest forms of human existence,
that fear and intense terror begin to be introduced as a
motive -force. Rising still higher, we find that as the
lower forms of social life come into the sphere of
voluntariness, motives ^row milder. That is, men are
susceptible to higher innaences, and they have new points

378

LOVE, THE COMMON

I I

I .L i

of susceptibility developed in them, as they rise in the
scale of being. And as new ranges of faculties come in,
you will find coming in with t>liem higher principles of
government, that tend to control men by the higher and
better elements, and not by the lower ones ; until, when
you come to the higher forms ot human life by being
educated and developed, then you will find that the
governing force is implied, rather than used. That is the
undertone, the sub-base. Jt may be that the melody runs
far above it in the direction of piety and moral life.

In other words, you will find that there is an ascending
scale, and that the divine government which is indicated
in nature is this: when things are low they are governed
by forces which are appropriate to them ; and from the
lowest point all the way up, in every stage of existence,
the governing motives are exactly adapted to the condi-
tion of the things governed, and all that is low is governed
by force, and force that has in it coercion, yea, bruising
cruelty, simply because it is the only thing that is adapted
to the lower stage of developement ; because it is the only
influence that can at that point be brought to bear upon
existing things.

Taking in the whole of nature, then, there is an anal-
ogy which points toward a central benevolence, in this:
that while at the lowest state of existence we see nothing
but fate, nothing but force, there is amelioration from
that point, in an ascending scale. It goes higher and
higher, from force to lenity, and from lenity to mercy and
love. And the analogy points still farther. It points to
a realm beyond this life, where all government is benev-
olence, and where, having emerged from lower and
disciplinary conditions, the race and universal existence
will be governed supre-nely, not any longer by the law of
force (for their state sliall hive been amsliorated) : not any
longer by the motives of fear and terror (for they shill
have escaped from the bondage of these tilings) ; not any
longer by considerations of interest (for thoy shall have
risen higher than these) ; but by the principle of love.

LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

379

At last there are hints and indications of nature that the
race is governed by disciplinary and recuperative forces.

Put, in order to this conclusion, the Christian idea of
pain and suffering must supplant the old Eoman, the
Tuscan, that is, the heathen, idea. Our notions of justice,
to an extent that is hardly dreamed of by ourselves, have
been vitiated by the infection of heathenism. There
existed nations that loved the infliction of pain, as the
old Komans did. And the Spanish bull-fights to-day are
a coarse exhibition of that which pervaded ancient Roman
jurisprudence and afterwards the Romish Church, and
which we did not shred off at the Reformation. For many
things then stuck to us which we might well have got
rid of. This most repulsive idea of pain ana suffering
was derived from the Tuscans, who are said to have had,
as shown in their art and literature, the most horrible con-
ception of fate and of the future existence of all nations that
ever lived on the face of the globe. And this conception
ot the infliction of basilar, fundamental pain and cruelty,
as the right of the gods, has been handed down from age
to age ; and men have framed into their theology the idea
that, lor reasons of his own glory, God foreordained, from
all eternity, portions of the human race to be vessels of
wrath, to be cursed and made miserable forever and
forever. And we find that infernal, heathen conception
of Grod coming on down to us through the various modi-
fications and channels of theology. So that yet, in the
minds of many men, this pain and this suffering are a
part of the divine sovereignty and the divine right,
indicating in God a love of pain and suffering as such.

Now, you cannot, in calling a being by another name,
make him enjoy suffering without making him malignant ;
and any being that loves suffering for its own sake, any
being on whose heart the sight of suffering produces a
pleasurable response is infernal. And there has been
many and many a man who said his prayers to the devil
thinking that he sat on the throne of Jehovah.

What is the Christian idea of pain and suffering? That '

180

LOVE, THE COMMON

'111

It is a means to an end ; and that the end is so blessed and
glorious in the fruition of joy as to justify the intermediate
Btage of suffering and pain. Thus justice is not ignored.
Christianity recognizes a government of justice, and a
government of pains and penalties, now and hereafter.
But they are not pains and penalties for the sake of
indulging any being in an unnatural and hideous ecstacy.
Every throb of the great heart of Christianity is a blow
to the infernal conception that God sits and enjoys the
sufferings of the damned. It is enough to make men
renounce their faith even to think of such a conception
IS this, as taught with authority, and as kept alive in
some of the most excellent Christian sects of this day.
It is a hideous, outrageous slander upon the grandeur of
the love and the purity of the adminstration, and tlie
beneficence of the wisdom, of the Ruler of the universe.
"But," it is asked, "is there not Scripture for itf
There is Scripture for anything that a man wants Scrip-
ture for. Yes, there is Scripture for it, just as there are
knives in the ore of the mountain. You can get the ore,
and you can make assassins' knives ot it, or you can
make plowshares of it. Scripture is a great forest, and
you can go into it and cut timber and make it up into a

^ great variety of utensils. You can make a flail out of
this text; or you can make a plow-handle out of it; or
you can buiM it into a cradle ; or you can make out of it
a warrior's spear-handle. Scripture is the most usable
and adaptable thing in the world. It is with that as it
is with nature. God has spread good and bad through
the world. There are poisons here, and fruits there, and
grains yonder ; precipices lift themselves up on one side,
and meadows and gardens stretch themselves out on the
other; dangers and benefits, sorrows and joys, lie before
men ; and they can take the one or the other. And tlie

, necessity of choosing is a part of their discipline. It is a
part of the education of their intelligence. And it is
their interest to take the right things.
The spirit of Christianity, as I have already intimated,

LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

881

J 80 "blessed and
le intermediate
is not ignored,
justice, and a
and hereafter,
tor the sake of
lideous ecstacy.
,nity is a blow
and enjoys tlio
L to make men
h a conception
8 kept alive in
jts of this day.
he grandeur of
ration, and the
>f the universe,
ripture for itf
m wants Scrip-
ust as there are
can get the ore,
it, or you can
reat forest, and
ike it up into a
e a flail out of
le out of it; or
_ make out of it
the most usable
with that as it
.d bad througli
•ruits there, and
up on one side,
lives ont on the
joys, lie before
ther. And tlie
|cipline. It is a
ce. And it is

jady intimated,

is that of remedial suffering, which is consonant with the
spirit of true benevolence.

" Wliom the Lord lovetb he chnsteneth, and scourjrcth every eon whom
ho rcceJveth. If ye endure chnsteninjr, God dcnleth with you as -with sons ;
for w^dt eon is he whom the Father chasteneth not ? Biit If ye be without
chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons.
Furthf-more, we have had fathers of our flesh wliich corrected us, and we

fave th»m reverence ; shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the
athcr ol spirits, and live? For they verily for a few days chastened us after
their own pleasure; but he for our profit, that we might be partakers of his
holiness."

This is the charter of administration. It is the marrow
of history. It is revealed by the spirit of Christianity
that there are in the divine love all these operative forces.
God, although he is full of beneficence, governs matter
as matter must be governed. And as the existence:^
which he governs rise in the scale, he changes the form of
government from that of brute force to that of moral
force. Even in the lower lorms of human existence,
physical power is of necessity em ployed, and government
IS painful ; but as men rise higher under this education,
there come in social motives and interests. And as in
this school of discipline men rise still higher, they come
into an academy where the government is moie gentle,
where there is less pain and more pleasure ; and when
they have come to this stage in the development of their
moral sense, they have reached such a degree of spiritual
susceptibility and refinement that God can deal with them
as with sons, and they become partakers of the divine
nature, and are no more strangers and foreigners, but are
friends of God, and enter into his confidence, and come
under his immediate inspiration, and live by the power
of his Spirit which is in tl cm.

Now, to me, the comlort of all this is in this thought
that the genius of the universe, that that which has its
hand on the helm, is not fate, is not cruelty, and is not
indifference ; that all the vast work that is going on is a
work which is under the inspiration of this central spirit
of benevolence. It is a henevolence that is determined

t4.

382

LOVE, THE COMMON

to have pnritj, hecanse that ia the most beneficent thine.
It is a benevolence tliat is detei mined to nse all the instru-
ments that are neccFsary to Pccnro pniity now and here-
after. Therefore it is love " out of a pnre heart, and of
a good conscience, and of faith nnfei^ned." It is a lovo
which takes in the present and the Ihlnro, the now and
the herealter. It is a love which takes in the wholi
being of man. This it is that presides.

Time is a school, and God is the universal Schoolmaster,
and men are learners, and are graded from step to step
as they are to take the education that belongs to tlie
successive stages of their being!

Such a providence as this is a Joy. It inspires one ^vitli
some hope for the world. If I thought that this worlt!
w^as a huge bag, and that nations, like cats, were swiiii.-
round by some giant hand, they, meantime, fiercely
scratching and fighting with infernal noise, what would!
preach for "i I would say to men, with the profoundest
sorrow, *' Get all the pleasure you can, give yourselvf.
up to hilarity, eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morroiv
you die."

But such is not the world, and such are not the squabhfe
of life and time. There are the fitful spasms of force;
there are the gigantic processions of Avoe and cruelty;
there are groanings and travailings in pain until mm:
but there is a divine purpose under them all, which i;
working out results from that issue the very soul m
heart of love. There is a good time coming. It will
take it a great while to come ; the road is long and tlie
work is large ; but it iv coming ; and even if I do not see
it for a thousand ages yet, it is a joy and a comfort for I
me to know that it is coming. Some will see it here. Tlie
time will come when the world will cease to grope; wlieii
no man shall be obliged to say tohis neighbor, "KnowTej
the Lord." The time will come when men shall beat their
swords into pruning-hooks. The time will come wheal
all the earth shall rest, and there shall be one more note

LAW OP THE UNIVERSE.

583

)eTicficent tli'mfr.
iBC all the infitni-
y now and hcro-
in-c lieart, aiul of
d." It IB a love
lie, tlie now and
Lcs in tlio wliolt

sal Sclioolmafitcr,
rom step to step
,t LelongB to tliu

b inspires one witli
lit tliat this worli!
cats, were swim^'
leantime, fiercely
oise, what would!
li the profonndeH
ill, give yoursel ve-
ry, for to-moiTou

enotthesqnahhb
spasms of force;
vvoe and cruelty;
I pain until n()^\-;
:hem all, which i;
;lie very sonl aiid
coming. It will
id is long and tlie
venif I donotste
and a conifortfor
il see it here. Tlie
ise to grope; wlieii
'ighhor,"Knowye|
en shall beat their
I will come when
he one more note

j()liied to that universal choir tliat chants the praise of God,
iuul of supreme and victorious Love.

IJ. Auy system of theoloi^y, any stylo of preaching,
which leaves upon the miiul any other impression than
that of divine benevolence as the regent disposition of
(lod, and the animating spirit ot providence, is unscrip-
tural, false and pernicious. It cannot be doubted that
systems of theology have left otlier impressions, and that
preaching does leave, and tliat continuously, other im-
pressions on men's minds.

I distinctly remember that as a child my predominant
thought of God was one of lear nnd dread, because I sup-
posed that the side of God which was turned towards mo
WHS veniii^eance. I was taui»;ht that I was sinful Ion 2: be-
fore I knew anything but that I was so. I supposed that
I was a sinner becau;^'^ I did not feel sinful. I was taught
that the not feeling that which unquestionably was the
underlying element of my being, was one of the tokens
of sin. And I strove to feel ; because through the gate
of feeling I hoped to pass that wall on the other side of
which the sun ^hone. I was on the north side, where all
jwas snow ; and they told me that if I could get on the
lother side, I should find that there the sun had shone so
[long that the violets were already blooming. I made the
iffort ; but the snow was too deep for me. And until
ifter I had reached my majority, my thought of God was
)ne of dread and fear, because the side of the divine mind
fhat was turned toward me was the side of "justice."
[y thought of God was that he was the Just 'fudge ; that
Ivhenever men repented of their sin he would become the
[brgiving Friend and the universal Father, but that until
leu did repent, and just so long as they stood unrepent-
ant, God was toward them a consuming fire. And that
f consider to be a heresy that strikes the whole Gospel of
Christ flat in the face. " God so loved the world that he
^ave his only begotton Son " to die for it. God did not
)ve the world because Christ coaxed him to. Out of love,
[ut of infinite depths of desire and kindness, he gave forth

• f

^'i '■'!

IV '

• i

■t

384

LOVE, THE COMMON

from himself this expression of his nature. Oh I if I had
only known that God loved me, and felt toward me as
the niuthor feels toward the child; if some one had said
to me, " Even as your mother takes you up in her arms to
expostulate with you, to expose to yuuyour fault that she
may lead you out of it, lettin«^ no others know it till it is
cured and passed away ; as she helps your infirmity, just
BO God does. It is the divine nature to bo medicinal to
infinite weakness and want. God does not wait till you
are worth loving (for you will not be, this side of eternity),
but he takes you up just as you are that he may guide
and mould you into lovableness. And now, while you are
a sinner, while your heart is far from God and sympathy
and love ; while yet there is the whirl of passions in you,
God does sympathize with you and love you , and you
are beloved. Look uj), and see that all is bright and win-
ning and inviting." Oh ! if these things had been told
nie when I first needed to know them, I might have
walked in peace when I was eight years old — for I was
subject to profound religious feelings at that early age.
But they were hidden from my eyes then ; and till I was
twenty-tive years old Iliad no thought that it was the na-
ture of God to be sorry for sinners. The impression left on
my mind was, that God was first pure and true and just;
and that then, if men conformed to certain conditions, he
would be loving. Whereas, I preach that God is lovin?
all the time, that he was loving from the beginning, and
that he will be loving to the end. I preach that love is
the Alpha and Omega of the divine nature. And when
I speaK of God's love, I mean no puerile thing; no
maudlin sentiment : 1 mean a love that is p.rmed with
force, and fear, and pain, and all things that are necessary
to work the universe up from its low, earthly conditions,
through all the changing phases of animalism, and through
all the planes of humanity, and bring it at last into per-
fect unity and accord with the divine nature and the
divine government. This is a love that does not scruple
to give pain ; but it is pain for medicine. It is a love

L\W or THE UNIVERSE.

nSo

that does not Rcruplc to Binitc aiul to puiiisli — loncj and
terribly to punisli ; but it is puiiishinent which is inflicted
as the bitterest and inoht loivthsonic I'.up U put to the lip
of tlie babo by the mother, because nhe h)veB tlio cliila,
niid believes that in tliat cuj) is the lu)po of its life. God
subjects individuals and nations to pains and 'sufferings
that they may be brou^^lit out of their low estate,
luul not because he wants to see them sizzle and fry,
iVover does Clod punish because there is malignity in the
divine mind — never ! 7iever /

Wo are, theretore, not only bound in our preaching to
preach right doctrine, but we are bound to preach it with
the right emphasis. 1 think there has been more eiTor in
emphasis than in statement. There has been enough, in
iiU conscience, in statement ; but there arc many who
hold technically right views of theology, while they so
emphasize one or the other side ot the divine nature that
the impression left upon the minds of those that hear
and read is unfavorable. Take a familiar example.

A man tells you, some day, " You have hm't the feelings
of all those people over yonder." " I ?" you say. " Yes,
you." " Why, bless your heart, what have I said or done ?
I did not Avant to hurt the feelings of any of them." No,
you did not voluntarily hurt their feelings; but you
carried your being in such a way that it rode over them,
and crushed them here, and hit them there. You did
not take any consideration for them ; so that every one
of them has felt bruised or wounded, one way or another,
by you. " Well," you say, " I did not intend to." No,
you did not intend to ; but it was the way that you carried
yourself that hurt their feelings.

Now, there are men who are afraid that if they give
up God's justice, if they remit on that side, if they loose
the bands, and do not keep the spear-point to men's
consciences all the time, if they do not preach the law
continually, men will fly off from the truth, and go to
destruction. And so tliey emphasize justice to such a
degree, in their preaching, as to produce fear, and not

386

LOVE, THE COMMON

c«

|i..i

ill'

lit.

|i:!i

I I n|

love — dread, and not trust. Whereas, God should be
preached as the most glorious and the most attractive
and the most winning Being in the universe. He should
he so preached as to leave the impression on the minds of
men that he sums up in his nature all things that are
good, or he could not be the almighty G-ood — for God is
but a contraction for good.

4, In church-life there must be a practical recognition
and an emphatic honoring of this principle that love or
benevolence is the nature of all law, organization, institu-
tion, custom, or observance. And although the instru-
ments by which we educate men are not to be lightly
esteemed, or loosely set aside, or carelessly drawn away^
or recklessly changed, yet, when it is necessary to give
up either the spirit of true benevolence or dogmas, and
forms, and ceremonies, by which we seek to produce that
benevolence, we are to cling to the benevolence, and lei
these other things go. This principle was clearly enuncia-
ted by Christ, when he said, " The Sabbath was made for
man, and not man for the Sabbavh. And I say. The
church was made for man, and not man for the church.
Dogmas and doctrines were made for man, and not mt*n
for them. Theology was made to help men, and men
were not made to be sacrificed to it. All ordinances and
institutions and commandments are designed to subserve
men's uses and interests ; and it should be so held and
taught in our churches. The end sought, which throws
back its value on all instruments and processes, is the
spirit of true beneficence, kindness, love, self-sacrifice,
helpfulness. The maintenance of powerful benevolence
is more vital to the Christian Church than dogmatic
systems.

Suppose a church do all believe right things, and all of
them feel wrong ones, what is the use ? Suppose a church
do all subscribo lo one confession of faith, and all of them
quarrel with each other, and are full of jealousies, and
envyings, and debates, and strifes, what does it amount
to, that they are theologically united ! Suppose a church

LAW OF THE UNITERSE.

387

is united in polity, and they all have the same govern-
ment, and the same method of worship, from A to Z, and
all of them are devoid ot charity, what does it signify ?
Paul tells us, that though a man speak with the tongue
of men and of angels and have not charity, he is as sound-
ing hrass, or a tinkling cymhal. The apostle teaches us
that all generosity is unworthy of the name which is not
prompted by the spirit of benevolence. He says :

" Though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my
body I/O be burned, and have not charity, it profltethme nothmg."

Charity— the divine holiness-producing, happiness-
making spirit of love — this is the end of the law. It is
the reason for the church. It is the reason for doctrines.

It is the reason for polity and for worship. And yet,
men sacrifice the feeling for the sake of keeping the
instruments by which the feeling is produced. Men will
agitate and embroil a whole generation in disputing about
doctrines of charity, engendering all manner of rancorous
feelings. Princeton will not speak to New Haven, and
New Haven will not speak to Andover ; and all theologi-
cal seminaries are thrown into paroxysms. And they
fiercely assail each other, and attempt to dri^e each other
into drthodoxy. And the churches, one after another,
take it up ; and all candidates for the ministry are rigidly
examined on doctrinal points ; and heresy-hunters, like a
pack of hounds, are at their heels, to sec that* they are
sound in truth and Orthodoxy.

But where is that benevolence which truth and Ortho-
doxy were meant to servo ? W"here is that benevolence
for the sake of which truth and Orthodoxy were ordained ?
Where is that benevolence by which men are to be
brought into true sympathetic relations one to another ?
It is sacrificed for the sake of theology. And to-day our
churches are set apart one from another, and sects are
arrayed one against another, because the cohesion of
benevolence is wanting.

All denominations are insisting upon it that we must

388

lOVE, THE COMMON

*■ ;

h" L

obey. But what is obedience f Are "\v e to be obedient to
the outside, or to the inside ? Is it to the shuck or to the
kernel that we are to be obedient ? Which is greater
obedience, that of obeying the law, " Thou shalt love the
Lord thy God," " and thy neighbor," or that of yielding
allegiance to a doctrine which prescribes some outward
observance ? Which is the greater obedience, that which
is de'nanded by the divine law of love, or that which is
demanded by a dogma as to whether you will go under
the water or not, or as to whether you will keep Sunday
or not % These dogmas are mere outside leaves. They
do not touch the root of the tiling.

The law of benevolence says, " Do you love ?" There
is the rub ; and men are saying, " No, we do not love ;
but the reason why we do not love, and fellowship, and
co-o^jf-.rate, is that we must obey." Obey how \ By
puttmg on black during one part of the service, and white
during another ? By standing with the back to the audi-
ence during one part of the reading, and with the face to
the audience during another part ? " This," they say,
" is ordered, and we cannot countenance any deviation
from it." And so people sacrifice benevolence to exter-
nals — to the external of externals. And so have such
fribbles deluded men — and wise men. Is there any place
where Satan has spun more webs, and caught more
victims, than in the Church of Christ? The church has
been the slaughter-house of Christianity.

The heart of Christendom has neve^ been corjentrated
as it ought to be upon that which the apostle declares to
be the end of the law. The whole economy of grace is
but the means or instrument by which, men are to seek to
develop this largar nature. Never have the church come
up to a conception of this large Christian charge ; and I
think they have never had a universal enthusiasm for it,
whicli would not let it go out from their sympathy. We
have had revivals in which there has been enthusiasm for
the propagation of the faith. We have had awakenings
in whicn the power of the church was brought to bear for

LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

the spread of its views and doctrines. The church has
had its periods of revival for dogmatic ettlements.
Again and again truths have been rounded out, as men
have supposed, by councils. Successive ages have gone
down in which churches have been stirred up with scho-
lastic fervor. The church has had its celestial rage for
organization, if I may so call it ; and has arranged how
it should exist, and in what shape, and with what mem-
bers, and with what distribution of authority. And the
whole world has stood in suspense while these things
were going on " for the sake of charity " — which charity,
meanwhile, was destroyed. The church has had its fer-
vor and revivals over ordinances, and over the reforma-
tions of ordinances. It has dispossessed them of idolatry,
and reared them into new forms. It has killed some,
ana given added life to others. It has had its fervors of
philanthropism and humanity. And now it is more in
that condition, perhaps, than it has been at any other
period. Probably there w^s never a time when there
was so much that was in accordance with the second
member of the great law, as at the present day. There
have been times when " Thou shalt love thy God" has
b^.en fulfilled and kept almost to the forgetting of "' Thou
shalt love thy neighbor." " Thou shalt love thy neighbor,"
in the form of humanitarianism and the relieving of the
ills of the race, has been the inspiration of our day
almost to the forgetting of *' Thou shalt love thy God.
But when, in any age, has the whole church been seized,
as by a divine inspiration, with the thought and the
impulse of unfeigned and cheerful love one to another ?
When has there been the feeling in the chm*ch, " Bene-
volence, after all, in its largest, purest, truest Christian
type, is the most precious thing we have, and that must
be guarded, whatever becomes of doctiliie. We must
keep this spirit whatever becomes jf ordinances. We
must preserve beneficence, whatever becomes of ortho-
doxy. We must not lose this heart-love or heart-summer?"
When has the church ever had that feeling or ir^.piration ?

:ii

390

LOVE, THE COMMON

When has it swept through any nation, or from nation
to nation ? This highest type of Christian experience the
chnrch is yet witliout.

5. "W e are^ to expect, in each individual, benevolence
of character, and real charity of life, as the true fulfilling
of the law. In instituting a series of educating influences,
we are to take into account what truths will be more
likely to restrain evil and purge the soul to purity than
others. It makes a great deal of difference, in instituting
educational influences, whether a man believes one thing
or another. Truth is better than error, in just this, that
it has more power to produce the final state of beneficence
in its complex form. There is such a thing as the work
of the truth ; and therefore we are not to say that if a
man is sincere, that is enough. That would be absurd
on the ship. If a man takes his reckoning by his chro-
nometer, and it is all wrong, will his sincerity bring him
into Kew York, or cast him away on the beach ? If a
man says, " Not plowing is wiser than plowing ; sow
your seed upon the hard ground, and let it be — that is
the best way," will his sincerity make it the best way ?
If a man says, " Chaff is just as good as wheat, and if the
farmer only thought so, and sowed it in faith and sincerity
he would get a good crop," would he ? If a man says,
" Thistles are as good as wheat : only sow thenj sincerely
and you will find them to be so," will you? The more
sincere a man is who sows cockles and thistles and bur-
docks, the worse it is for him. Sincerity does not change
natural law. And so I say that in instituting an economy
of education, in instituting means by which to propagate
religion, it is very important that men should be true ;
and sincerity is no substitute for the truth.

I do not say that the ordinances of the church are of
no importance ; I say that they are important, and that
they require great though; and wisdom ; but they are
never to be so much thought of as to dispossess that for
which they were themselves created — the great central
spirit of true beneficence.

LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

391

More than that, if I find that a man's heart is snpremely
posgessed of this divine gpirit, I am no longer at liberty
to ask him how he came by it. If it is there ; if he loves
God, and gives evidence of it ; if he loves his fellowmen,
and gives evidence of it, it does not make any difierence,
it must not make any difference to me, where he got it.

I think it better to have common schools by which to
teach the population how to read ; but if a man has never
gone to the common school, and yet can read — is not
reading the thing ? I think that going to school is the
best way of getting education ; but then, suppose a man
gets an education without going to school, is that not to
be taken as sufficient ? I think that if a man goes through
a school course, a college course, a university course, lie
is better educated than if he does not ; but here and there
a man comes up, and acquires an education, and makes
himself felt, without going through any such course ; and
are you to question whether he is educated or not because
he acquired his education outside of institutions ? Because
institutions, on the whole, are best for the community,
are you to deny that any man is educated who does not
go through them ?

l^ow, I hold that there are great fundamental doctrines
of the divine government and the divine nature, that are
blessed of God for men's amelioration, for their good ;
but suppose I find a man who has all the effects which
these doctrines are designed to work, wrought in him by
other influences, without being technically connected
with the doctrines, am 1 to say that I will not recognize
him as a Christian ! I say that the spirit of God in the
heart of a man is all that we have a right to look tor. It
may be interesting to know by what process he arrived
at the result ; but we are to judge of him by his fruit ?
If a Universalist gives evidence of possessing the Spirit
of God, his lite is his voucher for his faith. And if he
applies for admission into our Church, he is to come in,
not because he is a Universalist, but because he is God's ;
because he is Christ's, *

392

LOVE, THE COMMON

I" I

" Yes," it is said, " but what are yon going to do atout
the doctrine ?" Nothing. ^' But suppose a man wants
to come in as a TJnitari»n ?" He could not come in as a
Unitarian — not if I had my way. I would stand in the
door, and would not let him in. But if he should say,
" Sir, I am ten times as much a Christian as I am a Uni-
tarian. "Ah! as a Christian," I would say, " you can
come in, but not as anything else." No man can come in
as a Swedenborgian ; but he can as a Christian, no matter
if he has the Swedenborgianism beside. A man may be
a Christian, and yet be a Unitarian ; and a man may he
an orthodox man and not be a Christian. It is as long as
it is broad. Some men are a great deal worse than their
creed, and do not live half way up to it ; and some men
are a great deal better than their creed, and live far be-
yond It Why is that ? Because God employs more
instruments in bringing up men than your church and
Catechism. God has a church in father and mother;
God has instrumentalities ior saving men, not in ordinan-
ces and doctrines alone, but in the examples of holy men.
Thousands of men in adversity and peril arc helped by
the illustrious lives of others, as no dogmas or ceremonies
could help them. And the moment we see that a man
has imbibed the true spirit of benevolence, we are to re-
ceive him, though we may reject his outward belief. We
are to accept a man, not because he is one thing or
another, so far as creeds are concerned, but because his
life and disposition are right. A man whose heart is
filled with love for God and his fellow-men has a right to
stand in sweet fellowship with us.

But how can a man be a Christian who does not believe
in Christ?

There is the puzzler. He cannot. But then, a man
may believe in Christ who does not believe in Christ's
name, using that name simply in its superficial meaning.
Do we mean by Chrut simply the letters that spell out
that name ? Is not Christ merely a name lor certain
qualities — for love, for purity, rfor truth, for a holy faith

LAW OF THE UNIVEBSE.

S9S

8 not believe

in and obedience to the Saviour and God 1 Is it not a
name that signifies not simply beliefs, but succor of love,
and self-denial ol love ? Is it not a name filled full of the
sweetest and richest fruit ol divine being ? A man may
believe in the thing which that name covers, who vet,
from the force of prejudice and education, is unwilling
to take the name itself. There is many a man who be-
lieves in Christ, only he will not call liim by that name.
Ke believes in God as he was manifested in Christ. He
does not know much about the historical part of Christi-
anity. He believes in that part in which the heart is con-
cerned. He may not believe in theology ; he may not
accept all the dogm^as in regard to days, and incarnation,
and meditation, and passion, as they are framed into
theology ; but he has taken the spirit of Christ. And
having taken that, he has taken Christ. If a man takes
the spirit of Christ, it does not matter so much about the
name. He takes Christ who takes his spirit.

Now, if you have not the spirit of Christ, go away.
Do you say that you believe in the Trinity ? Go away ;
yom* spirit is bad. Do you say that you believe in the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost — three Persons and
one Godhead ? Go away ; you are filled with tnvyings
and jealousies toward your neighbor. Do you say that
you are sound on all the points of doctrine ? Go away ;
you are, with all your theology, fierce and truculent and
arrogant, and devoid of love toward God and man. You
believe in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost ?
Yes, you believe in the outside of them, but you do not
believe in the inside of them. You do not believe in that
which makes them. It is not the alphabet that makes
God. It is not the spelling certain letters that makes
God. It is the eternal purity, the eternal sweetness, the
eternal remedialness in the divine powder and wisdom and
justice, employed for the purposes of love — it is these
that make God.

A man comes in and says, " I do not know much
about these doctrines. I know very little about Christ.

394

LOVE THE COMMON

I do not believe that he is divine. But I believe that his
spirit is to be mine." He believes that the spirit of Christ
is gentleness, is sweetness, is forgiveness, is self-denial, is
laboring for others, is the feeling which the tenderest
mother experiences toward her child. He does not see
his way to believe in the ordinary view of his divinity ;
but in the higher view of it he does believe. He tliinks
he does not, but he does. He deceives himself. He is
misled by a juggle of words. For that which is Christ
is the inner life of Christ ; and that is what he does be-
lieve in. As to the power of registering it, and puttin«r
it in its place in a system of theology, it would be better
if he had it ; but that is not vitally important. If any
man has the spirit of Christ, he is his. He doe% believe
in him.

And so, what of your Unitarianism ? It becomes a
mere word, a simple name. I do not myself regard that
doctrine as being a part of Christianity, or as being that
in which it is desirable to educate people. If I did I
should not be preaching as I do here. If I thought that
to be the best doctrine, I should take it. But if a man
has the spirit of Christ, I will not reject him because he
holds that doctrine.

Therefore, if a person comes to me (and it would be all
the better if there were twenty of them), and gives me his
individual experience in his daily life, and gives evidence
that he is walking in the spirit ol Christ and in the enjoy-
ment of the divine presence, I take him, because he does
believe in the interior of God. He may not believe in
the systematic and exterior views of the divine Being as
you and I have classified them ; but he takes the spirit
which they are designed to set forth. And I say that the
love of God in the soul should rise higher than ordinan-
ces, than dogmatic systems, than sects, than the j^roducts
of human reason. I believe that Christianity should begin
on the inside, and work outside, and not that it should
stand outside and wait till it can go inside.

And so, all that are called of God, and respond to the

LAW OF THE UNIVERSE.

3D5

call, and give token ot true obedience to the Father ; all
that by sweet sympathy and self-denial and service give
evidence that they love their fellow-men ; all that hope in
the mercy of God, and not in their own vain righteous-
ness ; all that show by their lives that they are in the
fellowship of the whole invisible church of Christ in
heaven and upon earth — all such are known in heaven,
are named there, and are longed for there, and will
certainly be found there.

May God gi nt us all to enter largely into the apofltle'i
generous and noble utterance :

"Now, the end of the commandment Is charity, ont of a purt heart, and
of a good conscience, and of faith unfeigned."

PRAYER BEFORE THE SERMON.

We thank thee, O God, that thou dost not accept us according to
our merit. It is not the purity of our being, nor its greatness, that
commends us to thee. Thou dost not measure us upon thine own
self. It is. our feebleness which excites thy pity. It is our unripeness
which leads thee to shine upon us. It is our sin which makea thee
a Saviour in heart, a Saviour in providence, and a Saviour in grace.
For thy nature is to be generous — to be gracious. Thou art not in-
different to righteousness. That is dear to thee ; for us it is dear to
thee. Thou art not willing that we should be taken away from pain
and suffering, only to abide as cripples in deformity. It is thy desire
that we should be shaped by love, by goodness, by compassion, and,
if need be, by fear and by force. TIiou art sovereign, and thou dost
mold the great universe which thou hast under thee, according to its
necessities, working mightily in all thfhgs, and working in all things
according to their special need, that tjiou mayest direct universal
progress and growth toward perfection, toward righteousness, toward
all godlikeness.

We rejoice that thou art supreme ; that none can hinder thee ; that
only thyself art counsel to thyself ; that only thine own strength is
equal to thy strength. Thou, O God, the Father, Son, and Spirit,
dwellest in unalloyed companionship of blessedness ; and in thee
are the roots of universal being ; and in thee is the destiny of all.
From thee comes all history ; and back to thee report all the events
of history. Thou art the beginning and the end — th« Alpha and

896

LOVE, THE COMMON

tho Omega, In thee wo live, and move, and have our being. And
what such being as thine must be, who of us, from ,our diminished
sphere, can riae to understand ? Glimpses we have, which wo inter-
pret by the things that are good in ourselves; but tho height, and
the depth, and the length, and the breadth, of infinity— above all,
the scope and continuity of thy being — who of us can fathom it? It
is toward thyself that we are living, and for thyself that we are
longing. All other knowledge fails and seems worthless, if we may
but stand in Zion and before God, and see thee as thou art, and feel
the blessedness of thy life. This is the sum of all desire and
aspiration.

And now, Lord I as thou hast been patient in days gone by,
still be patient with us. Command all thy angels of mercy, that
they bear an expression of the fullness of thy love to us. Speak to
all that is in nature, that it may serve us as from the God of love.
And we pray that wo may thus, by thine instruments and by thy
servants, be lifted up from stage to stage, from sphere to spherci
from glory to glory, until we stand in Zion and before God.

Listen to the inaudible sigh to-day. To-day listen to the unspoken
messages of the heart. Behold the things which we do not see
ourselves. Behold oven the things which we do not voluntarily
show thee for fear or. for shame, Naked and open must we be be-
fore Him with v^hom we have to do.

And grant unto every heart that is here, that succor, that assur-
ance, that sympathy, that forgiving message of mercy, that
inspiration of hope and of courage, which it needs. For some arc
sitting under the shadow. Thou art breaking over them great
trouble. And yet, art not thou hid within the cloud that is round
about them ? We pray thee that they may not fear so much their
outward trouble. Grant that they may have sensibility to the near
approach of divine providence, and that they may have faith min-
istered to them to know that the hand that smites them is the hand
that was pierced for them.

We pray that thou wilt be near to those that are in bereavements,
and that are suffering acute anguish of heart. And when thy work
hath had its way ; when thou hast caused them to suffer enough,
establish them through suffering in faith and in joy. We ask not
so much that the thorns may be removed, as that thy grace
may be suflBcient for every sufferer.

Be with those that are full of trouble for others. Hast thou not
known this burden. Lord Jesus ? Hast thou not long enough carried
the world in thy sympathy to understand and succor all those that
by sympathy for others are burdened ? And may they learn this
lesson evermore. As thou didst carry the sorrows of men ; as thou
didst bear their sins ; as their sicknesses were laid upon thee; as
thou hast been the great Substitute and Kurse, bearing the world

LAW OV THE UNIVERSE.

n97

ur being. And
our diminished
which wo inter-
;he Itcight, and
lity— above all,
m fathom it? It
jlf that we are
lilesa, if we may
lou art, and feel
all desire and

days gone by,

of mercy, that

o us. Speak to

le God of love.

nts and by thy

)here to sphere,

Dre God.

to the unspoken

we do not see

not voluntarily

must we be be-

cor, that assur-
f mercy, that

For some are
ver them great
d that is round
so much their
ility to the near
ave faith min-

em is the hand

bereavements,
[when thy work

suffer enough,
We ask not
^hat thy grace

Tast thou not
|enough carried

all those that
ley learn this

men ; as thou
ipon thee; as

ig the world

and all its creatures, even as tlic nurse bears the little child, so, O
Lord I we beseech of thee thiit in our measure,- and afar off, and in a
diminished sphere, and with exceeding imperfection, we may in.
kind be like thee, and carry one another s burdens, and bear one
another's intirmities, and carry one another's faults, and be patient
witli each other unto the end. May we long more for others than
for ourselves ; looking not every man on his own tjiings, but every
man also on the .things of another.

And we pray that thou Avilt grant thy blessing to rest upon all
those that liave come up hither this morning, to speak of thy mer-
cies and of thy past kindnesses to them. iSlay tliey not forget to
give thanks who are blessed every du; jNIay we not have a sense
of need more than of thy bounty. ]\Iay we seek more to see what
God hath done for us, than to sec that which we yet lack.

And we pray that thou wilt bless all families that are accustomed
to meet with us in this congregation. If any are withheld from the
2)lace where they would be, may that place where they are be a
sanctuary. And may the Spirit of God's love minister to every one
of them. And we pray that the heavenly light may not be withheld
from, but may abide upon every Christian family.

And we pray that thou wilt this morning remember those that
are sick, and those that wait with the sick, and those that are ab-
sent from among us because they are bearing messages to the
unsought and to the untaught. And remember those that are sent
afar off on errands of thy providence. Grant that everywhere those
whose hearts look wistfully this way to day, may be satisfied from
the sanctuary of the Spirit of God. Bear messages of mercy and of
peace and of blessing to them.

We pray that thou wilt be with all, to-day, that shall preach the
Gospel. May they be strong in body, and inspired of heart, to do
the will of God, and their duty toward men. We pray, O Lord, that
thou wilt unite thy people more with the Spirit of love, and that
charity may pervade the Church of Christ upon earth. And let not
malign power have any more its abiding place in thy temple and
sanctuary. May the Spirit of the Lord come, and pure love be
developed out of the Church, that the world may begin to see the
dawn of its summer. Let thy kingdom come, we pray thee, in all
intelligence, in all knowledge, in all justice, in wise laws, in pure
and upright magistrates, in national piiace, in national kindi^esses
of good neighborhood. Bring to an end, by the power of the
truth, and by the uprising nature of the whole human family, all
superstition, and all misrule, and all oppression, and all wars, and
all cruelties, and all those great disasters that so long have ravaged
the world. Let thy kingdom, in which dwelleth righteousness^
come, and thy will be done upon earth vs it is in heaven.

We ask it for Christ Jesus' sake. Amen.

1 ^ r

^B i'

CHAS. HADDON SPURGEON, AT 23 YEARS OF AGE.

TEARS OF AGE.

r5.fiEM!2

E!^3^

f '

CHARLES HADDON SPURGEON.

MEMOIR.

HE EEY. CHARI^ES HADDON SPURGEON v/as
born at Kelvedon, in Essex, England, on lOtli June,
i 1834. His father, whose calling as a layman is not
generally known, occupies, on Sunday, the position of pas-
tor of n, small Independent Church in Essex ; and his grand-
father, the Reverend James Spurgeon, still officiates as pas-
tor of the Stambourne Independents, near Halsted, in the
same county. This grandfather has come before the public
as the author of a biography of his grandson — a singular re-
versal of the usual practice, by which the office of biography
is performed by the children for the fathers

Shortly after his birth, young Spurgeon was removed to
the house of this grandfather for his education. As a boy he
was remarkable for truthfulness, seriousness, and piety. He
was often found in the hayrack, or the manger, reading aloud,
talking, or sometimes preaching, to his brothers and sisters."
He enjoyed the benefit of a good school education at Col-
chester, and subsequently attended some classes at an agri-
cultural college at Maidstone ; but his friends could not per-
suade him to go to Oxford or Cambridge. He was satisfied,
he said, that he 0!ight to be doing something more useful at
his time of life than reading I-atin and Greek. In his six-
teenth year he entered upon independent life by becoming
usher in a school.

"VyitWn a few months afterward, he took a very bold step.

,1^

402

CHARI.ES HADDON SPURGEON — MEMOIE.

Doubts having arisen in his mind on the subject of baptismal
regeneration, he resolved to qnit the Independent Church;
and neither his father nor his grandfather beina; able to con-
trovert his arguments, he made a public Drofession of faith as
a member of the Baptist denomination on May 3, 1850. His
emotion at going through the ceremony was increased by
the reflection that it was his mother's biith-day.

His first sermon was preached a few months afterward,
under the auspices of the " Lay Preachers' Association," at a
village near Cambridge. For some months afterward ho
preached alternately at some one of the villages round Cam-
bridge, and at length received a call as pastor to the village
of W aterbeach. As the number of church members was only
forty, his salary was nominal, and he was still obliged to
continue his duties as usher of a school to support himself!
He walked every day from Cambridge to W aterbeach, and
back again ; and under his ministrations the number of
church members doubled, and people began to hear of the
minister.

In 1853, his reputation as a preacher having spread, he re-
ceived a call to go to London, and commenced to preach at
the New Park Street Church. After a few Sabbath minis-
trations, the London congregation liked him so well that they
invited him to become their regular preacher ; and he ac-
cordingly removed to London in January, 1854.

From this time Mr. Spurgeon's fame was established.
The iJew Park Street Chapel being soon too small for the
crowds who assembled to hear him, he preached in Exeter
Hall, and filled the immense room in that building to over-
flowing. In 1855 he went to Scotland and created 2;, furore
there. At Aberfeldy the bellman was sent round to cVy,
" Your auld playmate and auld acquaintance, Shony Carstair
(the parson of the parish), wants to see you all at the Inde-
pendent Chapel, to hear my' dear friend, the Rev. C. H.
Spurgeon." During the fall and winter of 1855 Mr. Spur-
geon's fame was ever on the increase, and his popularity ad-
vanced steadily. His hearers were counted by the thousand,
and his Sunday School scholars in equal proportion. Mean-
time, he was not neglectful of himself. In January, 1866, he
married Miss Susannah Thomson, of London, in the presence
of thousands of his friends.

CHARLES HADDON SPURQEON — ^MEMOIR

403

It was soon determined to erect an edifice, capa ble of ac-
ccmraodating the immense audiences who flocked to hear the
vigorous and powerful preacher. A hundred thousand dol-
lars were speedily collected, and the erection of the present
edifice known as " The Tabernacle," was at once commenced.
Meanwhile Mr. Spurgeon preached in any and every build-
ing or inclosnre where he could be heard and could be of
service. Many of his most effective discourses were deliver-
ed in the fields ; some in Exeter Hall, and some in the Sur-
rey Musical Hall. One great discourse was uttered in the
Crystal Palace to an immense audience of 30,000 people.
On its completion the " Tabernacle " was consecrated with
suitable services, and since that time Mr. Spurgeon has for
the most part occupied the pulpit in this edifice, the building
generally being well filled and the audiences numbering four
or five thousand people.

Of Mr. Spurgeon's style the most striking peculiarity is
his earnestness and homeliness. He is never afraid of saying
anything, or of hurting any one's feelings. He tells the truth
straight out, no matter whom it may offend ; and he tells it
in the plainest and most emphatic Saxon. He is at times
humorous amd sarcastic. Some time since, when preaching
before 10,000 people in the Surrey Hall, he announced the
second lesson, and then paused, observing, "If I make a
short pause between the lessons, it will give an opportunity
to those persons who have their hats on to take them off in
the house of God.* ,

On another occasion he was preaching on the contrast be-
tween the sufferings of the damned in hell and the delights of
the blessed in heaven. When he came to that part of the
discourse in which he draws a picture of the place of punish-
ments, the orato/s voice was raised to the highest pitch, his
tone was sonorous and awful, his manner so vivid that
many of his hearers actually quivered with horror. In the
midst of one of his most terrible periods he suddenly paused,
and, without the least change of manner or tone, observed :
"If those persons near the door continue their conduct I
shall send for a policeman." He then resumed his discourse
on hell. .

Mr. Spurgeon divides popular favor among church goers
in England with Dr. Funshon, the famous Wesleyan. Mr,

ill

404*

CHARLES HADDON SP'^ RGEON— MEMOIR.

Spurgeon has never visited this continent, but his fame has
crossed the ocean. Dr. Punshon has long been amongst us,
and is now as well known here as at home. The three
names of Punshon, Beecher and Spurgeon, are as familar in
our mouths as household words. Our readers have, in this
valume, an opportunity afforded them of comparing their re-
spective styles and merits

l:i

Is--

SPURGEON'S SERMONS.

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

^Of this eennon, a copy was sent to. every Baptist and Congregational
minister in Great Britain, and several letters have been received, acknow-
ledging the quickening thereby received. May the like result be far more
abundant in the New World.]

"AS SOON AS ZION TRAVAILED, SHE BROUGHT lORTH HER CHILDREN. "—

Isaiah Ixvi,, 8.

SRAEL had fallen into the lowest condition, but
an inward yearning of heart was felt in the mid^t
of God's people for the return of the divine blecs-
ing ; and no sooner had this anxious desire become intense,
than God heard the voice of its cry, and the blessing
came. It was so at the time of the restoration of the
captives from Babylon, and it was most evidently so in
the days of our Lord. A iaithful company had continued
stiU to expect the coming of the Lord's anointed messenger;
they waited till he should suddenly come in his temple ;
the twelve tribes, represented by an elect remnant. Cried
day and night unto the Most High, and when at last
their prayers reached the fulness of vehemence, and their
anxiety wrought in them the deepest agony of spirit,
then the Messmh came ; the light of the Gentiles, and
the glory of Israel. Then began the age Df blessedness
in which the barren woman did keep house and become

406

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

tho joyful mother of children. The Holy Ghost was
given, and multitudes were born to the church of God,
yea, we may say, a nation was born in a day. The wil-
derness and the solitary place were glad for them, and tho
desert rejoiced and blossomed as the rose. We are not,
however, about to enter into the particular application of
our text as Isaiah uttered it: tho great declarations of
revelation are applicahile to all cases, and, once true, they
stand fast for ever and ever. Earnestly desiring that God
may give a large spiritual blessing to his church this
morning, through the subject to which my mind has been
directed, I shall first ask you to note that in order to the
obtaining of an increase to the church, there must he
travail, and that, secondly, this travail is frequently fol-
lowed hy surprising results. I shall then have to show
why both the travail a/nd the result are desirable, and
pronounce woe on thone who stand bach and hinder it,
and a blessing on such as shall be moved by GodDs own
Spirit to travail for souls,

\. It is clear from the text, "As soon as Zion travailed,
she brought forth her children," that there must be the
TRAVAIL before there will be the spiritual birth.

Let me first establish this fact from histoH^. Before
there has fallen a great benediction upon God's people,
it has been preceded by great searchings of heart. Israel
was so oppressed in Egypt, that it would have been very
easy, and almost a natural thing, for the people to become
BO utterly crushed in spirit as to submit to-be hereditary
bond-slaves, making the best they could of their miserable
lot ; but God would not have it so ; he meant to bring
them out " with a high hand and an outstretched arm.
Before, however, he began to work, he made them begin
to cry. Their sighs and cries came up into the ears of
God, and he stretched out his hand to deliver them.
Doubtless, many a heart-rending appeal was made to
heaven by mothers when their babes were torn from their
breasts to be»cast into the river. "With what bitterness
did they ask God to look upon his poor people Israel,

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

407

and avenpje them of their oppressors. The yonng men
bowed under the cruel yoke and groaned, while hoary
sires, smarting under ignominious lashes from the tasK-
master, sighed and wept before the God of Israel. The
whole nation cried, " O God visit us ; God of Abraham,
of Isaac, and of Jacob, remember thy covenant, and
deliver us." This travail brought its result; for the Lord
smote the field of Zoan with mighty plagues, and forth
from under the bondage of the sons of Misriam, the
children of Israel marched with joy.

As we shall not have time to narrate many instances,
let us take a long leap in history to the days of David.
The era of the son of Jesse was evidently a time of relig-
ious revival. God was honored and his service maintained
in the midst of Judea's land in the days of the royal bard ;
but it is clear to readers of the Scriptures that David was
the subject of spiritual throes and pangs of the most in-
tense kind. His bosom throbbed and heaved like that of a
man made fit be the leader of a great revival. What
yearnings he had ! He thirsted after God, alter the living
God ! What petitions he poured forth that God would
visit Zion, and make the vine which he had planted to
flourish once again. Even when his own sins pressed heavily
upon him, he could not end his personal confession without
entreating the Lord to build the walls of Jerusalem, and
to do good in his good pleasure unto Zion. Now, David
was only the mouth of hundreds of others, who with equal
fervency cried unto God that the blessing might rest upon
his people. There was much soul-travail in Israel and
Judah, and the result was that the Lord was glorified, and
true religion flourished.

Kemember also the days of Josiah, the king. You
know well how the book of the law was found neglected
in the temple, and when it was brought before the king, he
rent his clothes, for he saw that the nation had revolted,
and that wrath must come upon it to the uttermost. The
young king's heart, which was tender, for he feared God,
was ready to bireak with anguish to think of the misery

408

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

lili

|! I

that would come upon his people on account of their sins.
Then there came a glorious reformation which purged the
land of idols, and caused the passover to be observed as
never before. Travails of heart among the godly pro-
duced the delightful change.

It was the same with the work of Nehemiah. His book
begins with a description of the travail of his heart. He
was a patriot, a man of nervous, excitable temperament,
and keen sensibility of God's honor, and when his soul
had felt great bitterness and longing, then he arose to
build, and a blessing rested on his efforts.

In the early dawn of Christian history, there was a pre-
paration of the church before it received an increase. Look
at the obedient disciples sitting in the upper room, waiting
with anxious hope ; every heart there had been ploughed
with anguish by the death of the Lord, each one was intent
to receive the promised boon of the Spirit. There, with
one heart and one mind, they tarried, but not without
wrestling prayer, and so the Comforter was given, and
three thousand souls were given also.

The like living zeal and vehement desire have always
been perceptible in the Church of God before any season
of refreshing. Think not that Luther was the only man
that wi ought the Reformation. There were hundreds who
sighed and cried in secret in the cottages of the Black For-
est, in the homes of Germany, and on the hills of Swit;.er-
land. There were hearts bi caking for the Lord's appearing
in strange places; they might have been found in the pal
laces of Spain, in the dungeons of the Inquisition, amont;
the canals of Holland, and the green lanes of England.
"Women, as they hid their Bibles, lest their lives should be
forfeited, cried out in spirit, " O God, how long ?" There
were pains as of a woman in travail, in secret places there
were tears and bitter lamentations, on the high places of
the field there were mighty striving of spirit, and so at
length there came that grand revulsion which made the
Vatican to rock and reel irom itsfoundation to its pinnacle.
There has been evennore in the history of the church, the
travail before there has been the result.

TIlA VAILING rOR SOULS.

.409

nt of their sins.
licli purged tiie
be observed as
tlie godly pro-

niali. His book
' bis heart. He
e temperament,
L when his soul
len he arose to

•

there was apre-
a increase. Look
er room, waiting
,d been ploughed
jh one was intent
•it. There, with
but not without
' was given, and

iire have always
)etbre any season
ms> the only man
jre hundreds who
of the Black Foi-
B hills ofSwiti^er-
Lord's appearing
found in the pal
iquisition, among
mes of England,
sir lives should be
wlong?" There
ecret places there
le high places ot
spirit, and so at
which made the
>n to its pinnacle,
>f the church, the

And this, dear friends, while it is true on the large
scale, is true also in every individual case. A man with
no sensibility or compassion for otlier men's souls, may
accidentally be the means of conversion ; the good word
which he utters will not cease to be good because the
speaker had no right to declare God's statutes. The bread
and meat which were brought to Elijah were not less nour-
ishing because the ravens brought them, but the ravens re-
mained ravens still. A hard-hearted man may say a good
thing which CJ-od will bless, but, as a rule, those who bring
souls to Christ are those who first of all have felt an agony
of desire that souls should be saved. This is imaged to us
in our Master's character. He is the great Saviour of men ;
but before he could save others, he learned in their flesh to
sympathize with them. He wept over Jerusalem, he sweat
great drops of blood in Gethsemane; he was, and is, a
Sigh priest who is touched with the feeling of our infirmi-
ties. As the Captain of our salvation, in bringing many
sons unto glory he was made perfect by sufferings. Even
Christ went not forth to preach until he had spent nights
in intercessory prayer, and uttered strong cryings and tears
for the salvation of his hearers. His ministering servants
who have been most useful, have always been eagerly
desirous to be so. If any minister can be satisfied without
conversions, he shall have no conversions. God will not
force usefulness on any man. It is only when our heart
breaks to see men saved, that we shall be likely to see
sinners' hearts broken. The secret of success lies in all-
consuming zeal, all subduing travail for souls. Bead the
sermons of Wesley and of Whitfield, and what is there in
them ? It is no severe criticism to say that they are scarcely
worthy to have survived, and yet those sermons wrought
marvels, and well they might, for both preachers could
truly say —

" The love of Christ doth me constrain
To seek the wandering souls of men ;
With cries, entreaties, tears, to save.
To snatch them from the fiery wave."

^10

TRAVAILING FOR SOtTLS.

fts'

In order to understand sncli preaching, you need to see
and hear the man, you want his tearful eye, his glowing
countenance, his pleading tone, his bursting heart. I have
heard of a great preacher who objected to having his ser-
mons printed, "Because," said he, "you cannot print me."
That observation is very much to the point. A soul-winner
throws himself into what he says. As I have sometimes
said, we must ram ourselves into our cannons, we must fire
ourselves at our heuiers, and when we do this, then, by
God's grace, their liearrs are often carried by storm. Do
any of you desire your children's conversions ? You shall
have them saved when you agonize for them. Many a
parent who has been privileged to see his son walking in
the truth, wilJ tell you that before the blessing came he
had spent many houu in prayer and in earnest pleading
with God, and then it was that the Lord visited his cliild
and renewed his soul. I have heard of a young man who
had grown up and left the parental roof, and through evil
influences, had been enticed into holding sceptical views.
His father and mother were both earnest Christians, and
it almost broke their hearts to see their son so opposed to
the Redeemer. On one occasion they induced him to go
with them to hear a celebrated minister. He accompanied
them simply to please them, and for no b'gher motive.
The sermon happened to be upon the glories of heaven.
It was a very extraordinary sermon, and was calculated
to make every Christian in the audience to leap for joy.
The young man was much gratified with the eloquence of
the preacher, but nothing more ; he gave him credit for
superior oratorical ability, and was interested in the ser-
mon, but felt none of its power. He chanced to look at
his father and mother, during the discourse, and was sur-
prised to see them weeping. He could not imag* ine why
they, being Christian people, should sit and weep under a
sermon which was most jubilant in its strain. When he
reached home, he said, " i^'ather, we have had a capital
sermon, but I could not understand what couU m ake you
sit there and cry, and my mother too ?" His father said,

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

411

u need to see
, his glowing
leart. I have
aving his aer-
lot print me."
^. soul-winner
ve sometimes
}, we must fire
this, then, by
y storm. Do
5 ? You shall
em. Many a
,on walking in
sing came he
nest pleadiuff
sited his child
)ung man who
d through evil
eptical views.
Ihristiaiis, and
so opposed to
ced him to go
5 accompanied
1 Of her motive,
es of heaven,
as calculated
leap for joy.
e eloquence of
jiim credit for
jd intheser-
;ed to look at
and was sur-
imao'ine why
weep under a
n. When he
jiad a capital
lU m ake you
is father said,

" My dear son, I certainly had no reason to weep concern-
ing myself, nor your mother, but I could not help think-
ing all through the sermon ubi)ut you, for alas, I have no
hope that you will be a partaker in the bright joys which
await the righteous. It breaks iny heart to think that
you will be sliiit out of heaven." Ills mother said, " The
very same thoughts crossed my mind, and the more the
preacher spoke of the joys of the saved, the more I sor-
rowed for my dear boy that he should never know what
they were." That touched the young man's heart, led him
toseek his father's God, and before long he was at the same
communion table, rejoicing in the God and Saviour whom
his parents worshipped. The travail comes before the
bringing forth; the earnest anxiety, the deep emotion
within, precede our being made the instruments of the
salvation of others.

I think I have established the fact ; now for a minute
or two let me show you the reason for it Why is it that
there must be this anxiety before desirable results are
gained ? For answer, it might suffice us to say that God
has so appointed it. It is the order of nature. The child
is not bom into the world without the sorrows of the
mother, nor is the bread^ which sustains life procured from
the earth without toil : " In the sweat of thy face shalt
thou eat bread," was a part of the primeval curse. Kow,
as it is in the natural, so i? it in the spiritual ; there shall
not come the blessing we seek, without first of all the
earnest yearning for it. Why, it is so even in ordinary
business. We say, "^o swea' no sweet," *' No pains no
gains," " No mill no meal." If there be no labor there
shall be no profit. He that would be rich must toil for
it ; he that would acquire fame must spend and be spent
to win it. It is ever so. There must ever be the travail
and then the desire cometh. God has so appointed it :
let us accept the decree.

But better still, he has ordained this for our good. If
souls were given us without any efl^^rt, anxiety or prayer,
it would be our loss to have it so, because the anxieties

412

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

^jii'T'

which throb within a com passionate spirit exercise his
graces ; they produce grateful love to Gfod ; they try his
faith in the power of God to save others ; they drive him
to the mercy-seat ; they strengthen his patience and
perseverance, and every grace within tlie man is educated
and increased by his travail for souls. As labor is now a
blessing, so also is soul-travail ; men are fashioned more
fully into the likeness of Christ thereby, and the whole
church is by the same emotion quickened into energy.
The fire of our own spiritual life is fanned by that same
breath which our prayers invite to come from the four
winds to breathe upon the slain. Besides, dear friends,
the zeal that God excites within us is often the means of
effecting the purpose which wo desire. After all, God
does not give conversions to eloquence, but to heart. The
power in the hand of God's Spirit for conversions is heart
coming in contact with heart. Truth from the heart goes
to the heart. This is God's battle-axe and weapons of war
in his crusade. He is pleased to use the yearnings, long-
ings, and sympathies of Christian men, as the means of
compelling the careless to think, constraining the hardened
to feel, and driving the unbelieving to consider. I have
little confidence in elaborate speech and polished sentences,
as the means of reaching men's hearts ; but I have great
faith in that simp.v. minded Christian woman, who must
have souls converted or she will weep her eyes out over
them ; and in that humble Christian who prays day and
night in secret, and then avails himself of every opportu-
nity to address a loving word to sinners. The emotion
we feel, and the affection we bear, are the most powerful
implements of 'soul- winning. God the Holy Ghost usually
breaks hard hearts by tender hearts.

Besides, the travail qualifies for the proper taking care
of the offspring. God does not commit his new-born
children to people who do not care to see conversions.
If he ever allows them to fall into such hands, they
suffer very serious loss thereby. Who is so fit to encourage
a new-bom believer as the man who first anguished before

TRAVAILTNO FOR SOtTL«.

41S

the Lord for hifl conversion ! Those you have wept over
and prayed for you will be sure to encourage and assist.
The churcli that never travailed, should God send her a
hundred converts, would be unfit to train them; she
would not know what to do with little children, and
would leave them to much sufferint^. Let us thank God,
brethren, if he has ffiven us any dei'ree of the earnest
anxiety and sympathy, which marked soul-winning men
and women, and let us ask to have more ; for, in propor-
tion as we have it, we shall be qualified to bo the instru-
ments in the hand of the Spirit, of nursing and cherishing
God's sons and daughters.

Once more, there is a great benefit in the law which
makes travail necessary to spiritual birth, because it
secures all the glory to God. If you want to be lowered
in your own esteem, try to convert a child. I would liko
those brethren who believe so much in free will, and the
natural goodness of the human heart, to try some children
that I could bring to them, and see whether they could
break their hearts and make them love the Saviour.
"Why, sir, you never think yourself so great a fool as after
trying in your own strength to bring a sinner to the
Saviour. Oh ! how often have I come back defeated from
arguing with an awakened person whom I have songiit
to comfort : I did think I had some measure of skill in
handling sorrowful cases, but I have been compelled to
say to myself, "What a simpleton I ami God the -Holy
Ghost must take this case in hand, for I am foiled."
When one has tried in a sermon to reach a certain person
who is living in sin, you learn afterwards that he enjoyed
the sermon which he ought to have smarted under; then,
you say, "Ah, now I see what a weak worm I am, and
if good be done, God shall have the glory." Your longing,
then, that others should be saved, and your vehemence
of spirit, shall secure to God all the glory of his own
work; and this is what the Lord is aiming at, for his
glory he will not give to anotherj nor hi» praise to an arm
of flesh.

'ill

414

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

''I'

And noWj having established tho fact, and shown the
reasons for it, let us notice haw this travail shmos itself.

Usually when God intends greatly to bless a church,
it will begin in this way : — Two or three persons in it are
distressed at the low state of affairs, and become troubled
even to anguish. Perhaps they do not speak to one
another, or know of their common grief, but they begin
to pray with flaming desire and untiring importunity.
The passion to see the church revived rules them. They
think of it when they go to rest, they dream of it on their
bed, they muse on it in the streets. This one thing eats
them up. They suffer great heaviness and continual
sorrow in heart for perishing sinners ; they travail in
birth for souls. I have happened to become the centre
of certain brethren in this church ; one of them said to
me the other day, " O sir, I pray day and night for God
to prosper our church ; I long to see greater things ; God
is blessing us, but we want much more." I saw the deep
earnestness of the man's soul, and I thanked him and
thanked God heartily, thinking it to be a sure sign of a
coming blessing. Sometime alter, another friend, who
probably now hears me speak, but who did not know any
thing about the other, felt the same yearning, and must
needs let me know it ; he too is anxious, longing, begging,
crying, for a revival ; and thus from three or four quarters
I have had the same message, and I feel hopeful because
of these tokens for good. When the sun rises the moun-
tain tops first catch the light, and those who constantly
live near to God will be the first to feel the infiuence of
the coming refreshing. The Lord give me a dozen impor-
tunate pleaders and lovers of souls, and by his grace we
will shake all London from end to end yet. The work
would go on without the mass of you, Christians ; many
of you only hinder the march of the army ; but give us
a dozen lion-like, lamb-like men, burning with intense
love to Christ and souls, and nothing will be impossible
to their faith. The most of us are not worthy to unloose
the shoe-latches of ardent saints. I often feel I am not

TRAVAHING FOR SOTTLS.

41o

bians; many

BO myself, but I aspire and long to be reckoned amonpj
them. Oh, may God oive us this Urst sigA of the travail
in the earnest ones and twos.

By degrees the individuals are drawn together by
sacred affinity, and the prayer-meetings become very
different. The brother who talked twenty minutes of
what he called prayer, and yet never asked for a single
thing, gives up his oration and falls to pleading with
many tears and broken sentences : while the friend who
used to relate his experience and go through the doctrines
of grace, and call that a prayer, forgets that rigmarole and
begins agonizing before the throne. And not only this,
but little knots here and there come together in their
cottages, and in their little rooms cry mightily to God.
the result w^ill be that the minister, even if he does not
know of the feeling in the hearts of his people, will grow
fervent himself. He will preach more evangelically,
more tenderly, more earnestly. He will be no longer
formal, or cold, or stereotyped ; he will be all alive.
Meanwhile, not with the preacher only will be the ble!?s-
ing, but with his hearers who love the Lord. One will
be trying a plan for getting in the young people ; another
will be looking after the strangers in the aisles, Avho come
only now and then. One brother will make a vehement
attempt to preach the gospel at the corner of the street ;
another will open a room down a dark court ; another
will visit lodging-houses and hospitals ; all sorts of holy
plans will be invented, and zeal will break out in many
directions. All this will be spontaneous, nothincj will be
forced. If you want to get up a revival, as the term is,
you can do it, just as you can grow tasteless strawberries
in winter, by artifical heat. There are w^ays and means
of doing that kind of thin.q", bnt the genuine work of God
needs no such planning Mid scheming; it is altogether
spontaneous. If you see a snow-drop next February in
your garden, you will feel persuaded that spring is on the
way ; the artiiicial-fiower maker could put as many snow-
di'ops there as you please, but that would be uo index ot

41 G

TEAVAILING FOR SOULS.

1|i

|:i;.flj|

coming spring. So yon may get np an apparent zeal
which will DC no proof of God's blessing; but when
fervor comes of itself, withonthnman direction or control,
then is it of the Lord. When men's hearts heave and
break, like the monld of the garden under the influence
of the reviving life which lay buried there, then in very
deed a benediction is on the way. Travail is no mockery,
but a real agony of the whole nature. May such be seen
in this our church, and throughout the whole Israel of
God.

II. Now, with great brevity, let us consider that the
RESULT IS OFTEN VERY SURPRISING. It is frequently sur-
prising for 'T'ajpidity. " As soon as Zion travailed, she
brought forth her children." God's works are not tiql
by time. The more spiritual a force is the less it lies
within the chains of time. The electric current, whicli
has a greater nearness to the spiritual tban the grosser
forms of materialism, is inconceivably rapid from that
very reason, and by it time is aU but annihilated. The
influences of the Spirit of God are a force most spiritual,
and more quick than any thing beneath the sun. As
soon as we agonize in soul the Holy Spirit can, if lie
pleases, convert the person for whom we have pleaded.
While we are yet speaking he hears, and before we call
he answers. Some calculate the expected progress of a
church by arithmetic ; and I think I have heard of
arithmetical sermons in which there have been ingenious
calculations as to how many missionaries it would take to
convert the world, and how much cash would be de-
manded. Now, there is no room here for the application
of mathematics ; spiritual forces are not calculable by an
arithmetic which is most at home in the material uni-
verse. A truth which is calculated to strike the mind of
one man to-day may readily enough produce a like efiect
upon a million minds to-morrow. The preaching which
moves one heart needs not be altered to tell upon ten
thousand. With God's Spirit our present instrumentali-
ties will suffice to win the world to Jesus ; without him.

TRAVAILING FOR SOUL!^.

417

ten thousand times as mncli apparent force would be only
so much weakness. The spread of truth, Mioreover, is
not reckonable by time. Durinii; the ten year:* which
ended in 1870, such wondrous chanojes were wrouGjht
throughout the world that no prophet vrould have been
believed had he foretold thein. Hetorms have been ac-
complished in England, in the Uiuted States, in Germany,
in Spain, in Italy, whi(;h according to ordinary reckon-
ing, would have occupied at least one hundred years.
Tilings which concern the mind cannot be subjected to
those retaliations of time which jjovern steamboats and
railways ; in such matters God's messenger s are flames of
iirc. The Spirit of God is able to operate upon the minds
of men instantaneously: witness the case of Paul. Be-
tween now and to-morrow moi ning he could excite holy
thought in all the minds of all the thousand millions ot
the sons of Adam ; and if prayer were mighty enough,
and strong enough, why should it not be done on some
bright day ? We are not straitened in him, we are
straitened in our own bowels. All the fault lies there.
Oh for the travail that would produce immediate results.
* But the result is surprising, not only tor its rapidity, but
for the greatness of it. It is said, " Shall a nation be
born at once ?" As soon as ever Zion was in distress con-
cerning her children, tens of thousands came and built up
Jerusalem, and re-established her fallen state. So, in
answer to prayer, God not only bestows speedy blessings,
but great blessings. There were fervent prayers in that
upper room " before the day of Pentecost had fully come,"
and what a great answer it was when, after Peter's sermon,
some three thousand v»-ere ready to confess their faitli in
Christ, and to be bapti^d. Shall we never see such things
again? Is the Spirit straitened? lias his arm waxed
snort? Kay, verily, but we clog and hinder him. He
cannot do any mighty work here because of our unbelief;
and, if our unbelief were cast out, and if prayer went up
to God with eagerness, and vehemence, and importunity,
then would a blessing descend so copious as to amaze ua
all.

418

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

But enough of this, for I must n^eds pass on to the next
point.

III. This travail and its result are abundantly de-
sirable ; pre-eminently desirable at this hour. The world
is perishing for lack of knowledge. Did any one among
us ever lay China on his heart ? i our imagination cannot
grapple with the population of that mighty empire, with-
out Grcd, without Christ, strangers to the commonwealth
of Israel. But it is not China alone ; there are other vast
nations lying in darkness ; the great serpent hath coiled
himself around the globe, and who shall set the world
free from him ? Reflect upon this one city with its three
millions. What sin the moon sees ! What sin the Sab-
bath sees ! Alas for the transgressions of this wicked
city. Babylon of old could not have been worse than
London is, nor so guilty, for she had not the light that
London has received. Brethern, there is no hope for
China, no hope lor the world, no hope for our own city,
while the church is sluggish and lethargic. Through the
church the blessing is usually bestowed. Christ multiplies
the bread, and gives it to the disciples ; the multitudes
can only get it through the disciples. Oh, it is time, it is
high time that the churches were awakened to seek the
good of dying myriads. Moreover, brethren, the powers
of evil are ever active. We may sleep, but Satan sleepeth
never. The church's plough lies yonder, rusting in the
furrow ; do you not see it to your shame ? But the plough
of Satan goes from end to end of his great field, he leaves
no headland, but he ploughs deep while sluggish churches
sleep. May we be stirred as we see the awful activity of
evil spirits and persons who are under their sway. How
industriously pernicious literature is spread abroad, and
with what a zeal do men seek for fresh ways of sinning.
He is eminent among men who can invent fresh songs to
gratify the lascivious tongue, or find new spectacles to de-
light unclean eyes. O God, are thine enemies awake, and
only thy friends asleep ? O Sufferer, once bathed in bloody
sweat in Gethsemane, is there not one of the twelve awake

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

419

but Judas ? Are they all asleep except tlic traitor? May-
God arouse us for his infinite mercy's sake.
' Besides this, my brethren, when a churcl) is not serving
God, mischief is brewing within herself. While she is
not bringing others in, her own heart is becoming weak
in its pulsations, and her entire constitution is a prey to
decline. The church must either bring forth children
unto God, or else die of consumption : she has no alterna-
tive but that. A church must either be fruitful or rot,
and of all things, a rotting church is the most offensive.
Would God we could bury our dead churches out of our
sight, as Abraham buried Sarah, for above ground they
breed a pestilence of scepticism ; for men say, " Is this
religioii ?" and taking it to be so, they forego true religion
altogether.

And then, worst of all is, God is not glorified. If there
be no yearning of heart in the church, and no conver-
sions, where is the travail of the Redeemer's soul ? Where,
Immanuel, where are the trophies of thy terrible conflict ?
Where are the jewels for thy crown 'i Thou shalt have
thine own, thy Father's will shall not be frustrated ; thou
shalt be adored ; but as yet we see it not. Hard arc
men's hearts, and they will not love thee ; unyielding are
their wills, and they will not own thy sovereignty. Oh !
weep because Jesus is not honored. The foul oath still
curdles our blood as we hear it, and blasphemy usurps
the place of grateful song. Oh ! by the wounds and
bloody sweat, by the cross and nails, and spear, I beseech
you followers of Christ, be in earnest, that Jesus Christ's
name may be known and loved through the earnest
agonizing endeavors of the Christian church.

lY. And now I must co-ue near to a close, by, in the
fourth place, noticing the woe which will surely come

TO THOSE who HINDER THE TRAVAIL OF THE CHURCH, and SO

prevent the bringing forth of her children. An earnest
spirit cannot complete its exhortations to zeal without
pronouncing a denunciation upon the indifferent. What
said the heroine of old who had gone forth against the

4,20

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

enemies of Israel, wlien she remembered coward spirits ?
" Curse ye Meroz, saitli the angel of the Lord, curse ye
bitterly the inhabitants thereof ; because they came not
to the help of the Lord against the mighty." Some such
curse will assuredly come upon every professing Christian
who is backward in helping the church in the day of her
soul's travail. And who are they that hinder her ? I
answer, every worldly Christian hinders the progress of
the gospel. Every member of a church who is living in
secret sin, who is tolerating in his heart any thing that he
knows to be wrong, who is not seeking eagerly his own
personal sanctification, is to that extent hindering the
work of the Spirit of God. " Be ye clean that bear the
vessels of the Lord," for to the extent that we maintain
known unholiness, we restrain the Spirit. He cannot
work by us as long as any conscious sin is tolerated. It
is not overt breaking of commandments that I am now
speaking of, brethren, but I include worldliness also — a
care for carnal thiugs, and a carelessness about spiritual
things, having enough grace just to make us hope that
you are a Christian, but not enough to prove you are ;
bearing a shrivelled apple here and there on the topmost
bough, but not much fruit ; this I mean, this partial bar-
renness, not complete enough to condemn, yet complete
enouffh to restrain the blessing, this robs the treasury of
the church, and hinders her progress. O brethren, if any
of you are thus described, repent and do your first works ;
and God help you to be foremost in proportion as you
have been behind.

They are also guilty who distract the mind of the
church from the subject in hand. Anybody who calls
off the thoughts of the church from soul-saving is a mis-
chief-maker. I have heard it said of a minister, " He
greatly influences the politics of the town." Well, it is
a very doubtful good in my mind, a very doubtful good
indeed. If the man, keeping to his own calling of preach-
ing the gospel, happens to influence these meaner things,
it IB wei^ but any Christian minister who thinks that he

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

4j21

,rd spirits?
d, curse ye
Y came not
Some such
g Christian
I day of her
ier her ? I
progress of
IS living in
ling that he
jrly his own
adering the
lat bear the
NQ maintain
He cannot
►lerated. It
t I am now
aess also — a
lut spiritual
s hope that
>ve you are ;
ithe topmost
partial bar-
et complete
treasury of
Ihren, if any
first works ;
tion as you

nind of the

who calls

ig is a mis-

jiister, "He

I Well, it is

[ibtful good

of preach-

fner things,

"ls that he

can do two things well, is mistaken. Let him mind soul-
winning, and not turn a Christian church into a political
club. Let us fight out our politics somewhere else, but
not inside the church of God, There our one business is
Boul-winning, our one banner is the cross, our one leader
is the crucined King. Inside the church there may be
minor things that take off the thou3^hts of men from
seeking souls, — little things that can be made beneath
the eye that is microscopical, to swell into great offences.
Oh, my brethren, let us, while souls are perishing, waive
personal differences. "It must need be, that offences
come, but woe unto him by whom the offence cometh ;"
but, after all, what can there *be that is worth taking
notice of, compared with glorifying Christ. It our Lord
and Master would be honored by your being a door-mat
for his saints to wipe their feet on, you would be honored
to be in the position ; and if there shall come glory to
God by your patient endurance, even of insult and con-
tumely,* be glad in your heart that you are permitted to
be nothing that Christ may be all in all. "We must by
no means turn aside to this or that; not even golden
apples must tempt us in this race ! There lies the mark,
and until it is reached, we must never pause, but onward
press, for Christ's cause and crown.

Above all, my brethren, we shall be hindering the
travail of the church if we do not share in it. Many
church members think that if they do nothing wrong,
and make no trouble, then they are all right. Not at
all, sir; not at all. Here is a chariot, and we are all
engag'^d to drag it. Some of you do not put out your
hands to pull ; well, then, the rest of us have to labor so
much the more ; and the worst of it is we have to draw
you also. While you do not add to the strength which
draws, you increase the weight that is to be drawn. It
is all very well for you to say, " But I do not hinder " ;
you do hinder, you cannot help hindering. If a man's
leg does not help him in walking, it certainly hinders
him. Oh, I cannot bear to think of it. That I should

422

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

h '

ii:>^

be a hindrance to my own soul's growth is bad indeed ;
but that I should stand in the way of the people of God
and cool their courage, and damp their ardor — my Mas-
ter, let it never be I Sooner let me sleep among the clods
of the valley, than be a hindrance to the meanest work
that is done for thy name.

V. And now I shall close, not with this note of woe,
but with A WORD OF BLESSING. Depend upon it there
-. shall come a great blessing to any of you who feel the
soul travail that brings souls to God. Your own heart
will be watered. You know the old illustration, so often
used that it is now almost hackneyed, of the two travel-
lers, who passed a man ffozen in the snow, and thought
to be dead ; and the one said, " I have enough to do to
keep myself alive, I will hasten on ;" but the othe^* said,
" I cannot pass a fellow-creature while there is the least
breath in him." He stooped down and began to warm
the frozen man by rubbing him with great vigor ; and at
last the poor fellow opened his eyes, came back to life and
animation, and walked along with the man who had
restored him to life ; and what think you was one of the
first sights they saw ? it was the man who so selfishly took
care of himself frozen to death. The good Samaritan had
preserved his own life by rubbing the other man ; the
friction he had given had caused the action of his own
blood, and kept him in vigor. You will bless yourselves
if you bless others.

Moreover, will it not be a joy to feel that you have
done what you could ? It is always well on a Sunday
evening for a preacher to feel when he gets home, " Well,
I may not have preached as I could wish, but I have
preached the Lord Jesus and poured forth all my heart
and I could do no more." He sleeps soundly on that.
After a day spent in doing all the good you^ can, even if
you have met with no success, you can lean your head on
Christ's bosom and fall asleep, feeling that if souls be not
gathered, yet you have your reward. If men are lost, it
IB Bome Batisfactiou to ub that they were not lost because

TRAVAILING FOR SOULS.

423

we failed to tell them the way of salvation. But what a
comfort it will be to yo" "upposin^ you should be success-
ful in bringing some to v^hrist. Why it will set all the
bells of your soul ringing. Ther^ is no {.greater joy except
the joy of our own communion with Christ, than this of
bringing others to trust the Savioui\ Oh seek this joy
and pant after it. And what if you should see your own
children converted ? You have long hoped for it, but
your hopes have been disappointed ; God means to give
you that choice blessing when you live more nearly to
him yourself Yes, wife, the husband's heart will be won
when your heart is perfectly consecrated. Yes, mother,
the girl shall love the Saviour when you love him better.
Yes, teacher, God means to bless your class, but not until
first of all he has made you fit to receive the blessing.
Why, now, if your childre.i were to be converted through
your teaching, you would be mightily proud of it :
God knows you could not bear such success, and does not
mean to give it until he has laid you low ?it his feet, and
emptied you ot yourself, and filled you with himself.

And now I ask the prayers of all this church, that Gol
would send us a time #f revival. I have not to complain
that I have labored in vain, and spent my strength for
nought ; far from it. I have not even to think that the
blessing is withdrawn from the preaching of the word,
even in a measure, for I never had so many cases of con-
version in my life as I have known since I have been
restored from sickness; I have never before received so
many letters in so short a time, telling me that the ser-
mons printed have been blest, or the serm^as preached
here ; yet I do not think we ever had so few conversions
from the regular congregation. I partly account for it
from the fact, that you cannot fish in one pond always
and catch as many fish as at first. Perhaps the Lord has
saved all of you he means to save ; sometimes, I am
afraid he has ; and then it will be of little use for me to
keep on preaching to you, and I had better shift quarters
sEnd try somewhere el&e. It would be a melancholy

42i

TllAVAILING FOR SOULS.

thought if I believed it : — I do not believe it, I only fear
it. Surely it is not always to be true that strangers, who
drop in here only once, are converted, and you who are
always hearing the gospel remain unaffected. Strange,
but may it not be strangely, lamentably true of you ?
This very day may the anxiety of your Christian friends
be excited for you, and then may you be led to be anxious
for yourselves, and give your eyes no slumber till you
find the Saviour. You know the way of salvation ; it is
siraply to come with your sins and rest them on the
Saviour ; it is to rely upon or trust in the atoning blood.
Oh that you may be made to trust this morning, to the
praise of the glory of his grace. The elders mean to meet
together to-morrow evening to have a special hour of
prayer ; I hope, also, the mothers will meet and have a
time of wrestling, and that every member of the church
will try to set apart a time for supplication this week,
that the Lord may visit again his church, and cause us to
rejoice in his name. We cannot go back ; we dare not
go back. Wo have put our hand to the plough, and the
curse will bo upon us if we turn back. Remember Lot's
wife. It must be onward with us ; backward it cannot
be. In the name of God the Eternal, let us gird up our
loins by the power of his Spirit, and go onward conquer-
ing through the blood of the Lamb. We ask it for Jesus'
sake. Amen.

I only fear
rangers, who
iTou who are
d. Strange,
rue of youl
stian friends
to be anxious
iber till you
vation ; it is
them on the
oning blood.
L'ning, to the
mean to meet
►ecial hour of
t and have a
f the church
on this week,
id cause us to

we dare not
ugh, and the

ember Lot's
,rd it cannot
|S gird up our

ard conquer-
k it for Jesus'

" rOUR OWN SALVATION."

[This eennon htls been very Inr^cly bleBsed in conversions. It has been
very widely scattered in its Bcparate lorm.J

"todb OWN BALVATioK."— Philiipiansii. 12.

E select the words, " yo%ir own salvaiion,^'^ as our
text this morning, not out of any singularity, or
from the slightest wish that the brevity of the text
Bhould surprise you ; but because our subject will be the
more clearly before you if only these tnree words are
pronounced. If I had nominally taken the whole verse
t could not have attempted to expound it without dis-
tracting your attention Irom the topic which now weighs
upon my heart. Oh that the divine Spirit may bring
home to each one of your minds the unspeakable impor-
tance of " your own salvation !"

We have heard it said by hearers that they come to
listen tons, and vve talk to them upon subjects in which
they have no interest. You will not be able to make
this complaint to-day, for we shall speak only of " your
own salvation ;" and nothing can more concern you. It
has sometimes been said that preachers frequently select
very unpractical themes. No such objection can be raised
to-day, for nothing can be more practical than this ;
nothing more needful than to urge you to see to " your
own salvation." W§ have even heard it said that minis-
ters delight in abstruse subjects, paradoxical d ogmas, and
mysteriee surpassing comprehension ; but, assuredly, we

42G

"YOUR OWN SALVATION.'*

iiji

will keep to plain sailinfij this morning. No sublime
doctrines, no protbiind ([ucstions bIuiU perplex jou ; you
Bliall only be called on to consider " your own salvation :"
a very homely theme, and a very simple one, but for all
that, the most weighty that can be brought before you.
I ohall seek after simple words also, and plain senterceri,
to suit the simplicity and plainness of the subject, that
there may be no tliought whatever about the speaker's
language, but only concerning this one, sole, only topic,
" your own salvation." I ask you all, as reasonable men
who would not injure or neglect yourselves, to lend me
your most serious attention. Chase away the swarming
vanities which buzz ground you, and let each man think
for himself upou "his own salvation." Oh may the
Spirit of God set each one of you apart in a mental soli-
tude, and constrain you each one, singly, to face the
truth concerning his own state ! Each man apart, each
woman apart ; the father apart, and the child apart : may
you now come before the Lord in solemn thought, and
may nothing occupy your attention but this : " your own
salvation."

1. We will begin this morning's meditation by noting
THE MATTER UNDER CONSIDERATION — Solvation !

Salvation ! a great word, not always understood, often
narrowed down, and its very marrow overlooked. Salva-
tion I Tliis concerns every one here present. We all fell
in our first parent ; we have all sinned personally ; we
shall all perish unless we find salvation. The word salva-
tion contains within it delivera/nce from the guilt of our
past si/ns. We have broken God's law each one of us,
more or less flagrantly, we have all wandered the down-
ward road though each has chosen a difierent way. Sal-
vation brings to us the blotting out of the transgressions
of the past, acquittal from criminality, purging from all
guiltiness, that we may stand accepted betore the great
Judge. What man in his sober senses will deny that
forgiveness is an unspeakably desirable blessing !

But salvation means more than that : it includes deliver-

"YOTTR OWN SALVATION.**

457

No Bublime
lex you ; you
'11 ealvation :"
e, but for all
tit before you.
ain aentercert,

subject, tluit
; tbe speaker's
.le, only topic,
easouable men
38, to lend me

tlio swarming
acb man think

Ob may the

a mental soli-
,y, to face the
ian apart, each
tild apart: may
n thought, and
lis: "your own

ion by noting

ion !

iderstood, otten
Looked. Salva-
nt. We all fell
personally; we
The word salva-
he guilt of our

each one of ns,
.eredthe down-
rent way. Sal-
■e transgressions
[urging from all

,elore the great
will deny that

essing!

ncludes deU'oer-

ance from the povjer of sin. Naturally wo are all fond
of evil, and wo run after it greedily ; we are the bond-
ftlaves of iniquity,* and we love the bonduge. Thislstis
the worst feature of the case. But when salvation comes
it delivers the man from the power of sin. lie learns
that it is evil, and he regards it as such, loathes it, re-
pents that lie has ever been in love with it, turns his back
upon it, becomes, through God's Spirit, the master of his
lusts, puts the flesh beneath his feet, and rises into the
liberty of the children of God. Alas I there are many
who do not care for this: if this be salvation they would
not give a farthing for it. Thev love their sins ; they re-
joice to follow the devices and imaginations of their own
corrupt hearts. Yet })e assured, this emancipation from
bad habits, unclean desires, and carnal passions, is the
main point in salvation, and if it be not ours, salvation in
its other branches is not and cannot be enjoyed by us.
Dear hearer, dost thou possess salvation from sin ? hast
thou escaped the corruption which is in the world through
lust? If not, what hast thou to do with salvation? To
any right-minded man deliverance from unhcly principles
is regarded as the greatest of all blessings. What think-
est thou of it ?

Salvation includes deHveromce from the present wi'ath
of God which abides upon the unsaved man every moment
of his life. Every person who is unforgiven is the object
of divine wrath. " God is angry with the wicked every
day. If he turn not, he will whet his sword." " He that
belie veth not is condemned already, because he hath not
beHeved in the name of the only begotten Son of God."
I frequently hear the statement that this is a state of
probation. This is a great mistake, for our probation
has long since passed. Sinners have been proved, and
found to be unworthy ; they have been " weighed in the
balances," and " found wanting." If you have not be-
lieved in Jesus, condemnation already rests upon you :
you are reprieved a while, but your condemnation is re-
corded, Salvation takes a man from under the cloud of

428

TOUR OWN SALVATION.

divine wrath, and reveals to him the divine love. He can
then say, " O God, I will praise thee : though thou wast
angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou
comfortest me." Oh, it is not hell hereafter which is the
only thing a sinner has to fear, it is the wrath of God
which rests upon him now. To be unreconciled to God
now is an awful thing : to have God's arrow pointed at
you as it is at this moment, even though it fly not from
the string as vet, is a terrible thing. It is enough to make
you tremble from head to foot when you learn that you
are the target of Jehovah's wrath : " he hath bent his
bow, and made it ready." Every soul that is unrecon-
ciled to God by the blood of his Son is in the gall of
bitterness. Salvation at once sets us free from this state
of danger and alienation. We '\re no longer the
" children of wrath, even as others," but are made children
of God and joint heirs with Christ Jesus. What can be
conceived more precious than this ?

And then, we lastly receive that part of salvation whicli
ignorant persons put first, and make to be the whole of
salvation. In consequence of our being delivered from
the guilt of sin, and from the power of sin, and from the
present wrath of God, we are delivered from, thefutwa,
nmath of God. Unto the uttermost will that wrath des-
cend upon the souls of men when they leave the body
and stand before their Maker's bar, if they depart this
life unsaved. To die without salvation is to enter into
damnation* Where death leaves us, there judgment
finds us ; and where judgment finds us, eternity will liold
us for ever and ever. " He which is filthy, let him be
filthy still," and he that is wretched as a punishment for
being filthy, shall be hopelessly wretched still. Salvation
delivers tlie soul from going down into the pit of hell.
We being justified, are no longer liable to punishment,
because we are no longer chargeable with guilt. Christ
Jesus bore the wrath of God that we might never bear
it. He has made a full atonement to the justice of God
for the sins of all believers. Against him that believeth

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

429

ove. He can
igh thou wast
Yay, and thou
T which is the
wrath of God
>nciled to God
ow pointed at
it fly not from
nough to make
[earn that yon
i hath bent his
hat is nnrecon-
Ls in the gall of
from this state
10 longer the
e made children
What can be

salvation which
)e the whole of
delivered from
1, and from the
'rom thefutwe
that wrath des-
leave the body
ley depart this
■is to enter into
fhere judgment
ernity will hold
•hy, let him he
punishment for
Istill. Salvation
Iq pit of hell.
fto punishment,
\ guilt. Christ
light never bear
justice of God
that believeth

there remaineth no record of guilt ; his transgressions are
blotted out, for Christ Jesus hath finished transgression,
made an end of sin, and brought in everlasting righteous-
ness. What a comprehensive word then is this — " salva-
tion ! " It is a triumphant deliverance from the guilt of
sin, from the dominion of it, from the curse of it, from
the punishment of it, and ultimately from the very exis-
tence of it. Salvation is the death of sin, its burial, its
annihilation, yea, and the very obliteration of its memory ;
for thus saith the I^ord : " their sins and their iniquities
will I remember no more."

Beloved hearers, I am sure that this is the weightiest
theme I can bring before you, and therefore I cannot be
content unless *1 see that it grasps you and holds you fast.
I pray you give earnest heed to this most pressing of all
subjects. If my voice and words cannot command your
fullest attention, I could wish to be dumb, that some
other pleader might with wiser speech draw you to a
close consideration of this matter. Salvation appears to
me to be of the first importance, when I think of what it
is in itself, and for this reason I have at the outset set it
forth before your eyec ; but you may be helped to remem-
ber its value if you consider that God the Father thinks
highly of salvation. It was on his mind or ever the earth
was. He thinks salvation a lofty business, for he gave
his Son that he might save rebellious sinners. Jesus
Christ, the only Begotten, thinks salvation most import-
ant, for he bled, he died to accomplish it. Shall I trifle
with that which cost him his life ? If he came from
heaven to earth, shall I be slow to look from earth to
heaven? Shall that which cost the Saviour a life of
zeal, and a death of agony, be of small account with me?
By the bloody sweat of Gethsemane, by the wounds of
Calvary. I beseech you, be assured that salvation must be
worthy of yoin* highest and most anxious thoughts. It
could not be that God the Father, and God the Son,
should thus make a common sacrifice ; the one giving his
Son and tho other giving himself for salvation, and yet

430

"TOUR OWN SALVATION."

Ir (

•■^

salvation should be a light and trivial thing. The Holy
Ghost thinks it no trifle, lor he condescends to work con-
tinually in the new creation that he may bring about sal-
vation. He is often vexed and grieved, yet he continues
still his abiding labors that be may bring many sons unto
glory. Despise not what the Holy Ghost esteems, lest
thou despise the Holy Ghost himselt. The sacred Trinity
think much of salvation ; let us not neglect it. I beseech
you who have gone on trifling with salvation, to remem-
ber that we who have to preach to you dare not trifle
with . The longer I live the more I feel that if God
do not make me faithful as a minister, it had been better
for me never to have been born. What a thought that I
am set as a watchman to warn your souls, and if I warn
you not aright, your blood will be laid at my door ! My
own damnation will be terrible enough, but to have your
blood upon my skirts as well ! — God save any one of his
ministers from being found guilty of the souls of men.
Every preacher of the gospel may cry with David,
" Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, thou God of
my salvation."

Bethink you, O careless hearers, that God's church
does not consider salvation to be a little matter ? Earnest
men and women, by thousands, are praying day and night
for the salvation of others, and are laboring too, and
making great sacrifices, and are willing to make many
more, if they may by any means bring some to Jesus and
his salvation. Surely, if gracious men, and wise men,
think salvation to be so important, you who have hitherto
neglected it ought to change your minds upon the matter,
and act with greater care for your own interests.

The angels think it a weighty business. Bowing from
their thrones, they watch for repenting sinners ; and when
they hear that a sinner has returned to his God, they
waken anew their golden harps and pour forth fresh
music before the throne, for '' there is joy in the presence
of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." It
is certain also that devils think salvation to be a great

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

431

iff.

. The Holy
to work con-
ing about sal-
, he continue!!
any sons unto
esteems, lest
iacred Trinity
it. I beseech
m, to remem-
lare not trifle
j1 that if God
ad been better
thought that I
and it* I warn
ny door I My
.t to have your
my one of his
souls of men.
I with David,
thou God of

God's church

atter? Earnest

day and night

oring too, and

) make many

_e to Jesus and

md wise men,

) have hitherto

3on the matter,

^erests.

Bowing from
.ers ; and when
|his God, they

T forth fresh
In the presence

•epenteth." It

to be a great

matter, for their arch-leader goeth about seeking whom
he may devour. They never tire in seeking men's des-
truction. They know how much salvation glorifies God,
and how terrible the ruin of souls is ; and therefore they
compass sea and land, if they may destroy the sons of
men. Oh, I pray you careless hearer, be wise enough to
dread that fate wliich your cruel enemy, the devil, would
fain secure for you! Remember, too, that lost souls
think salvation important. The rich man, when he was
in this world, thought highly of nothing but his barns,
and the housing of his produce ; but when he came into
the place *of torment, then he said : " Father Abraham,
send Lazarus to my father's house ; for I have five breth-
ren ; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come
into this place of torment." Lost souls see things in
another light than that which dazzled them here below ;
they value things at a different rate from what we do
here, where sinful pleasures and earthly treasures dim
the mental eye. I pray you then, by the blessed Trinity,
by the tears and prayers of holy men, by the joy of angels
and glorified spirits, by the malice of devils and the des-
pair of the lost, arouse yourselves from slumber, and
neglect not this great salvation ! *

i shall not depreciate anything that concerns your wel-
fare, but I shall steadfastly assort that nothing so much
concerns any one pf you as salvation. Your health by
all means. Let the physician be fetched if you be sick ;
care well for diet and exercise, and all sanitary laws.
Look wisely to your constitution and its peculiarities ;
but what matters it after all, to have possessed a healthy
body, if you have a perishing soul ! Wealth, yes, if you
must have it, though you shall find it an empty thing if
you set your heart upon it. Prosperity in this world,
earn it if you can do so fairly, but " what shall it profit a
man if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own
soul ? " A golden coffin will be a poor compensation for
a damned soul. To be cast away from God's presence,
can that misery be assuaged by mountains of treasure i

4^9

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

i- .

Can tlie bitterness of the second death be .sweetened by
the thought that the wretch was once a millionaire, and
that his wealth could affect the policies of nations ! No,
there is nothing in health or wealth, comJ)arable to sal-
vation. Nor can honor and reputation bear a comparison
therewith. Truly they are 1 »ut baubles, and yet for all
til at they have a strange fascination for the sons of men.
Oh, sirs, if every harp-string in the world should resound
your glories, and every trumpet should proclaim your
fame, what would it matter if a louder voice should say,
'* Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, pre-
pared for the devil and his angels ?" Salvation ! saloa-
tion ! SALVATION ! Nothing on earth can match it, for
the merchandise of it is better than silver, and the gain
thereof than fine gold. The possession of the whole uni-
verse would be no equivalent to £t lost soul for the awful
damage it has sustained, and must sustain for ever. Pile
up the worlds, and let them fill the balance ; ay, bring as
many worlds as there are stars, and heap up the scale on
the one side ; then in this other scale, place a single soul
endowed with immortality, and it outweighs the whole.
Salvation ! nothing can be likened unto it. May we feel
its unutterable value, and therefore seek it till we possess
it in its fulness !

II. But now we must advance to a second point of
consideration, and I pray God the Holy Spirit to press it
upon us, and that is, whose matter is it ? We have seen
what the matter is — salvation; now, consider whose it
is? '^ Jo!^y Oi^Ti salvation." At this hour nothing else
is to occupy your thoughts, but this intensely personal
matter, and I beseech the Holy Spirit to hold your minds
" fast to this one point.

If you are saved it will be " your own salvation," and
you yourself will enjoy it. If you are not saved, the sin
you now commit is your own sin, the guilt your own
guilt. The condemnation under which you live, with all
its disquietude and fear, or with all its callousness and
neglect, is your own — all your own. You may share iu

f.'-

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

433

itened by
laire, and
►ns ! No,
lie to Bal-
jmparison
et for all
.8 of men.
A resound
laim your
hould say,
fire, pre-
anl sal/va-
Xch. it, for
d tlie gain
whole uni-
: the awful
ever. Pile
iy, bring as
lie scale on
single soul
the whole,
ay we feel
we possess

id point of
to press it
'e have seen
ir whose it
Lothing else
^ly personal
your minds

latron," and
red, the sin

It your own
ve, with all

lousness and

jay share in

other men's sins, and other men may become participa-
tors in yours, but a burden lies on your own back which
no one besides can touch with one of his lingers. There
is a page in God's Book where your sins are recorded un-
mingled with the transgressions of your fellows. Now,
beloved, you must obtain for all tliis sin a personal par-
don, or you are undone forever. No otlier can be washed
in Christ's blood for you ; no one can believe and let his
faith stand instead of your faith. The very supposition
of human sponsorship in religion is monstrous. You
must yourself repent, yourself believe, yourself be washed
in the blood, or else for you there is no forgiveness, no
acceptance, no adoption, no regeneration. It is all a
personal matter through and through : " your own salva-
tion " it must be, or it will be your ow^n eternal ruin.

Reflect anxiously that you must personally die. No
one imagines that another can die for him. No man can
redeem his brother, or give to God a ransom. Through
that iron gate I must pass alone, and so must you.
Dying will have to be our own personal business ; and in
thac dying we shall have either personal comfort or per-
sonal dismay. When death is past, salvation is still our
" own salvation ;" for if I am saved, mine " eyes shall seek
the king in his beauty : they shall behold the land that
is very far off." Mine eyes shall see him, and not another
on my behalf. No brother's head is to wear your crown ;
no stranger's hand to wave your palm ; no sister's eye to
gaze for you upon the beatific vision, and no sponsor's
heart to be filled as your proxy with the ecstatic bliss.
There is a personal heaven for the personal believer in.
the Lord Jesus Christ. It must be, if you possess it,
" your own salvation." But if you have it not, reflect
again, that it will be your own damnation. But no one
will be condemned for you ; no other can bear the hot
thunderbolts of Jehovah's wrath on your behalf. When
you shall say, " Hide me, ye rocks ! Conceal me, O
mountains !" no one will 3pHri<^ forward, and say, " You
can cease to be accurs^dj and I will beconae a curse tov

^24i

YOUE OWN SALVATION.

you." A substitute tliere is to-day for every one that
believetli — God's appointed substitute, the Christ of God ;
but if that substitution- be not accepted by you, there can
never be another ; but there remains only for you a
personal casting away to suffer personal pangs in your
own soul and in your own body forever. This, then,
makes it a most solemn business. Oh, be wise, and look
well to " your own salvation."

you may be tempted to-day, and very likely you are,
to forget your own salvation by thoughts of other
people. We are all so apt to look abroad in this mat-
ter, and not to look at home. Let me pray you to re-
verse the process, and let every thing which has made
you neglect your own vineyard be turned to the op-
posite account, and lead you to begin at home, and see
to "your own salvation." Perhaps you dwell among
the saints of God, and you have been rather apt to find
fault with them, though for my part, I can say these
are the people I desire to live with, and desire to die
with : *' thy people shall be my people, and thy God
my God." But oh, if you live among the saints, ought
it not to be your business to see to " your own salva-
tion ? " See tnat you are truly one of them, not writ-
ten in their church-book merely, but really graven
upon the palms of Christ's hands ; not a false profes-
sor, but a real possessor ; not a mere wearer of the
name of Christ, but a bearer of the nature of Christ.
If you live in a gracious family, be afraid lest you should
be divided from them forever. How could you endure
.to go from a Christian household to a place of tor-
ment ? Let the anxieties of saints lead you to be
anxious. Let their prayers drive you to prayer. Let
their example rebuke your sin, and their joys entice
you to their Saviour. Oh, see to this ! But perhaps
you live most among ungodly men. and the tendency
of your converse with the ungodly is to make you
think as they do of the trifles and vanities and wicked-
nesses of this life. Do not let it be so ; but on the con-

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

43;

trary, say, ** God, though I am placed amonpj theso
people, yet gather not my soul with sinners, nor my
life with bloody men. Let me avoid the sins iiito which
they fall, and the impenitence of which they are guilty.
Save me, I pray thee, my God, save me from the
transgressions which they commit."

Perhaps to-day some of your minds are occupied with
thoughts of the dead who have lately fallen asleep.
There is a little one unhuried at home, or there is a
father not yet laid in the grave. Oh, when you weep
for those who have gone to heaven, think of " your
own salvation," and weep for yourselves, for you have
pirted with them forever unless you are saved. You
mve said, ^'Farewell" to those beloved ones, eter-
nally farewell, unless you yourselves believe in Jesus.
And if any of you have heard of persons who have
lived in sin and died in blasphemy, and are lost, I pray
you think not of them carelessly lest you also suffer the
same doom : for what saith the Saviour : " Suppose ye
that these were sinners above all the sinners ? " I tell
you, Nay : but except ye repent, ye shall all likewise
perish." It seems to me as if everything on earth and
every thing in heaven, and every thing in hell, yea, and
God himself, call upon you to seek " your own salva-
tion,'' first and foremost, and above all other things.

It may be profitable to mention some persons upon
whom this theme needs much pressing. I will begin
at home. There is great need to urge this matter upon
official Christians, such as I am, such as my brethren,
the deacons and elders are. If there are any persoixs
who are likely to be deceived, it is those who are called
by their office to act as shepherds to the souls of others.
Oh, my brethren ! it is so easy for me to imagine be-
cause I am a minister, and have to deal with holy
things, that therefore I am safe. I pray I my never fall
into that delusion, but may always cling to the cross, as
a poor, needy sinner resting in the blood of Jesus.
Brother mittisters, co-workers, and officials of the church,

436

"YOXm OWN SALVATION."

'P.I

do not imagine that office can save you. The son of
perdition was an apostle, greater than we are in office,
and yet at this hour he is greater in destruction. See
to it, ye that are numbered among the leaders of Israel,
that you yourselves be saved.

Unpractical doctrinalists are another class of person?
who need to be warned to see to their own salvation.
When they hear a sermon, they sit with their moutls
open, ready to snap at half a mistake. They make a
man an offender for a word, for they conclude them-
selves to be the standards of orthodoxy, and they wei^h
up the preacher as he speaks, with as much coolness as
if they had been appointed deputy judges for the Great
King himself. Oh, sir, weigh yourself! It may be a
great thing to be sound in the head, in the faith, lut
it ia a greater thing to be sound in the heart. I may
be able to split a hair between orthodoxy and hetero-
doxy, and yet may have no part nor lot in the matter.
You may be a very sound Calvinist, or you may hap-
pen to think soundness lies in another direction ; but,
oh, it is nought, it is less than nought, except your
Bouls feel the power of the truth, and ye yourselves are
born again. See to " your own salvation," O ye wise
men in the letter, who have not the Spirit.

So, too, certain persons who are always given to
curious speculations need warning. When they read
the Bible it is not to find whether they are saved or no,
but to know whether we are under the third or fourth
vial, when the millenium is going to be, or what is the
battle of Armageddon. Ah, sir, seaach out all these
things if thou hast time and skill, but look to thine
own salvation first. The book of Kevelation, blessed
is he that understands it, but not unless, first of all, he
understands this, " he that believeth and is baptized
shall be saved." The greatest doctor in the symbols
and mysteries of the Apocalypse shall be as certainly
cast away as the most ignorant, unless he has come to

■I

((

YOTJIl OWN SALVATION.

j»

437

Christ, and rested his soul in the atoning woi'k of our
great substitute.

I know some who greatly need to look to their own
salvation. I refer to those who are always criticising
others. They can hardly go to a place of worship but
what they are observing their neighbor's dress or con-
duct. !Nobody is safe from their remarks, they arc
such keen judges, and make such shrewd observations.
Ye faultfinders and talebearers, look to " your own
salvation." You condemned a minister the other day
for a supposed fault, and yet he is a dear servant of
God, who lives near his Master ; who are you, sir, to
use your tongue against such a one as he ? The other
day a poor humble Christian was the objo-^^ of your
gossip and your .slander, to the wounding of her heart.
Oh, see to yourselves, see to yourselves. If those eyes
which look outward so piercingly would sometimes
look inward they might see a sight which would blind
them with horror. Blessed horror if it led them to
turn to the Saviour who would open those eyes afresh,
and grant them to see his salvation,

I might also say that in this matter of looking to
personal salvation, it is necessary to speak to some who
have espoused certain great public designs. I trust I am
as ardent a Protestant as any man living, but I know too
many red-hot Protestants who are but little better than
Romanists, for though the Romanists of old might have
burnt them, they would certainly withhold toleration
from Romanists to-day, if they could ; and therein I see
not a pin to choose between the two bigots. Zealous
Protestants, I agree with you, but yet I warn you that
your zeal in this matter will not save you, or stand in the
stead of personal godliness. Many an orthodox Protes-
tant will be found at the left hand of the Great Judge.
And you, too, who are forever agitating this and that
jhiblic question, I would say to you, " Let politics alone
till your own inward politics are settled on a good foun-
4atioi;/' You are a Radical Reformer, you could show us

438

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

■<

a system of political economy which would right all onr
wrongs and give to every man his due ; then I pray you
right your own wrongs, reform yourself, yield your.Aelf to
the love of Jesus Christ, or what will it signify to you,
though you knew how to balance the affairs of nations,
and to regulate the arrangement of all classes of society,
if you yourself shall be blown away like chaff before tho
winnowing fan of the Lord. God grant us grace, then,
whatever else we take up with, to keep it in its proper
place, and make our calling and election sure.

III. And now, thirdly, and oh for grace to speak aright,
I shall try to answer certain objections. I think I
hear somebody say, " Well, but don't you believe in pre-
destination ? What have we so do with looking to our own
salvation ? Is it not all fixed ?" Thou fool, for I can
scarce answer thee till I have given thee thy right title;
A^as it not fixed whether tiiou shouldst get wet or not in
coming to this place ? Why then did you bring your
umbrella ? Is it not fixed whether you shall be nourished
with food to-day or shall go hungry ? Why then will you
go home and eat your dinner ? Is it not fixed whether
you shall live or not to-morrow; will you, therefore,
cut your throat ? No, you do not reason so wickedly, so
foolishly from destiny in reference to anything but "your
own salvat'on," and you know it is not reasoning, it is
just mere talk. Here is all the answer I will give you,
and all you deserve.

Another says, "I have a difficulty about this looking to
our own salvation. Do you not believe in full assurance ?
Are there not some w!io know that they are saved beyond
all doubt ! " Yes, blessed be God, I hope there are many
such now present. But let me tell you who these are not.
These are not persons who are afraid to examine themselves.
If I meet with any man who says, " I have no need to
examine myself any more, I know I am saved, and there-
fore have no need to take any further care," I would veA-
ture to say to him, " Sir, you are lost already. This strong
delusion of yours has led you to believe a fie." There are

*'YOUU OWN SALVATION."

439

none so cautious as those who ))ossosh full assurance, and
there are nono who have so much holy fear of sinning
against God, nor who walk so tenderly and carefully as
those who j)ossess the full assurance of faith. Presumption
is not assurance, though, alas ! many think so. No fully
assured believer will ever object to being reminded of the
importance of his own salvation.

But a third objection arises. " This is very selfish,'' says
one. " You have been exhorting us to look to ourselves,
and that is sheer selfishness." Yes, so you say : but let
me tell you it is a kind of selfishness that is absolutely
needful before you can b^» unselfish. A part of salvation
is to be delivered from s^jlfishness, and I am selfish enough
to desire to be delivered from selfishness. How can you
be of any service to ethers if you are not saved yourself?
A man is drowning. I am on London Bridge. If I spring
from the parapet and can swim, I can save him ; but sup-
pose I cannot swim, can I render any service by leaping
into sudden and certain death with the sinking man ? I
am disqualified from helping him till I have the ability to
do so. There is a school over yonder. Well, the first
inquiry of him who is to be the master must be, " Do I
know myself that which I profess to teach ? " Do you call
that inquiry selfish ? Surely it is a most unselfish self-
ishness, grounded upon common sense. Indeed, the man
who is not so selfish as to ask himself, " Am I qualified to
act as a teacher ? " would be guilty of gross selfishness in
putting himself into an office which he was not qualified
to fill. I will suppose an illiterate person going into the
school, and saying, '' I will be master here and take the
pay," and yet he cannot teach the children to read or
write. Would he not be very selfish in not seeing to his
own fitness ? But surely it is not selfishness that would
make a man stand back and say, " No, I must fii'st go to
school myself, otherwise it is but a mockerj;- of the children
for me to attempt to teach them anything." This is no
selfishness, then, when looked at aright, which makes us

44.0

"YOITR OWN SALVATION.

»»

!- .

' -.4

:3.

see to our own salvation, for it is the basis from which wo
operate ibr tlie good of others.

IV. Having answered these objections, I shall for a
minute attempt to hkndku somk assistance to those wlio
would fain be li^-ht in the best thincf.

Has the Holy Spirit been pleased to make anyone horo
earnest about his own salvation ? Friend, I will hel])yeu
to answer two (questions. Ask yourself, first, "Am I saved ("
I would help thee to re})ly to that very ({uickly. If you arc
saved this morning, you are the subject of a work withifi
you, as saith the text, " Work out your own salvation ; lor
it is God which worketh in you." You cannot work it ///,
■but when God works it in, you work it out. Have you a
work of the Holy Ghost in your soul ? Do you feel sonic-
thing more than unaided human nature can attain unto f
Have you a change wrought in you from above ? If so,
you are saved. Again, does your salvation rest wholly
upon Christ ? He who hangs anywhere but upon the cross.
hangs upon that which will deceive him. If thou standest
upon Christ, thou art on a rock ; but if thou trustest in the
merits of Christ in part, and thy own merits in part, then
thou hast one foot on a rock but another on the quicksand ;
and thou mightest as well have both feet on the quicksand,
for the result will be the same.

, "None but Jesus, none but Jesus
Can do helpless sinners good."

Thou art not saved unless Christ be all in all in thy soul,
Alpha and Omega, beginning and ending, first and last.
Judge by this, again : if you are saved, you have turned
your back on sin. You have not left off sinning — would to
God we could do so — but you have left off loving sin ; you
sin not wilfully, but from infirmity ; and you are earnestly
seeking after God and holiness. You have respect to God,
you desire to be like him, you are longing to be with him.
Your face is towards heaven. You are as a man who jour-
neys to the Equator. You are feeling more and more the
warminfluence of the heavenly heat and light. Now, if such

YOUR OWN SALVATION.

♦»

\\\

'om which wo

be your courses of life, tliat you walk not after the Hosli, but
after the S])irit, and hriiifjj forth the fruits of holiuosH, then
you arc saved May your answer to that ([uestion be given
HI great honesty and candor to your own soul. Be not too
j)artial a judge. Conclude not that all is right because out-
ward appearances are fair. Deliberate before you return a
favorable verdict. Judge yourselves that ye be not j udged.
it were better to condemn yourself and be accepted of God,
than to ac({uit yourself and find your mistake at the last.
But suppose that ([uestion sho'dd have to be answered
by any here in the negative (and 1 am afraid it must be),
then let those who confess that they are not saved, hear the
answer to another inipiiry ; " How can I be saved ? " Ah,
dear hearer, I have not to bring a huge volume nor a whole
armful of folios to you, and to say, "It will take you months
and years to understand the plan of salvation." No, the
way is plain, the method simple. Thou shalt be saved
within the next moment if thou believest. God's work of
salvation is, as far as its commencement and essence is con-
cerned, instantaneous. If thou believest that Jesus is the
Christ thou art born of God now. If thou dost now stand
in spirit at the foot of the cross, and view the incarnate God
suffering, bleeding, and dying there, and if as tiiuu dost look
at him, thy soul consents to have him for her Saviour, and
casts herself wholly on him, thou art saved. How vividly
there comes before vay memory this morning the moment
when I first believed in Jesus ! It was the simplest act my
mind ever performed, and yet the most wonderful, for thf
Holy Spirit wrought it in me. Simply to have done with
reliance upon myself, and have done with confidence in all
but Jesus, and to rest alone my undivided confidence in him,
and in what he had done. My sin was in that moment for-
given me, and I was saved, and it may all be so with you,
my friend, even with you if you also trust the Lord Jesus.
" Your own salvation " shall be secured by that one simple
act of faith ; and henceforward, kept by the power of God
through faith unto salvation, you shall tread thf; way of ho-
liness, till you come to be where Jesus is in everlasting bliss.

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

God grant that not a soul may go out of this place unsaved.
Even you, little children, who are here, you youngsters, you
young boys and girls, I pray that you may in early life at-
tend to " your own salvation." Faith is not a grace for old
people only, nor for your fathers and mothers only ; if your
little hearts shall look to him who was the holy child Jesus,
if you know but little yet, if you trust him, salvation shall
be yours. I pray that to you who are young, " your own
salvation" may become, while you are yet in your youth,
a matter of joy, because you have trusted it in the hands of
your Redeemer.

Now I must close ; but one or two thoughts press me.
I must utter them ere I sit down. I would anxiously
urge each person here to see to this matter of his own sal-
vation. Do it, I pray you, and in earnest, for no one can
do it for you. I have asked God for your soul, my hearer,
and I pray I may have an answer of peace concerning
you. But unless you also pray, vain are my prayers.
You remember your mother's tears. Ah ! you have cros-
sed the ocean since those days, and you have gone into
the deeps of sin, but you recollect when you used to say
your prayers at her knee, and when she would lovingly
say " Amen," and kiss her boy and bless him, and pray
that he might know his mother's God. Those prayers are
ringing in the ears of God for you, but it is impossible
that you can ever be saved unless it is said of you, " Be-
hold, he prayeth." Your mother's holiness can o'lly rise
up in judgment to condemn your wilful wickednt «>s un-
less you imitate it. Your father's earnest exhortations
shall but confirm the just sentence of the Judge unless you
hearken to them, and yourselves consider and put your
trust in Jesus. Oh ! bethink you each one of you, there
is but one hope, and that one hope lost, it is gone forevei'.
Defeated in one battle, a commander attempts another,
and hopes that he may yet win the campaign. Your life
is your one fight, and if it be lost it is lost for aye. The
man who was bankrupt yesterday commences again in
business with good heart, and hopes that he may yet euc-

a. . :-<

^r>»^5^

place unsaved,
gangsters, you
n early life at-
a grace for old
s only ; if your
3ly child Jesus,
salvation shall

ng, " yo^^ own
in your youth,
in the hands of

ights press me.
ould anxiously
of his own sal-
for no one can
soul, my hearer,
sace concerning
re my prayers,
you have cros-
lave gone into
ou used to say
[would lovingly
him, and pray
lose prayers are
it is impossible
|d of you, " Be-
is can on.ly rise
ickedntiS un-
,t exhortations
[dge unless you
and put your
e of you, there
s gone forever,
impts another,
gn. Your lite
for aye. ^ The
lences again in
e may yet buc-

"YOUR OWN SALVATION."

443

lign.

ceed ; but in the business of this mortal life, if you are
found bankrupt you are bankrupt forever and forever. I
do therefore charge you by the living God, before whom
I stand, and before whom I may have to give an account
of this day's preaching ere another day's sun shall shine,
I charge you to see to your own salvation. God help
you, that you may never cease to seek unto God till you
know by the witness of the Spirit that you hav3 indeed
passed from death unto life. See to it now, nov), NOW,
NOW. This very day the voice of warning comes to cer-
tain of you from God, with special emphasis, because you
greatly need it, for your time is short. How many have
passed into eternity during this week ! You may your-
self be gone from the land of the living before next Sab-
bath-day. I suppose, according to the calculation of pro-
babilities, out of this audience there are several who will
die within a month. I am not conjecturing now, but ac-
cording to all probabilities, these thousands cannot all
meet again, if all have a mind to do so. Who then among
us will be summoned to the unknown land ? Will it be
you, young woman, who have been laughing at the things
of God ? Shall it be yonder merchant, who has not time
enough for religion ? Shall it be you, my foreign friend,
who have crossed the ocean to take a holiday ? Will you
be carried back a corpse ? I do conjure you bethink
yourselves, all of you. You who dwell in London will
remember years ago when the cholera swept through our
streets, Some of us were in the midst of it, and saw many
drop around us, as though smitted with an invisible but
deadly arrow. That disease is said to be on its way
hither again ; it is said to be rapidly sweeping from Po-
land across the Continent, and if it come and seize some
of you, are you ready to depart ? Even if that form of
death do not afflict our city, as I pray it may not, yet is
death ever within our gates, and the pestilence walketh
in darkness every night, therefore consider your ways.
Thus saith the Lord, and with his word I conclude this
discourse : " Prepare to meet thy God, Israel."

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iiii

THE Sm OF GADDma ABOUT.

" Why gaddest thou about so mucli to change vby way?"— Jeremiah ii. 3C.

OD'S ancient people were very prone to forget
him, and to worship the false deities of the
neighboring heathen. Other nations were
faithful to their blocks of wood and of stone, and
adhared as closely to their graven images as though
they really had helped them, or could in future deliver
them. Only the nation which avowed the true God
forsook its God, and left the fountain of living waters
to hew out for itself broken cisterns which could hold
no water. There seems to have been, speaking after
the manner of meu, astonishment in the divine mind
concerning this, for the Lord says, " Pass over the
isles of Chittim, and see; and send unto Kedar, and
consider diligently, and see if there be such a^ thing.
Ilath a nation changed their gods, which are yet no gods?
but my people have changed their glory for that which
doth not profit. Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this,
and be horribly afraid, be ye very desolate." In this
same chapter the Lord addresses his people with the
question, " Can a maid forget her ornaments ? or a
bride her attire ? Yet my people have forgotten me
days without number." And here, in this text, the
same astonishment appears, " Why gaddest thou about
so much to change thy way ? " It most certainly was

THE SIN OF GADDINO ABOUT.

445

-JBBEMIAH 11. 3C.

a most unreasonable thing that a people with such a
God, who had dealt out to them so graciously the riches
of his love, and had wrought such wonders on their
behalf, should turn from him to the worship of Baal or
Ashtaroth, mimic gods which had ears but heard not,
eyes but saw not, and did but mock the worshippers
who were deluded by them.

I desire to put this question to believers, and then to
thf) unconverted. May the Holy Spirit bless it to each
class.

If you read this question, taking it in its connection,
you will see in the first place, that there is a relationship
mentioned. The question is asked, "Why gaddest thou
about so much?" The inquiry is not made of a traveller,
nor of one whose business it is to journey from pole to
pole, and to investigate distant lands. It is not asked of-
a wayfarer lodging for a night, nor of a homeless vagrant
who finds a poor shelter beneath every bush ; but it is
asked by God of his people Israel, describing them under
the character of a married wife. He represents the nation
of Israel as being married unto himself, himself the hus-
band of Israel, and Israel his bride. To persons bearing
that character the question comes with great force,
" Why gaddest thou about so much ?" Let others wander
who have no central object of attraction, who have no
house, and no " house-band," to bind them to the spot ;
but thou, a married wife, how canst thou wander ? What
hast thou to do in traversing strange ways? How canst
thou excuse thyself? If thou wert not false to thy rela-
tionship thou couldst not do so ? No, beloved, we strain
no metaphor when we say that there exists between the
soul of every believer and Jesus Christ, a relationship
admirably imaged in the conjugal tie. We are married
unto Christ. He has betrothed our souls unto himself.
He paid our dowry on the cross. He espoused himself
unto us in righteousness, in the covenant of grace. We
have accepted him as our Lord and husband. We have
given ourselves up to him, and under the tweet law of

446

THE SIN OF GADDING ABOUT.

Vr I

his love we ought to dwell evermore in his house. He h
the bridegroom of our souls, and he has arrayed us in
the weddmg dresfj of his own righteousness. Now it is to
us v/ho own this marriage union, and who are allied to the
Loi'd Jesus by ties so tender, that the "Well Beloved says,
" Why gaddest thou about so much ?"

Obi^erve, that the wife's place may be described as a
three-fold one. In the first place, she should abide in de-
pendence tipon her husband's ca/re. It would be looked
upon as a very strange thing if a wife should be overheard
to speak to another man, and say, " Come and assist in

Eroviding for me." If she shall cross the street to another's
ouse and say to a stranger, " I have a difiiculty and a
trouble ; will you relieve me from it ? I feel myself in
great need, but I shall not ask my husband to help me,
though he is rich enough to give me anything I require,
and wise enough to direct me, but I come to you a stranger,
in whom I have no right to look for love, and I trust
myself with you, and confide in you rather than in my
husband." This would be a very wicked violation of the
chastity of the wife's heart : her dependence as a married
woman with a worthy husband, must be solely fixed on
him to whom she is bound in wedlock. Transfer the
figure, for it is even so with us and the Lord Jesus. It
is a tender topic ; let it tenderly touch your heart and
mine. "What right bave I, when I am in trouble, to seek
an arm of fiesh to lean upon, or to pour my grief into an
earth-born ear in preference to casting my care on God,
and telling Jesus all my sorrows ? If a human friend had
the best intentions, yet he is not like my Lord, he never
died for me, he never shed his blood for me, and if he
loves me ho cannot love me as the husband of my soul
can love ! My Lord's love is ancient as eternity, deeper
than the sea, nrmer than the hills, changeless as his own
Deity ; how can I seek another friend in preference to
him ? What a slight I put upon the affection of my
Saviour 1 What a slur upon his condescending sympathy
towards me ! How I impugn his generosity and mistrust

THE SIN OP GADDTNO ABOUT.

447

oiise. He iii
[•ra^yed us in
Now it is to
3 allied to tlio
[Beloved says,

ascribed as a
i abide in de-
ald be looked
be overheard
and assist in
3t to anotber's
fficiilty and a
feel myself in
I to belp me,
ing 1 require,
ron a stranger,
3, and I trust
ir than in my
violation of the
e as a married
lely fixed on
Transfer the
>rd Jesus. It
ur heart and
ouble, to seek
grief into an
care on God,
an friend had
)rd, he never
le, and if he
|d of my soul
prnity, deeper
tss as his own
preference to
Fection of my
[ing sympathy
and mistrust

his power if, in my hour of need, I cry out, "Alas ! I have
no triend." No friend while Jesus lives ! Dare I say
I have no helper? No helper while the Mighty One upon
whom God has laid help still exists with arm unparalyzed
and heart unchanged ? Can I murmur and lament that
there is no escape for me from my tribulations ? No escape
while my Almighty Saviour lives, and feels my every
grief? Do you see my point? Put it in that shape, and
the question, " Why gaddest thou about so much to look
after creatures as grounds of dependence !" becomes a very
deep and searchmg one. "Why, O believer, dost thou
looK after things which are seen, and heard, and handled,
and recogni/^tdby the sense, instead of trusting in thine
unseen but not unknown Kedeemer? Oh! why, why,
thou spouse of the Lord Jesus, why gaddest thou about
so much? Have we not even fallen into this evil with
regard to our own salvation ? After a time of enjoyment
it sometimes happens that our graces decline, and we lose
our spiritual enjoyment, and as we are very apt to depend
upon our own experience, our faith also droops. Is not
this unfaithfulness to the finished work and perfect merit
of our great Substitute ? We knew at the first, when we
were under conviction of sin, that we could not rest on
anything within ourselves, and yet that truth is always
slipping away from our memories, and we try to build
upon past experiences, or to rely upon present enjoyments,
or some form or other of personal attainment. Do we
really wish to exchange the sure rock of our salvation for
the unstable sand of our own feelings ? Can it be that
having once walked by faith we now choose to walk by
sight ? Are graces, and frames, and enjoyments, to be
preferred to tne tried foundation of the Redeemer's atone-
ment? Be it remembered that even the work of the
Holy Spirit, if it be depended upon as a ground of accept-
ance with God, becomes as much an antichrist as though
it were not the work of the Holy Spirit at all. Dare we
so blaspheme the Holy Ghost as to make his work in us
a rival to the Saviour's work for us? Shame on us that

448

THE SIN OF GADDING ABOUT.

■<

'we ehoiild tlitis doiildy sin ! l lie bebt things are mis-
chievonB when put in the wrong place. Good works have
*' necessary nses," hut they ninst not he joined to the
work oi" Christ as the groundwork of our hope. Even
precions gold may he made into an idol-calt, and that
which the Lord himself hestows may he made to he a
polhited thing, like that brazen serpent which once
availed to heal, but when it was idolized came to he
Btyled by no better name than "a piece of brass," nd
» was broken and put away. Do not continually harp upon
what thou art, and what thou art not ; thy salvation docs
not rest in theee things, tut in thy I ord. Go thou and
Btand at the ibot of the cross, still an empty-handed
sinner to be filled with the riches of Christ ; a sinner
black as the tents of Kedar in thyself, and comely only
through thy Lord.

Again, the wife's position is not only one of sole de-
pendence upon her husband's care, but it should be, and
is, a posiiio7i of sole delight in Icr hv stand'' s love. To
be suspected of desiring aught of man's afi'ection beyond
that, would be the most serious imputation that could be
cast upon a wife's character. We are again upon very
tender ground, and I beseech each of you who are now
thinking of your Lord, consider yourself to be on very
tender ground too, for 30U know what our God has said —
" The Lord thy God is a jealous God." That is a very
wonderiul and suggestive expression — " a jealous God."
See that it be engraven on your hearts Jesus will not
endure it that those of us who love him should divide
our hearts between him. and something else. The love
which is sti'ong as death is linked with a jealousy cruel
as the grave, " the coals thereof are coals ot fire, w-hidi
hath a most vehement flame." The royal word to the
epouse is, " Forget also thine own kindred, and thy
faher's house; so shall the King greatly desire thy
beauty : for he is thy Lord ; and wor&hipthou him." Of
course, beloved, the Master never condemns that proper
natural afiection which we are bound to give, and which

THE SIN OF GADDING ABOri.

44»

it is a part ot our sanctification to give in its due and
proper proportion to th )se vvlio are related to u^. Besides,
we are bound to love all the saints, and all mankind in
their proper place and measure. But there is a love
which is tor the Master alone. Inside the heart there
must be a saiiGtwn sanotorutn^ within the veil, where he
himself alone must shine like the Shechinah, and reign on
the mercy-seat. There must be a glorious high throne
wiihin our spirits, where the true Solomon alone must sit;
the lions of watchful ze il must guard each step of it.
There must he, the Kino; in his beauty, sit enthroned, sole
monarch of the heart's affections. But alas! alas! how
often have we gone far t) provoke his anger! W"e have
set up the altars of strange gods hard by the holy place.
Sometimes a favorite child has been idolized; another
time, perhaps our own persons have been admired and
pampered. We have been unwilling to suffer though we
knew it to be the Lord's will : we were determined to
make provision for the flesh. We havp not been willing
to hazard our substance for Oh'ist, thus making our
worldly comfort our chief delight, instead of feeling that
wealth to bj well lost which is lost as the result of
Jehovah's will. Oh, how soon we make idols ! Idol-
making was not only the trade of Ephesus, but it is a
trade all the world over. Making shrines for Diana, nay,
shrines for self, we are all master craftsmen at this in some
form or another. Images of jealousy, which become
abominations of desolation, we have set up. We may
even exalt some good pursuit into an idol, even work for
the Master may sometimes take his place ; as was the case
with Martha, we are cumbered with much serving, and
often think more about the serving than of kim who is to
be served ; the secret being, that we are too mindful of
how we may look in the serving, and not enough consider-
ate of kim, and of how he may be honored by our service.
It is so very easy for our busy spirits to ga I about, and so
very difficult to sit at the Master's feet. Now, Christian,
if thou hast been looking alter tkiA and after that

450

THE SIN OF GADDING ABOUT.

pecondary matter ; if thy mind has been set too much
upon worldly business, or upon any form of earthly love,
the Master says to thee, " My spouse, my beloved, why
gaddest thou about so much ?" Let us confess our fault,
and return unto our rest.

But a third position, which I think will be recognized
by every wife as being correct, is not simply dependence
upon her husband's care and delight in her husband's

ovo, but also diligence in her husbands % house. The good
house- wife, as Solomon tells us, " looketh well to the ways

?her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness."
Sn^ is not a servant, her position is very different from
that, out for that very reason she uses the more diligence.
A servant's work may sometimes be finished, but a wife's
never. " She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth
meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens."
She rejoices willingly to labor as no servant could be
expected to do. " She seeketh wool, and flax, and
worketh willingly with her hands." " She girdeth her
loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She
perceiveth that her merchandise is good : her candle
goeth not out by night. She layeth her hands to the
spindle, and her hands hold the distaff." All through the
live-long night she watches her sick child, and then
through the weary day as well the child is still tended,
and the household cares are p^"^*!^ heavy upon her. She
relaxes never. She counts that her house is her kingdom,
and she cares for it with incessant care. The makmg of
her husband happy, and the training up of her children
in the fear of G-od, that is her business. The good house-
wife is like Sarah, of whom it is written, that when the
angels asked Abraham, " Where is Sarah thy wife ?" he
answered, " Behold she is in the tent." It would have
bf.en well for some of her descendants had they been ^' in
the tent," too, for Dinah's going forth to see the daugh-
ters of the land cost her dear. Kow, this is the position,
the exact position of the chaste lover of Jesus, he dwells
at home with Jeaus, among his owm people. The

THE SIN OF GADDING ABOUT.

451

Christian's place with regard to Christ is to bo diligently-
engaged in Christ's house. Some of us can snr^, I trust,
that we do naturally care for the souls of men. We were
horn by God's grace, to care for them, and < uld not be
happy, any more than some nui'ses can be hap^^y without
the care of children, unless we have converts to look after,
and weaklings to cherish. It is well for the church when
there are many of her members, beside her pastors and
deacons, who care for the souls of those who are born in
the church. The church is Christ's family mansion. It
should be the home of new-born souls, where they are
fed with food convenient f<" - them, nourished, comforted,
and educated for the bettc 1. d. You have all some-
thing to do ; you who f 'Q : rried to Christ have all a
part assigned you in + e household of God. He has
given you each a happy tc ^ k. It may be that you have
to suffer in secret for hin, or you have to talk to two or
three, or perhaps in . *;;;:le village station, or at the
corner of a street you have to preach, or possibly it is the
distribution of a handful of tracts, or it is looking after
the souls of a few women in your district, or teaching a
class of children. Whatever it is, if we have been grow-
ing at all negligent, if we have not thrown our full
strength into his work, and have been expending our
vigor somewhere else, may not the question come very
pertinently home to us, " Why gaddest thou about so
much ?" Why that party of pleasure, that political meet-
ing, that late rising, that waste of time ? Hast thou noth-
ing better to do ? Thbu hast enough to do for thy hus-
band and his church, if thou doest it well. Thou hast
not a minute to spare, the King's business requireth haste.
Our charge is too weighty and too dear to our hearts to
admit of sloth. The Lord has given us as much to do as
we shall have strength and time to accomplish by his
grace, and we have no energies to spare, no talents to
wrap up in napkins, no hours to idle in the market-place.
One thing we do : that one thing should absorb all our
powers. To neglect our holy lile-work is to wrong our

45J

THE SIN OF G ADDING ABOUT.

heavenly Bridegroom. Put this matter in a clear light,
my brethren, and do not shut your oyos to it. Have you
any right to mind earthly things ? Can you serve two
masters ? What, think you, would an, kind husband
here think, if when he came home the children had been
neglected all day, if there was no meal for him after hia
day's work, and no care taken of his house whatever ?
Might he not well give a gentle rebuke, or turn away
with a tear in his eye i And if it were lon^ continuea,
might he not almost be justitied if he should say — " My
house yields me no comfort ! This woman acts not as a
wife to me !" And yet, bethink thee, soul, is not this
what thou hast done with thy Lord 'i When ho has come
into his house has he not found it in sad disorder, the
morning prayer neglected, the evening supplication but
poorly ottered, those little children l)ut badly taught,
and many other works of love forgotten. It is thy busi-
ness as well as his, for thou art one with him, and yet
thou hast failed in it. Might he not justly say to thee,
*' I have little comfort in thy fellowship 'i I will get me
gone until tliou treatest me better, and when thouTongest
for me, and art willing to treat me as I should be treated,
then I will return to thee, but thou shalt see my face no
more till thou hast a truer heart towards me ?" Thus in
personal sadness have I put this question ; tlie Lord give
118 tender hearts while answering it.

I will ask thee a few questions, not so much by way of
answering the inquiry, as to show how difficult it is to
answer it. " Why gaddest thou about so much ? " Has
thy Lord given thee any otfence 'i Has he been unkind
to thee ? Has the Lord Jesus spoken to thee like a
tyrant, and played the despot over thee ? Must thou not
confess that in all his dealings with thee in the past, love,
unmingled love, has been his rule 'if He has borne
patiently with thine ill-manners ; when thou hast been
foolish he has given thee wisdom, and he has not up-
braided thee, though he might have availed himself cA
the opportuuit/ oi that gil't, ai men so ofton do, to giv«

THE SIN OP GADDINQ AnOUT.

45S

a word of npbmialng at the same time. He has not
turned against thee or been tliino enemy, why then be
so cold to liim } Is this che way to deal with one so
tender und so good ? Let ino ask thee, has thy Saviour
changed ? Wilt thou dare to think he is untrue to thee!
Is he not " the same yesterday, to-day, and forever 1 "
That cannot, tlien, be an apology for thine unfaithful-
ness. Has he been unmindful of his promise ? He has
told thee to call upon him in the day of tr^»uble, and he
will deliver thee ; has he failed to do so ? It is written,
" No good thing will he withhold from them that walk
uprightly." Has he withheld a really good thing from
thee when thou hast walked uprightly ? If, indeed, he
had played thee false, thine excust3 for deserting him
might claim a hearing, but thou darest not say this.
Thou knowest that he is faithful and true.

I wish I had the power to handle a topic like this as
Eutherford, or Herbert, or Hawker would have done, so
as to touch all your hearts, if you are at this hour without
enjoyment of fellowship with Jesus. But, indeed, 1 am
so much one of yourselves, so much one who has to seek
the Master's face myself, that I can scarcely press the
question upon you, but must rather press it upon myself.
'' Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way ?"
Blessed shall be the time when our wanderings shall
coase, when we shall see him face to face, and rest in his
bosom! Till then, if we are to know anything of heaven
here below, it must be by living close to Jesus, abiding at
the foot of his cross, depending on his atonement, looking
for his coming — that glorious hope, preparing to meet
him with lamps well trimmed, watching for the midnight
cry, " Behold, the Bridegroom cometh ;" standing even
in his presence ; looking up to him as we see him pleading
before the throne, and believing that he is ever with us,
even unto the end of the world. Oh, may we be in future
so iixed in heart that the question need not again be
asked of us, " Why gaddest thou about so much '<"

^^M.

^SH^^h^ V j^^i^

/^Tl^ ■>'-— ^xT^vv^

^=^ ^

IV.

' NUMBER ONE THOUSAND ; OR, " BREAD
ENOUGH AND TO SPARE."

' " And when he came to himself, ho said, how many hired servants of my
father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger?'*
LUKB XV. 17.

■-■*-.

E came \^ himself." The word may be ap-
plied to one waking out of a deep swoon.
Ho had been unconscious of his true condi-
tion, and he had lost all power to deliver himself from
it ; but now he was coming round again, returning
to consciousness and action. The voice which shall
awaken the dead aroused him; the visions of his
sinful trance all disappeared ; his foul but fascinating
dreams were gone ; he came to himself. Or the word
may be applied to one recovering from insanity. The
prodigal son had played the madman, for sin is mad-
ness of the worst kind. He had been demented, he
had put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter, darkness
for light and light for darkness ; he had injured hiii^elf,
and had done for his soul what those possessed of devils
in our Saviour's time did for their bodies, when the y
wounded themselves with stones, and cut themselves
with knives. The insane man does not know himself
to be insane, but as soon as he comes to himself he pain-
fully perceives the state from which he is escaping. Re-

ifi

"nuEAu K>^ourju and to spare."

455

*' BREAD

»»

Ired Bcrvauts of my
,8h witUbuugor?^'

pd may be ap-
a deep swoon,
lis true condi-
jr himself from
^ain, returning
QQ whicli shall
visions of his
3ut fascinating
Or the word
insanity. The
for sin is mad-
demented, he
jitter, darkness
.njuredhiiii^elf,
isessed of devils
lies, when they
cut themselves
linow himself
Jmselfhepain-
s escaping. Re-

turning then to true renson and sound judgment, the
prodigal came to himself. Another illustration of the
word may be found in the old world fables of enchant-
ment: when a man was disenthralled from the magician's
spell ho " came to hinipclf." Classic story has its legend
of Circe, the enchantress, w^^o transformed men into
swine. Surely this young man in our parable had been
degraded in the same manner. He had lowered his
manhood to the level of the brutes. It should be the
property of man to have love to his kindred, to have
respect for right, to have some care for his own interest ;
thi<» young man had lost all these proper attributes of
humanity, and so had become as the beast that perish-
eth. But as the poet sings of Ulysses, that he compelled
the enchantress tb restore his companions to their
original form, so here we see the prodigal returning to
manhood, looking away from his sensual pleasures, and
commencing a course of conduct more consistent with
his birth and parentage. There are men here to-day
perhaps who are still m this swoon ; O God of heaven,
arouse them ! Some here who are morally insane ; the
Lord recover them, the divine Physician put his cooling
hand upon their fevered brow, and say to them : "I
will ; be thou made whole." Perhaps there are others
here who have allowed their animal nature to reign
supreme ; may he who destroys the works of the devil
deliver them from the power of Satan, and give them
power to become the sons of Q-od. He shall have all
the glory ! ,

It appears that when the prodir^al came to himself he
was shut up to two thou^'hts. Two facts were clear to
him, that there was plenty in his father's house, and that
he himself was famishing. May the two kindred spiritual
facts have absolute power over all your hearts, if you are
yet unsaved ; for they were mo^t certainly all-important
and pressing truths. These are no fanci^^s of one in a
di*eam ; no ravings of a manii;.c : no imaginations of one
under fascination ; it is most true that there is plenty

456

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND; OR

-■I i

of all good things in the Father's house, and that the
sinner needs thenri. Nowhere else can grace be found
or pardon gained ; but with God there is plenitude of
mercy ; let none venture to dispute this glorious truth.
Equally true is it that the sinner without God is per-
ishing. He is perishing now; he will perivsh everlast-
ingly. All that is worth having in his existence will
be utterly destroyed, and he himself shall only remain
as a desolation ; the owl and the bittern of misery and
ani^uish shall haunt the ruins of his nature forever and
forever. If we could shut up unconverted men to those
two thoughts, what hopeful congregations we should
have. Alas ! they forget that there is mercy only with
God, and fancy that it is to be found somewhere else;
and they try to slip away from the humbling fact ot
their own lost estate, and imagine that perhaps there
may be some back door of escape ; that, after all, they
are not so bad as the Scripture declares, or that perchance
it shall be right with them at the last, however wrong
it may be with them now. Alas ! my brethren, what
shall we do with those who wilfully shut their eyes to
truths of which the evidence is overwhelming, and the
importance o^-erpowering? I earnestly entreat those
of you who know how to approach the throne of God
in faith, to breatthe the prayer that he would now bring
into captivity the unconverted heart, and put these two
strong fetters upon every unregenerate soul ; there is
abundant grace with God, there is utter destitution with
themselves. Bound with such fetters, and led into the
l)resence of Jesus, the captive would soon receive the
liberty of the children of God.

I intend only to dwell this morning, or mainly, upon
the first thought, the master thought, as it seems to me,
which was in the prodigal's mind — that which really
constrained him to say, *' f will arise and go. to ray
father." It was not, I think, the home-bringing thought
that he was perishing with hunger, but the impulse to-
wards his fatherfound its mainspring in the consideration,

"BKEAD ENOXTOn AND TO SPARE.

>»

457

" How many hired servants of my father's have hread
enough and to spare ! " The plenty, the ahundance,
the superabnndnnce of the fjitlier's house, was that
which attracted liim to return liome ; and many, many
a soul has been led to seek God when it has fully be-
lieved that there was abundant mercy with him. My
desire this morning shall be to put plainly before every
sinner here the exceeding abundance of the grace of God
in Christ Jesus, hoping that the Lord will find out those
who are his sons, and that they may catch at these
words, and as they hear of the abundance of the bread
in the Father's house, may say, " I will arise and go to
my Father."

I. First, then, let us consider for a short time the moee

THAN ABUNDANCE OF ALL GOOD THINGS IN THE FaTUEu's

HOUSE. "What dost tliou need tliis morning, awakened
sinner? Of all tlia^ thou necdest, there is with God an
all-sufficient, a superabounding supply; "lu'cad enough
anid to spare." Let us prove tbis to thee. First, consider
the Father hi ws< If \ and whcsocver shall rightly consider
the Father, will' at once perceive that there can bono
stint to mercy, no bound to the possibilities of grace.
What is the nature and cliaracter of the Supreme? "Is
he harsh or loving V^ saith one. Tlic Scripture answers
the question, not by telling us that God is loving, but by
assuring us that God is love. God himself is love ; it is his
very essence. It is not that love is in God, but that God
himself is love. Can thei'e be a more concise and more
positive way of saying that the love of God is infinite?
You cannot measure God himself; your conceptions can-
not grasp the grandeur of his attributes, neither can you
tell the dimensions of his love, nor conceive the fulness
of it. Only this know, that high as the heavens are
above the earth, so are his ways higher than your ways,
and his thoughts than your tlionghts. His mercy en-
dureth forever. He pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by
the transgression of the remnant of his heritage. He
retaineth not hia anger forever, because he delighteth in

458

NUMBEK ONE THOUSAND; OR

mercy. "Tliou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive:
and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon
thee.'^ " Thy mercy is great above the heavens." " The
Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy."

If divine love alone should not seem sufficient for your
salvation, remember that with the Father to whom the
sinner returns, there is as much of wisdom as there is of
grace. Is thy case a, very difficult one ? He that made
thee can heal thee. Are thy diseases strange and com-
plex ? He that fashioned the ear, can he not remove its
deafness 'i He that made the eye, can he not enlighten it
if it be blind ? No mischief can have happened to thee,
but what he who is thy God can recover thee from it.
Matchless wisdom cannot fail to meet the intricacies of
thy case.

Neither can there ^e any failure of power with the
Father. Dost thou not -know that he who made the
earth, and stretched out the heavens like a tent to dwell
in, hath no bound to his strength, nor limit to his mights
If thou needest omnipotence to lift thee up from the
slough into which thou hast fallen, omnipotence is ready
to deliver thee, if thou cry to the strong for strength.
Tliough thou shouldest need all the force with which the
Creator made the worlds, and all the strength with which
he bears up the pillars of the universe, all that strength
and force should be laid out for thy good, if thouwouldst
believingly seek mercy at the hand of God in Christ
Josus. None of his power shall be against thee, none of
his wisdom shall plan thy overthrow ; but love shall reign
in all, and every attrib; \e of G od shall become subser-
vient to thy salvation. Oh, when I think of sin I cannot
understand how a sinner can be ^avoJ ; but when I think
of God, and look into liis heart, I understand how readily
he can forgiv^e. " Look into his heart," saith one ; '' how
can we do that ?" Hath he not laid bare his heart to
you ? Do you inquire where he has done this ? I answer,
yonder, upon Calvary's cross. What was in the very
centre of the divine heart ? What, but the person of the

"bread enough and to spare."

459

r to forgive:
lat call upon

ens.

The

•ient for your
to whom tlie
as there is of
:e that made
nge and com-
ot remove its
ot enlighten it
pened to thee,
r thee from it.
s intricacies of

lower with the
,vho made the
I tent to dwell
it to his might?
se up from the
)tence is ready
kr for strength.
Ivith which the
th with which
|l that strength
if thou wouldst
lod in Christ
^t thee, none of
love shall reign

ecome subser-
of sin I cannot
^t when I think
..d how readily
th one ; '' how
ie his heart to
,is % I answer,
,8 in the very
person of the

"Well-beloved, his only begotten Son? And he hath
taken his only begotten and nailed him to the cross, be-
cause, if I may venture so to speak, he loved sinners
better than his Son. He spared not his Son, but he spares
the sinner ; he poured out his wrath upon his Son and
made him the substitute for sinners, that he might lavish
love upon the guilty who deserved his anger. O soul, if
thou art lost, it is not from any want of grace, or wisdom,
or power in the Father ; if thou perish, it is not because
God is hard to move or unable to save. If thou be a
castaway, it is not because the Eternal refused to hear thy
cries for pardon or rejected thy faith in him. On thine
own head be thy blood, if thy soul be lost. If thou
starve, thou starvest becaLse thou wilt starve ; 'for in tho
Father's house there is " bread enough and to spare."

But, now, consider a second matter which may set this
more clearly before us. Think of the son of God^ who is
indeed the true bread of life for sinners. Sinner, I re-
turn to my personal address. Thou needest a Saviour;
and thou mayst well be encouraged when thou seest that
a Saviom* is provided — provided by God, since it is cer-
tain he would not make a mistake in the provision. But
consider who the Saviour is. He is himself God. Jesus
who came from heaven for our redemption was not an
angel, else might we tremble to trust the weight of our
sin upon him. He was not mere man, or he could but
have suffered as a substitute for many, if indeed for one ;
but he was very God of very God, in the beginning with
the Father. And does such a one come to redeem ? Is
there room to doubt as to his abiHty, if that be the fact i
I do confess this day, that if my sins were ten thousand
times heavier than they are, yea, and if I had all the sins
of this crowd in addition piled upon me, I could trust
Jesus with them all at this moment now that I know him
to be the Christ of God. He is the mighty God, and by
his pierced hand the burden of our sins is easily removed ;
he blotteth out our sins, he casts ohem into the depths of
the sea. - - •

460

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND; OR

h t'

\ :ii

But think of what Jesus the Son of God has done. He
who was God, and thus blessed forever, left the throne
and royalties of heaven, and stooped to yonder manger.
There he lies ; his mother wraps him in swaddling clothes,
he hangs upon her breast ; the Infinite is clothed as an
infj-nt, the Invisible is made manifest in flesh, the Al-
mighty is linked with weakness, for our sakes. Oh,
matchless stoop of condescension ! If the Kedeemer God
does this in order to save us, shall it be thought a thing
impossible for him to save the vilest of the vile ? Can
any thing be too hard for him who comes from heaven to
earth to redeem ?

Pause not because of astonishment, but press onward.
Do you see him who was God over all, blessed forever,
living more +han thirty years in the midst of the sons of
men, bearing the infirmities of manhood, taking upon
himself our sickness, and sharing our sorrows ; his feet
weary with treading the ncres of Palestine ; his body
faint oftentimes with hunger and thirst, and labor; his
knees knit to the earth with midnight prayer ; his eyes
red with weeping (for olttimes Jesus wept), tempted in all
points like as we are ? M atchless spectacle ! An incar-
nate God dwells amci^g siiirH3rs, and endures their contra-
diction ! "What glory flashed forth ever and anon from
the m*^^* of his lowliness ! a glory which should render
faith :.n Li .1 inevitable. Thou who didst walk the sea: *
thou who didst raise the dead, it is not rational to doiibt
thy power to forgive sins ! Didst thou not thyself put it
BO when thou badest the man take up his bed and walk (
" Whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee ; or
to say, Rise up and walk ^" Assuredly he is able to save
to the uttermost them that come unto God by him : he
was able even here on earth in weakness to forgive sins,
much more now that he is seated in his glory. He is
exalted on high to be a Prince and a Saviour, to give
repentance ana remission of sins.

Hut, ah ! the master proof that in Christ JesuB there is
** bread enough and to spare," is the crosi. Will you

"bread bnougu and to spare.'

461

has done. He
eft the throne
onder manger,
ddling clothes,

clothed as an
1 flesh, the Al-
ur sakes. Oh,
Bedeemer God
honght a thing
the vile? Can

from heaven to

t press onward,
blessed forever,
it of the sons oi
,d, taking uijon
orrows ; his feet
jstine; his body
:, and labor ; his
prayer; his eyes
it), tempted in all

kclel An incar-
ures their contra-
l and anon from
|ch should render
,st walk the sea: "I
■ational to doibt
.ot thyself put it
s bed and walk i
forgiven thee ; or
he is able to save
God by him: ho
iS to forgive sins,
" lis glory. He is
Saviour, to give

rist JesuB there ia
croe». Will you

follow me a moment, will you follow him, rather, to
Getlisemane ? Can you see the bloody sweat as it falls
upon the ground in his agony ? Can you think of his
scourging before Herod and Pilate ? Can you trace iiim
along the Via Dolmvsa of Jerusalem ? "VV ill your tender
hearts endure to see him nailed to the tree, and lifted up
to bleed and die ? This is but the shell ; as for the in-
ward kernel of his sufferings no language can describe it,
neither can conception peer into it. The everlasting
God laid sin on Christ, and where the sin was laid there
fell the wrath. " It pleased the Lord to bruise him ; ho
hath put him to grief." Now he that died upon the croSvS
Avas God's only begotten Son. Can you conceive a limit
to the merit of such a Saviour's deatli '? I know there are
some who think it necessary to their system of theology
to limit the merit of the blood of Jesus : if my system of
theology needed such a limitation, I would cast it to the
winds. I cannot, dare not, allow the thought to find a
lodging in my mind ; it seems so near akin to blasphemy.
In Christ's finished work I see an ocean of merit ; my
])lummet finds no bottom, my eye discovers no shore.
There m.ust be sufficient efficacy in the blood of Christy
if God had so willed it, to have saved not on); all tliis
world, but ten thousand worlds, had tLoy t ran, ^grossed
the Maker's law. Once admit infinitj 'mo tlie matter,
and limit is out of the question. Haviiic: a divine per-
son for an offering, it is not consistent to conceive of
limited value; bound and leasure are term;- ii! applicable
to the divine sacrifice. T le intent of tlie divine purpose
fixes the application of the infinite ofi'ering, but docs not
change it into a finite woi-k. In the atonement of Christ
Jesus there is " bread enough and to spare ;" even as
Paul wrote to Timothy '* He is the Saviour of all men,
specially of tliosc that believe." *

But now let me lead you to another point of solemnly
joyful consideration, and that is theJIoly Sj>ir'd. To be-
lieve and love the Trinity is to possess the key ot theology,
AVe spoke of the Father, we spoke of the Son ; let us now

pi ,

462

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND; OR

speak of the Holy Spirit. Wo do liim all too little honor,
for the Holy Spirit condescends to come to earth and
dwell in our hearts ; and notwithstanding all our provo-
cations he still abides within his people. Now sinner,
thon needest a new life and thou needest holiness, for
both of these are necessary to make thee lit for heaven.
Is there a provision lor this ? The Holy Spirit is provided
and given in the covenant of grace; and surely in him
there is " enough and to spare/' What cannot the Holy
Spirit do? Being divine, nothing can be beyond his
power. Look at what he has already done. He moved
upon the face of chaos, and brouglit it into order ; all tlie
beauty of creation arose beneatli his moulding breath.
We ourselves must confess with Elihu, '^ The Spirit of
God hatl^ made me, and the breath of the Almighty hatli
given me life." Think of the great deeds of the Holy
Spirit at Pentecost, when men unlearned spake witli
tongues of which they knew not a syllable aforetime, and
the flames of fire upon them were also within them, so
that their hearts burned with zeal and courage to which
they hitlu "to had been strangers. Think of the Holy
Spirit's work on such a one as Saul of Tarsus. That
persecutor foams blood, he is a very wolf, he would devour
the saints of God at Da nascus, and yet, within a few
moments, you liear him say, " Who art thou, Lord ?"
and yet again, " Lord, what wilt thou have me to do i'*
His heart is changed ; the Spirit of God has new created
it ; the adamant is melted in a moment into wax. Many
of us stand before you as the living monuments of what
the Holy Ghost can do, and we can assure you from our
own experience, that there is no inward evil which lie
cannot overcome, no lustful desire of the flesh which he
cannot subdue, no obduracy of the aflections which he
cannot melt. Is anything too hard for the Lord ? Is the
Spirit of the Lord straitened ? Surely no sinner can be
beyond the possibilities of mercy when the Holy Spirit
condescends to be tlie agent cf human conversion. O
dnner, it thou perish, it is not because the Holy Spirit

"bread enough and to spare.

• I

463

ittle honor,
earth and

our provo-

(ow sinner,

lolincss, for

for heaven.

t is provided

rely in hiui

lot the Holy

beyond hit^

lie moved

>rdcr ; all the

duv^ breath.

:he Spirit of

hniD^hty hath

of \he Holy
spake with

iforetime, and

thin them, so

age to which
of the Holy

.iirsus. That
would devour
within a few
thou, Lordf;
nic to doi'
s new created
wax. Many
lents of what
you from our
ivil which lie
lesh which he
Ions which he
Lord'^ Is the
,iuner can he
Holy Spirit
inversion. ^J
Holy Spirit

wants power, or the blood of Jesus lacks efficacy, or the
Father fails in love ; it is because thou believest not ir
Christ, but dost abide in wilful rebellion, refusing tho
abundant bread of life which is placed before thee.

A few rapid sentences upon other things, which will
go to show still further the greatness of the provision of
divine mercy. Observe well that throughout all the ages
God has beeti sending one prophet after another^ and these
prophets have been succeeded by apostles, and these by
martyrs and confessors, and pastors and evangelists, and
teachers ; all those have been commissioned by the Lord
in regular succession ; and what has been the message
they have had to deliver ^ They have all pointed to
Christ, the great deliverer. Moses and the prophets all
spoke of him, and so have all truly God-sent ambassadors.
Dost thou think, sinner, that God has made all this fuss
about a trifle? Has he sent all these servants to call
thee to a table insufficiently furnished 'i Has he multi-
plied his invitations through so long a time to bid thee
and others come to a provision which is not, after all,
sufficient for them ? Oh, it cannot be ! God is not
mocked, neither does he mock poor needy souls. The stores
of his mercy are sufficient for the utmost emergencies.

Kecollect, again, that God has heen pleased to stake his
honor upon the Gospel. Men desire a name, and God
also is jealous of his glory. Now, what has God been
pleased to select for his name ? Is it not the conversion
and salvation of men { When instead of the brier shall
come up the myrtle-tree, and instead of the thorn shall
come up the fir-tree, it shall be to the Lord for a name,
for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off. And
dost thou think God will get a name by saving little
sinners by a little Saviour \ Ah ! his great name comes
from washing out stains as black as hell, and pardoning
sinners who were foulest of the foul. Is there one mon-
strous rebel liere who is qualified to glorify God greatly,
because his salvation will be the wonder of angels and
the amazement of devils \ I hope there is. O thou most

h '

464

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND J OR

degraded, black, loatlisomo einner, nearest to being a
damned sinner! if this voice can reach thee, I challenge
thee to come and prove whether God's mercy is not a
match for thy sin. Thou Goliath sinner, come thou
hither ; thou shalt find that God can slay thine enmity,
and make thee yet his friend, and the more his lovini^
and adoring servant, because great forgiveness shall
secure great love. Such is the greatness of divine mercy,
that "where sin abounded, grace dotli much more
abound."

Dost thou think, again, O sinner, that Jesus Christ
came out of heaven to do a little deed, and to provide a
slender ^tore of mercy i Dost thou tliink he went up to
Calvary, and down to the grave, and all, that he might
do a common-place thing, and provide a stinted, narrow,
limited salvation, such as thine unbelief would imagine
hir> redemption to be ? No. We speak of the labors of
Her(*-ules, but these were child's play compared with the
labors of Christ who slew the lion of hell, turned a puri-
fying stream through the Augean stables of man's sin,
and cleansed them, and performed ten thousand miracles
besides: and will you so depreciate Christ as to imao-ine
that what he has accomplished is, after all, little, so little
that it is not enough to save you ? If it were in my power
to single out the man who has been the most dishonest,
most licentious, 'most drunken, most profane — in three
words, most earthly, sensual, devilish — I would repeat
the challenge whicli I gave just now, and bid him draw
near to Jesus, and see whether the fountain filled with
Christ's atoning blood cannot wash liim white. I chal-
lenge him at this instant to come and cast hiuiself at the
dear Redeemer's feet, and see if he will say, "I cannot
save thee, tliou hast sinned beyond my power." It shall
never, never, never be, for he is able to the uttermost to
eave. lie is a Saviour, and a great one. Clirist will be
honored by tlie grandeur of the grace which he bestows
upon the greatest of ofienders. There is in him pardon
'* enough and to spare."

" BUEAD ENOUGH AND TO SPARE.'

465

it to being a
,, I challenge

ercy is ^<^^ ^
r, come thou
thine enmity,
ore his lovinc'
triveness shall
fdivine mercy,
I niuch more

it Jesus Christ
d to provide a
he went up to
that he migl^t
itinted, narrow,
would imagine
)f the labors ot
ipared with the
1 turned a pun-
es of man's sm,
ousand miracles
t as to imagine
1, little, so little
rere in my power
most dishonest,
■ofane— in thret--
-I would repeat
1 bid him dnuy
itaiu filled with
white. I chal-
st himself at the
say, '' I cannot
lower." It shall
he uttermost to
Christ will be
Ihich he bestows
in him pardon

I must leave this point, but I cannot do so without
adding that I tliink " buead enough and to spare" might
be taken for the motto of the gospel. I believe in par-
ticular redemption, and that Christ laid down his life for
his sheep ; but, as 1 have already said, I do not believe
in the limited value of that redemjition ; how else could
I dare to read the words of John, " He is the propitiation
for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for the sins
of the whole world." There is a sure portion for his own
elect, but there is also over and above " to spare." I
believe in the electing love which will save all 'ts objects
— " bread enough ;" but I believe in boundless benevolence,
" Bread enougli ^/?id to spare.''^ "VVe, when we have a
purpose to accomplish, put forth the requisite (piantity of
strength and no more, for we must be economical, we
must not waste our limited store ; even charity gives the
poor man no more than he absolutely needs ; but wben
God feeds the multitude, he spreads the board with im-
perial bounty. Our water-cart runs up and down the
tavored road, l)ut when heaven's clouds would favor the
good man's fields, they deluge wliole nations, and even
\)o\\v them:^elves upon the sea. There is no real waste
with God; but at tie same time there is no stint.
" Bkead enough and to spare ; " write that inscription
over the house of in ercy, and let every hungry passer-by
be encouraged thereby to enter in and eat.

II. We must now pass on to a second consideration,
and dwell very brieily on it. According to the text, there
was not only bread enough in the house, but the lowest
IN THE Father's house enjoyed enough and to spare.

We can never make a parable run on all-fours, there-
fore we cannot find the exact counterpart of the " hired
servants." I understand the prodigal to have meant this,
that the very lowest menial servant employed by his
father had bread to eat, and had " bread enongh and to
spare." Now, how should we translate this? Why,
sinner, the very lowest creature that God has made, that
has not sinned against him, is well supplied and has

466

NUMBER ONE TUOUSAND ; OR

U
It
ii
I*

abounding happiness. Thcro aro arlaptions for pleasure
in the organizations of tlie lowest animals. See now the
gnats dance in the summer's sunbeam ; hear the swallows
as they scream with delight when on the wing. Ho who
cares for birds and insects will surely caro for men.
God who licars the ravens when they cry, will he not
hear the returning penitent? lie gives these insectft
happiness; did he mean me to be wretched? Surely he
who opens his hand and supplies the lack of every living
thing, will not refuse to open his hand and supply my
needs if I seek his face.

Yet I must not make these lowest creatures to be the
hired servants. Whom shall I then select among men ?
I will put it thus. The very worst of sinners that have
come to Christ have found grace " enough and to spare,"
and the very least of saints wlio dwell in the liouse of the
Lord iind love " enough and to spare." Take then the
most guilty of sirwcrs^ and see how bountifully the Lord
treats tliem when they turn unto him. Did not some of
you, who are yourselves unconverted, once know persons
who were at least as bad, perhaps more outwardly
immoral than yourselves? Well, they have been con-
verted, though you have not been ; and wlien they were
converted, what was their testimony? Did the blood of
Chrv:t avail to cleanse them ? Oh, yes ; and more than
cljanse them, for it added to beauty not their own.
They were naked once; was Jesus able to clothe them?
AV^as there a sufficient covering in his righteousness?
Ah, yes ! and adornment was superadded ; tliey received
not a biflre apparel, but a royal raiment. You have seen
others thus liberally treated, does not this induce you
also to come ? Some of us need not confine our remarks
to others, for we can speak personally of ourselves. We
came to Jesus as full of sin as ever yotf' can be, and felt
ourselves beyond measure lost and ruined ; but, oh, his
tender love ! I could sooner stand here and weep than
speak to you of it. My soul melts in gratitude when I
think of the infinite mercy of God to me in that hour

"BREAD ENOUGH AND TO SPAKE.

4G7

for pleasure
See now the
the ftwallows
ng. Ho who
aro for men.
will he not
these insectft
? Surely he
'every livinjiC
d supply my

ires to be the
among men?
era that have
and to spare,"
le house of the
rake then the
fully the Lord
d not some of
know persons
ro outwardly
ave been con-
ion they were

I the blood of

II d more than
ot their own.

clothe thera^i
ighteousness %
they received
fou'have seen
[is induce yon
3 our remarks
iirselves. We
be, and felt
but, oh, his
d weep than
[itude when I
in that hour

when I came seeking mercy at liis hands. Oh ! why will
not you also come ? May hiii Holy Spirit sweetly draw
you I I proved that there was bread enough, mercy
enough, lorgiveness enough, and to s))ai'e. romo along,
come along, poor guilty one ; conic along, there is rooai
enough lor thee.

Now, if the chief of sinners bear this witness, so do the
most obscure of sdints. If we could call forth from his
seat a we ik believer in (lod, who is almost unknown in
the church, one who sometimes questions whether he is
indeed a child of God, and would be willing to be a hired
servant so long as he might belong to(iod, and if I were
to ask him, "Now alter all how litis the Lord dealt with
youT' what would be his reply? You have many
afflictions, doubts, and fears, but have you any com[)laints
against your Lord ? When you have waited upon him
for daily grace, has he denied yon '( When you have been
full of troubles, has he refused you comforts When you
liavebeen ])lunged in distress, has he declined to deliver
you? The Lord himself asks, "JIav(5 I been a wilderness
unto Israel?" Testify against tlie L(H"d, ye his ])eople,
if ye have aught against him, Hear, () heavens, and
give ear, O earth, whosoever there be in (lod's service
who has found him a hard task-master, let hini speak.
Among tlie angels before Jehovah's throne, and among
men redeemed on earth, if there l)e any one that can say
lie hath been dealt with unjustly or treated with ungener-
ous churlishness, let him lift up his voice ! But there is
not one. Even the devil himself, when he spoke of God
and of his servant Job, said " Doth Job serve God for
nought?" Of course lie did not: (iod will not let his
servants serve him for nought ; he will pay them super-
abundant wages, and they shall all bear witness that at
liis table there is " bread enough and to spare." Now,
if these still enjoy the bread of the Father's house, these
who were once great sinners, these who are now only
very commonplace saints, surely, sinner, it should en-
courage you to say, " I will arise and go to my Father,"
for his hired servants "have bread enough and to spare."

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t>.

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-f^^

468

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND; OR

III. !N'otice in the third place, that the text dwell&

upon THE MULTITUDE OF THOSE WHO HAVE " BREAD ENOUGH

AND TO SPARE." The prodigal lays an emphases upon
that word, " IIov) many hired servants of my father's !"
He was thinking of their great numher, and counting
them over. He thought of those that tended the cattle,
of those that went out with the camels, of those that
watched the sheep, and those that minded the corn, and
those that waited in the house ; he ran them over in lii^
mind : v his father was great in the land, and had many
servants; yet he knew that they all had of the best food
" enough and to spare." " Why should I perish with
hunger % I am only one at any rate ; though my hunger
seem insatiable, it is but one belly that has to be filled,
and, lo, my father fills hundreds, thousands every day ;
why should I perish with hunger?" Now, O thou
awakened sinner, thou who dost feel this morning thy sin
and misery, think of the numbers upon whom God has
bestowed his grace ilready. Think of the countless hosts
in heaven: if thou wert introduced there to-day, thou
wouldst find it as easy to tell the stars, or the sands of
the sea, as to count the multitudes that are bef<5re the
throne even now.

Let us add a few woids to close with, close grap-
pling words to some of you to whom God has sent his
message this morning, and whom he intends to save.
Oh you who have been long hearers of the gospel, and
who know it well in theory, but have felt none of the
power of it in your hearts, let me now remind you
where and what you are ! You are perishing. As the
Lord liveth, there is but a step between you and death ;
but a step, nay, but a breath between you and hell.
Sinner, if at this moment thy heart should cease its
beating, and there are a thousand causes that might i
produce that result ere the clock ticks again, thou
wouldst be in the flames of divine wrath. Canst thou
bear to be in such peril ? If you were hanging over aj
rock by a slender thread which must soon break:, and ill

" BREAD ENOUGH AND TO SPARE.'

4G9

e text dwells

BREAD ENOUGH

mpliasis upon

xny father's I

and counting
.ded the catt-e
3 of those that
i'the corn, and
lem over m his

and had manv
oi the hest food
I 1 perish with
ough my hunger

, has to be filled,
sands every day ,
^ow, O thou
sniornin^thysm
, whom God has

ihere t^-aay, i-
rs or the sands ot

:5t are before the

with, close grap-
God has sent ms
h intends to save
ofthegospeyncl

-e felt none ot tue

perishing. ^-^^.^ .
Tenyouanddeaa.
Len you and Heu.
ft should cease its
causes that mgt
' ticks again, thou
lerath. Canst thou
fere hanging over a

It soon break, and U

you would then fall headlong down a terrible precipice,
you would not sleep, but be full of alarm. May you
nave sense enough, wit enough, grace enough, to be
alarmed until you escape from the wrath to come.

Recollect, however, that while you are perishing, you
are perishing in sight of plenty ; you are famishing
where a table is abundantly spread ; what is more,
there are thpse whom you know now sitting at that
table and feasting. AVhat sad perversity for a man to
persist in being starved in the midst of a banquet,
where others are being satisfied with good things.

But I think I hear you say, " I fear I have no right
to come to Jesus." I will ask you this : have .you any
right to say that till you have been denied ? Did you
ever try to go to Christ? Has he ever rejected you?
If then you have never received a repulse, why do you
wickedly imagine that he would repel you ? Wickedly,
I say, for it is an offence against the Christ who opened
his heart upon the cross, to imagine that he could re-
pel a penitent. Have you any right to say, "But I
am nbt one of those for whom mercy is provided? "
Who told you so ? Have you climbed to hea^ on and
read the secret records of God's election ? Has the
Lord revealed a strange decree to you, and said, " Go
and despair, I will have no pity on you ? " If you say
that God has so spoken, I do not believe you. In this
sacred book is recorded what God has said, here is the
sure word of testimony, and in it I find it said of no
humble seeker, that God hath shut him out from his
grace. Why hast thou a right to invent such a fiction
in order to secure thine own damnation? Instead
thereof, there is much in the word of God and else-
where to encourage thee in coming to Christ. He has
not repelled one sinner yet; that is good to begin
with ; it is not likely that he woald, for since he died
to save sinners, why should he reject them w^hen they
seek to be saved ? You say, *' I am afraid to come to
Christ." Is that wise? I have heard of a poor navi-

470

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND; OR

gator who had been converted, who had but little edu-
cation, but who knew tlie grace of our Lord Jesus
Christ, and when dying, very cheerfully and joyfully
longed to depart. His wife said to him, " But, mon,
ain't ye afeared to stand before the judge?" "Wo-
man," said he, " why should I be afeared of a man as
died for me?" Oh, why should you be afraid of
Christ who died for sinners ? The idea of being afraid
of him should be banished by the fact that he shed his
blood for the guilty. You have much reason to be-
lieve from the very fact that he died, that he will re-
ceive you. Besides, you have his word for it, for he
saith, " Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast
out" — for no reason, and no way, and on no occasion,
and under no pretence, and for no motive. " I will
not cast him out," says the original. " Him that
cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." You say it
is too good to be true that there can be pardon, for
you : this is a foolish measuring of God's corn with
your bushel, and because it seems too good a thing for
Vou to receive, you fancy it is too good for God to be-
stow. Let the greatness of the good news be one rea-
son for believing that the news is true, for it is so like
God.

Because the gospel assures us that he forgives great
sins through a great Saviour, it looks as if it were true,
since he is so great a God,

What should be the result of all this with every sin-
ner here at this time ? I think this good news should
arouse those who have almost gone to sleep through
despair. The sailors have been pumping the vessel,
the leaks are gaining, she is going down, the captain is
persuaded she must be a wreck. Depressed by such
evil tidings, the men refuse to work; and since the
boats are all stove in and they cannot make a raft, they
eit dowii in despair. Presently the captain has better
news for them. " She will float," he says : " the wind
is abating too, the pumps tell upon the water, the leak

BREAD ENOUGH AND TO SPARE.

»»

471

i but little edu-
)ur Lord Jesus
Uy and joyfully
im, " But, mon,
udge?" "We-
ired of a man as
DU be afraid of
sa of being afraid
that he shed his
ch reason to be-
that he will re-
ord for it, for he
I in no wise cast
I on no occasion,
aiotive. "I will
al. "Him that
ut." You say it
m be pardon for
God's corn with
•ood a thing for
_ for Godtobe-
newd be one rea-
for it is so like

he forgives great
asif it were true,

s with every sin-
;ood news should
to sleep through
iping the vessel,
wn, the captain is
epressed by such
c; and since the
make a raft, they
aptain has better
says ; " the wind
e watei*, the leak

<;an be reached yet." See how they work ; with what
cheery courage they toil on, because there is hope !
Soul, there is hope ! There is hope ! There is hope !
To the harlot, to the thief, to the drunkard.

" There is no hope," says Satan. Liar that thou art,

fet tliee back to thy den ; for thee there is no hope ;
ut for fallen man, though he be in the mire of sin up
to his very neck, though he be at the gates of death,
while he lives there is hope. There is hope for hopeless
souls in the Saviour.

In addition to arousing us, this ought to elevate the
sinner's thoughts. Some years ago, there was a crossing
sweeper in Dublin, with his broom, at the corner, and
in all probability his highest thoughts were to keep the
crossing clean, and look for the pence. One day, a law-
yer put his hand upon his shoulder, and said to him,
" My good fellow, do you know that you are heir to a
fortune of ten thousand pounds a year? " " Do you
mean it ? " said he. " I do," he said. " I have just re-
ceived the information ; I am sure you are the man."
He walked away, and he forgot his broom. Are you aston-
ished ? Why, who would not have forgotten a broom
when suddenly made possessor of ten thousand a year ?
So, I pray that some poor sinners, who have been think-
ing of the pleasures of the world, when they hear that
there is hope, and that there is heaven to be had, will
forget the deceitful pleasures of sin, and follow after
hi^er and better things.

Should it not also purify the mind ? The prodigal,
when he said, " I will arise and go to my father," became
in a measure reformed from that very moment. How ?
say you. Why, he left the swine-trough : more, he left
the wine cup, and he left the harlots. He did not go
with the harlot on his arm, and the wine cup in his hand,
and say, " I will take these with me, and go to my fa-
ther." It could not be. These were all left, and though
he had no goodness to bring, yet he did not try to keep
his sins and come to Christ. I shall close with this re-

.' I

14 4 4 2

NUMBER ONE THOUSAND.

mark, because it will act as a sort of caveat, and be a fit
word to season the wide invitations of the free gospel.
Some of you, I fear, will make mischief even out of the
gospel, and will dare to take the cross and use it for a
gibbet for your souls. If God is so merciful, you will
go therefoi^e and sin the more : and because grace is
freely ■ given, therefore you will continue in sin that
grace may abound. If you do this, I would solemnly
remind you I have no grace to preach to such as you.
" Your damnation is just ; " it is the word of inspiration,
and the only one I know that is applicable to such ai-*
you are; but every needy, guilty soul that* desires a.
Saviour is told to-day to believe in Jesus, that is, trust
in the substitution and sacrifice of Christ, trust him to
take your sin and blot it out ; trust him to take your
soul and save it. Trust Christ entirely, and you ar ?
forgiven this very moment ; you are saved this very in-
stant, and you may rejoice now in the fact that being
justified by faith you have peace with God through Jesus
Christ our Lord. come ye, come ye, come ye ; come
and ♦welcome ; come ye now to the Redeemer's blood.
Holy Spirit, compel them to come in, that the house of
mercy may be filled. Amen, and Amen.

aveai, and be a fit
f the free gospel,
efeven out of the
i and use it for a
aerciful, you will
because grace is
tinue in sin that
: would solemnly
I to such as you.
ord of inspiration,
icable to such a;-
)ul that* desires i».
esus, that is, trust
nnst, trust him to
him to take your
rely, and you ar r
saved this very in-
le fact that being
God through Jesus

ye, come ye ; come
Redeemer's blood.
1, that the house of
.men.