€\htavy of ^he theological ^tminary 
 
 PRINCETON . NEW JERSEY 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 The Library of 
 Professor Archibald A. Hodge 
 
 BV 10 .S53 1845 
 Sheppard, John. 
 The suppliant, or, Thoughts 
 designed to encourage and 
 
It* • 
 .1 
 
1- 
 
 ♦ .%^* 
 
THE 
 
 SUPPLIANT: 
 
 OR, 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 DESIGNED TO ENCOURAGE AND AID 
 
 rRIVATE DEVOTION. 
 
 ->-^ 
 
 REVISED BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION OF THE 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION. 
 
 30f)tlatrel|)Ma: 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION, 
 
 146 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 1845. 
 
ExTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by 
 IIkrman Cope, Treasurer, in trust for the American Sunday 
 Scliool Union, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This interesting and instructive volume is 
 (substantially) a reprint of an English work en- 
 titled " Thoughts chiefly designed as preparative 
 or persuasive to Private Devotion ; by John Shep- 
 pard,'^ &c. — but, there are many changes in the 
 construction and phraseology of sentences which 
 the author might not be disposed to adopt or 
 sanction, and to which therefore we should not 
 think it proper to prefix his name. 
 
 The alterations are, for the most part, de- 
 signed to make the admirable views of the au- 
 thor more plain and intelligible to the class of 
 readers into whose hands the volume, (with its 
 present imprint,) will be most likely to fall. 
 
 In adding to the Society's catalogue such a 
 work as this, we have been influenced chiefly 
 
 by the consideration that a right understanding 
 
 (iii) 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 of the DUTY OF PRAYER is essGnti'dl to any suc- 
 cess or satisfaction in the service of God. 
 
 The Sunday School Teacher makes but httle 
 progress in his work, if his devotional exercises 
 are not frequent, fervent and eifectual. And 
 when it is remembered how large a proportion 
 of teachers are immature in years and experi- 
 ence, the necessity of helps and suggestions on 
 such an important duty as prayer, becomes very 
 obvious. 
 
 An attentive study of this volume will, we 
 are persuaded, do much to correct erroneous 
 impressions respecting the nature and design of 
 this exercise, and to excite every rightly dis- 
 posed mind to a more earnest and diligent culti- 
 vation of a devotional spirit. 
 
THOUGHTS 
 
 PRIVATE DEVOTION 
 
 ON A RIGHT SENSE OF THE DIVINE GREATNESS. 
 
 " He that cometh to God, must believe that he 
 is." — How indisputable and self-evident a truth 
 is this, that real worship implies a belief in the ex- 
 istence of its object. And yet have not I some- 
 times addressed the Deity with such carelessness 
 and irreverence of mind as might well lead me to 
 doubt whether I had any sense of that adorable 
 majesty, that infinite grandeur which is essen- 
 tial to the Perfect Being, the Maker and Up- 
 holder of all things ; and, consequently, whether 
 I had any proper belief that He is, and whether 
 my worship were any thing more than the result 
 of some indistinct apprehension that he may be ? 
 
 1 * (5) 
 
6 THE DIVINE GREATNESS. 
 
 It is true, no finite, no created mind, how- 
 ever superior to the human, can contemplate or 
 worship the incomprehensible God as He is; but, 
 on the other hand, no mind, however feeble and 
 limited, can really think of a Being who hath 
 " stretched forth the heavens," and " established 
 the earth," without a profound impression of his 
 greatness. If, therefore, I " come to God, be- 
 lieving that he is," I must come with a senti- 
 ment of deep veneration, with a solemn sense 
 of his attributes. If this be wanting, my belief 
 in his being must for the time be regarded as in 
 a state of suspension or dormancy ; and I come 
 not unto Him, but to a sort of sign or name ex- 
 isting in my thought, but utterly inadequate to 
 represent, even to the lowest capacity, Him 
 whom it signifies. This may admit of illustra- 
 tion from the sublimest kind of idolatry, — the 
 worship of the sun. If we could suppose a 
 worshipper of that luminary to acquire the 
 knowledge of its magnitude and distance which 
 astronomy teaches, and yet to retain the belief 
 of its divinity, regarding it as the corporeal ve- 
 hicle of a glorious and beneficent spirit, the 
 adoring wonder of this individual would be ex- 
 pected greatly to exceed that of persons who 
 had no conception of the true grandeur of their 
 idol. But it would exceed, probably, just in pro- 
 
THE DIVINE GREATNESS. 7 
 
 portion to the degree in which he actually con- 
 sidered the matter of his superior knowledge, 
 namely, the vast spaces through which the solar 
 light and heat are diffused, the dimensions of the 
 sun itself, and the immensity of its sensible in- 
 fluence; with the correspondent immensity of 
 the supposed spirit dwelling in all its spheres and 
 in all its emanations. 
 
 Another worshipper, destitute of astronomical 
 knowledge, but who had been an admiring ob- 
 server of such facts and appearances as lie open 
 to all, might, (if he were more intently medita- 
 ting on these,) carry with him to the place and 
 hour of prayer, a deeper sentiment of venera- 
 tion. — If in vivid thought he pursued the seem- 
 ing career of this god of day through the circuit 
 of heaven ; if he dwelt on the splendour of his 
 rising, and the mild, ever-varied beauties of his 
 setting ; if he pictured to himself the expansion 
 of his cheering and fructifying rays over whole 
 continents, and then tried to form a conception of 
 the multitude of living creatures awakened and 
 gladdened daily by those rays, and of the still 
 greater multitude of herbs and flowers opening 
 to their visitation, and imbibing from them hfe 
 and beauty — this employment of mind, though 
 not accompanied with so accurate a knowledge, 
 would, if more active and intent than that of the 
 
O THE DIVINE GREATNESS. 
 
 former, doubtless, produce more suitable feel- 
 ings. We may suppose both these to be wor- 
 shippers at midnight, or after the light of their 
 imagined divinity is withdrawn, so that their 
 sentiments or contemplations cannot be imme- 
 diately derived from outward perception. 
 
 We may conceive also a third idolater, who 
 at the same hour having been habituated to 
 prayer, engages in it Hke the others, not perhaps 
 without some sincerity of desire : but not having 
 been at all accustomed to the contemplation of 
 nature, or not feeling the importance of realising 
 the attributes of the object adored, he has 
 no distinct thought concerning it. The only 
 idea of the solar orb presented to his mind, is 
 either the written name and title of the divinity, 
 or the golden similitude of it which decorates 
 his temple. Although he has an indistinct sense 
 of his own necessities, and some apprehensiow, 
 (still more vague,) of the greatness of the object 
 worshipped, little else is really or clearly set 
 before the mind than either a mere arbitrary 
 name, or, at most, the very weak and petty 
 resemblance which art has formed. 
 
 It is true that even the first of those supposed 
 worshippers does not adore the sun as he is, 
 because the bulk of that heavenly body, and its 
 distance, small as they are in comparison with 
 
THE DIVINE GREATNESS. 9 
 
 the extent of creation, are far too great for the 
 human mind distinctly to apprehend; they are 
 objects of calculation, but not properly objects 
 of conception; — and the second, however ac- 
 tively and poetically his thoughts may expatiate, 
 cannot conceive at once any assignable portion 
 of the sun's unnumbered influences on the in- 
 dividuals of the animal and vegetable v^^orld. 
 But still the preparation for worship in the 
 minds of both these persons will be acknow- 
 ledged to be incomparably better than in that 
 of the third. This last can hardly be said to 
 beheve that the sun exists. He believes in the 
 existence of something so called; but not in- 
 vesting this object by stedfast contemplation 
 with any of its attributes, the belief seems to be 
 in a sign rather than in that which is signified. 
 
 Has not my worship of the infinitely glorious 
 Creator, sometimes, for want of preparatory 
 thoughts of his majesty, partaken of this char- 
 acter? — 
 
 Bethink thee, slumberer, whom thou would'st adore ! 
 
 Not that illustrious idol ; but the Power 
 
 Wlio lighteth up its lustre ; in whose grasp 
 
 The fancied God by sages idolized 
 
 That knew not half its grandeur, the vast orb 
 
 Whose bright diameter a hundred earths 
 
 Would scantly measure, is but as a lamp ; 
 
 One midst the countless lamps his hand upholds 
 
10 THE DIVINE GREATNESS. 
 
 And feeds with brightness. — From this solar lamp, 
 
 Whose shining mass a million-fold exceeds 
 
 Our " atom world," yet by remoteness shrinks 
 
 To a mere disk. He bids the radiance fall 
 
 On every rolling mountain of the floods, 
 
 On every trembling drop that gems the plains ; 
 
 Tinge with its rosy touch the giant peaks 
 
 Of the firm Andes, and the bending cup 
 
 Of the minutest flower ; exhale at morn 
 
 The dews that fertilize a hemisphere, 
 
 And dry some swift ephemcron's folded wing ; 
 
 Blaze in its torrid strength o'er sandy zones, 
 
 Yet cheer the living microscopic mote 
 
 Which flutters in its glow. — Thou worshippest Him 
 
 Who fix'd this gorgeous lamp, but who can quench 
 
 And spare its splendour ; can reveal his works 
 
 And bless them, were that orb extinct, and heaven 
 
 Grown starless at his word ; who, when he made 
 
 Thee, conscious spirit, of the Eternal Mind 
 
 Reflective, wrought a work more marvellous. 
 
 More sumptuous, than a galaxy of suns I 
 
 He is the Sun of spirits, and his beams 
 
 Of all-pervading, all-awakening thought, 
 
 Irradiate every angel's intellect, 
 
 Yet touch with gentlest light an infant soul I 
 
oatmPRESENCE OF DEITY. ] 1 
 
 II. 
 
 ON THE OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY. 
 
 It is an astonishing thought, yet strictly de- 
 ducible from the being of God, that He who 
 made and sustains the universe, has an univer- 
 sal and unceasing agency; and therefore an 
 universal and unceasing presence with all that 
 He hath made. To imagine a point of space, 
 or instant of time, from which the agency of 
 God is excluded, would be to imagine some- 
 thing independent of Him. It would be to 
 think of Him as finite; to limit his empire; and, 
 by denying his perfection, virtually to deny his 
 existence. He who efficiently acts every- 
 where, is everywhere. The Deity acts indeed 
 by innumerable instruments, or causes them to 
 act mediately, and often reciprocally, on each 
 other; but each one of these instruments, 
 whether spiritual or material, must be kept in 
 existence by his efficient and immediate agency, 
 which implies his perpetual presence. Angels 
 may fulfil "his commandment" in the remotest 
 regions of the creation; but who "holdeth their 
 
12 OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY. 
 
 soul in life ?*'* None assuredly but a present 
 God. The sacred Scriptures fully announce 
 this truth ; and the apostle expressed it in terms 
 the most accurate as well as sublime, when he 
 declared to the Athenian idolaters, " In him we 
 live, and move, and have our being." It is no 
 slight presumption of the divinity of the He- 
 brews' religion, that this people, amidst the 
 gross and contracted notions of the surrounding 
 heathen, and with no sound human philosophy 
 to enlarge their own, entertained the idea of an 
 all-comprehending Godhead. Not that this idea 
 excluded that of a local manifestation of the 
 Deity, a place and an appearance in which he 
 peculiarly shows forth his glory. Without the 
 idea of such a manifestation, we could scarcely 
 conceive the personality, and still less the pro- 
 mised vision, of the Divine Being. The Scri])- 
 tures everywhere speak of a heavenly throne, 
 a place where the glorious and beatific presence 
 of the Deity is peculiarly displayed ; the centre, 
 if we may speak so, of that presence which is 
 universal and boundless. To this celestial 
 throne, prayer is often figuratively considered 
 as being addressed, and there the Deity is, in 
 like manner, represented as acting. Thus Isaiah 
 entreats; "Look down from heaven, and behoki 
 
 * Psalm kvi. 9. 
 
OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY'. 13 
 
 from the habitation of thy holiness and of thy 
 glory;" and the Old Testament abounds with 
 similar language. It is often used also by our 
 Saviour himself, who speaks in many of his 
 discourses of God as "our Father who is in 
 heaven," and dictates an invocation in the same 
 form. But such language could never be de- 
 signed to w^eaken our conviction or remem- 
 brance that the intimate presence of Deity is as 
 real, as necessary, as perpetual, in every part 
 of the universe, as it is on that throne before 
 which angels bow\ Those sacred writers, who 
 used phrases the most distinctly indicating a 
 local residence of the Divine glory, were not 
 the less strongly imbued with a solemn persua- 
 sion of this Divine omnipresence. The same 
 David w^ho writes — " The Lord is in his holy 
 temple; the Lord's throne is in heaven" — in- 
 quires in one of his noblest odes, "Whither 
 shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I 
 Hee from thy presence?" and describes with 
 poetic sublimity the attribute which is "too 
 wonderful" for him. Solomon, who repeatedly 
 introduces this form of supplication, "Hear 
 thou in heaven thy dwelling place,"* acknow- 
 ledges at the commencement of his petitions, 
 " Behold, the heaven and heaven of heavens 
 
 * 1 Kings viii. passim. 
 
14 OMNIPRESENCE OP DEITY. 
 
 cannot contain thee." That Divme Teacher, 
 who so often reminds us of the mercies of our 
 " Father who is in heaven," enjoins us to pray 
 in the soHtude of the closet to our " Father 
 who seeth in secret." No Divine attribute is 
 more readily or more necessarily admitted by 
 us, whether we consult reason or Scripture, 
 than this of omnipresence. But is it at the 
 same time realized, (we will not say in a degree 
 at all proportioned to its importance, but even) 
 in an equal degree with the other perfections 
 which we ascribe to the Deity? From the 
 slight impression which it frequently makes, 
 one would infer that it cannot be so. For 
 what thought can be calculated to strike the 
 mind more deeply and powerfully, than that of 
 an ever-present God? — And without a lively 
 conviction of this truth, how greatly the force 
 of the whole revelation concerning the Divine 
 character is neutralized! We may acknow- 
 ledge the abstract justice, purity, and compas- 
 sion of Jehovah, but unless we really apprehend 
 his omnipresence, there can be no imperative 
 check to sin, nor any substantial confidence in 
 devotion. If in the hour of sinful indulgence, 
 or cold meditation, or listless worship, we could 
 awake from our spiritual slumber, as Jacob 
 awoke from his bodily sleep at Bethel, into the 
 
OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY. 15 
 
 strong sense of this momentous fact — should 
 we not exclaim with as much awe as he did, 
 •* Surely Jehovah is in this place, and I knew it 
 not ! — This is none other than the house of God, 
 and this is the gate of heaven !" 
 
 As yet, indeed, we are not summoned into 
 the central apartment of his palace, who is the 
 " blessed and only Potentate ;" — we are not 
 yet in the Holy of Holies, the inner court of the 
 temple of God above; — but his palace, his 
 temple, is the universe ; the worlds are our 
 " Father's house." We are in the ante-room, — 
 in the courts already. " The King immortal and 
 invisible," " is not far from any one of us," 
 veiled by the symbols of his own " eternal 
 power and Godhead." We can be in no place, 
 while conscious of the existence of our body 
 and mind, without being assured of the uninter- 
 rupted continuance of the agency and presence 
 of God ; for this body and this mind, although 
 the whole fabric of nature were concealed from 
 us, would demonstrate a supporting Deity. We 
 walk then, as it were, in a sacred chamber, 
 whether in the field at eventide, or in the closet, 
 or in the house of prayer. He who " filleth 
 heaven and earth," Jehovah, the infinite Spirit, 
 is with us, though unseen. — And it is a chamber 
 of audience. " The God of the spirits of all 
 
16 OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY. 
 
 flesh" is actually and graciously " nigh unto ail 
 that call upon him." Indeed, these are but 
 weak figures to describe the nearness of Him in 
 whom " we have our being," who " is," as a 
 divine has expressed it, "the soul of our soul." 
 " We seem as if alone," (he adds) " in that 
 interior sanctuary, but God is there more in- 
 timately than w^e." 
 
 The moral attributes of God being first ac- 
 knowledged, this truth obviously affords a most 
 complete encouragement to every kind of wor- 
 ship, and quite as much to silent mental prayer 
 as to any other. Nothing but the belief of 
 God's real omnipresence can make it at all 
 rational to conclude, that the loudest prayers 
 or adorations, whether of individuals or of mul- 
 titudes, in different places, are heard and under- 
 stood by Him. And the very same belief is 
 alone necessary, in order to be assured, not 
 only that he observes the w^hispered petition, 
 the gesture, or the sigh which expresses thought 
 and desire, but even the thought or desire itself 
 unaccompanied by any sign. That would be a 
 very low and unworthy conception of the 
 Divine nature, by which the Deity should be 
 imagined to understand the thoughts and desires 
 of his creatures only through the medium of 
 signs, whether verbal or otherwise. We are 
 
OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY. 17 
 
 apt to attribute to the signs of thought an im- 
 portance which is not at all essential to them, 
 but which arises, great as it is to us, merely out 
 of our own imperfection. Thought, when un- 
 recorded, (still more when unuttered,) is, to us, 
 an evanescent thing ; which, from its fugitive, 
 unfixed character, seems hardly to have a real 
 subsistence. And hence proceeds much illusion, 
 both with regard to the extent of our moral 
 responsibility and the nature of prayer. It is 
 not only our imperfection which needs these 
 signs, but they are likewise, although to us most 
 precious, exceedingly imperfect in themselves. 
 Language dies in the very utterance. Inscrip- 
 tions even on brass and marble perish. Writ- 
 ings and books, the most valuable repositories 
 of thought, are more perishing still, and can 
 only be perpetuated by renewal. Thus none 
 of those symbols of thought, on which all our 
 present knowledge, even the knowledge of a 
 Saviour and of eternal life depends, (and which 
 therefore may be regarded as the best gifts of 
 God's providence,) are permanent or indelible. 
 They, on the contrary, are the truly evanescent 
 things. When " the earth and the works that 
 are therein shall be burned up," those works in 
 w^hich the thoughts of human genius and erudi- 
 tion have been for ages treasured, and as it 
 2* 
 
IS otolPEESENCE OF DEITY. 
 
 were, embalmed, will become fuel for that awful 
 pile, as many like them have already perished 
 ill lesser conflagrations, and by other modes of 
 destruction. We know not that even the re- 
 cords of revelation will be excepted from this 
 doom. But when all mortal signs both of error 
 and of truth are effaced, truth will remain per- 
 fect and unchanged in the Divine Mind, where 
 also every thought of every thinking being must 
 eternally dwell, or at least can be obliterated 
 only by Divine power. It would be a denial of 
 God's omniscience, and a supposition of imper- 
 fection in the Deity, not to beheve this. 
 
 We are not, hov\'ever, hence to infer that 
 prolonged silent or mental prayer is usually de- 
 sirable for us, even in secret. On account of 
 our weak and limited nature, it is probably, for 
 the most part, not desirable. The utterance of 
 words contributes to fix and form our thoughts, 
 to give them order and connexion, and even to 
 affect our hearts more deeply. We recognise 
 more fully by this means the reality and con- 
 tinuity of prayer, and are more guarded against 
 its distractions and inconstancies. Yet the firm 
 persuasion that mental prayer is effective, and 
 that we may really address an ever-present God, 
 like that devout petitioner who " spake in her 
 heart," (even although our " lips" should not 
 
OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITY. 19 
 
 " move," as did hers,) is of great value, as en- 
 couraging a habit which can make every place 
 and scene an oratory ; a habit also which will 
 best prepare us for those last moments or hours 
 of earthly devotion, — we trust by far the most 
 fervent and most blessed, — when the tongue, 
 the lip, the hand, the eye, shall successively fail 
 in their weak and transient offices, but when 
 the spirit shall more closely commune with Him, 
 as our Father, *' who hath come unto us, and 
 made his abode with us." Meanwhile, it is not 
 enough that God be with us ; in order to the 
 happiness and life of our souls, we must seek to 
 be more and more in purpose and in spirit 
 with Him. The Divine presence surrounds and 
 pervades an image, a plant, an irrational animal, 
 a sensual human being, who, though endowed 
 with reason, and capable of immortal blessed- 
 ness in the knowledge and love of his Creator, 
 is yet hving " without God in the world." This 
 is enough for the inanimate and the irrational, 
 for it is all which, as far as we can tell, their 
 nature admits. But surely it is not enough for 
 the human nature, which is conscious to itself, 
 when enlightened and awake, as soon it must be, 
 of desires and capacities infinitely higher. Let 
 us be grateful for the sustaining presence of 
 God ; but if we would not forfeit the noblest 
 
20 OMNIPRESENCE OF DEITiS 
 
 privilege of our being, and incur a loss which is 
 awfully irreparable, we must seek that gracious 
 presence, that happy intimacy and communion 
 with our Maker and Redeemer, which is the 
 true happiness of a spirit. We must pray that 
 the feelings and faculties of our souls may be 
 increasingly " alive unto God, through Jesus 
 Christ;" that we may exercise, in a growing 
 measure, the confidence and love which his 
 presence and his perfections excite in the glori- 
 fied ; that we may be able to say not merely 
 " in Him we Hve," — but for Him and unto Him 
 we live; not merely "in Him we move," whether 
 physically or intellectually, — but towards Him is 
 the supreme, the willing movement of our affec- 
 tions and desires ; not only '• in Him we have 
 our being," but in Him is our hope, in Him is 
 our happiness ; so that we can no otherwise 
 think of a present or a future well-being, than in 
 the enjoyment of fihal union with our Father 
 and our God. 
 
EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 21 
 
 III. 
 
 ON THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 
 
 Only so fai' as the unbelief of my heart ques- 
 tions the truth or Divine authority of that volume 
 Avhich everywhere encourages and inculcates 
 the duty, can I consistently question the power 
 and efficacy of prayer to God. Unless the re- 
 corded success of those devout persons, whose 
 fervent and prevailing prayers the Scripture 
 mentions, be fabulous or imaginary; unless 
 the prophets have falsely pronounced the fol- 
 lowing as messages of the Most High, — " I will 
 yet for this be inquired of by the house of Israel, 
 to do it for them ;"* " While they are yet speak- 
 ing, I will hear;"t "Whosoever shall call on 
 the name of the Lord shall be deHvered;"J 
 " He will be very gracious unto thee at the 
 voice of thy cry; when he shall hear it, he will 
 answer thee;"§ — then the true Vv'orshippers of 
 the true God have always had reason to confide 
 in the success of their supphcations. And since 
 
 * Ezekiel, xxxvi. 37. t Isaiah, Ixv. 24. 
 
 t Joel, ii. 32. § Isaiah, xxx. 19. 
 
22 EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 
 
 the coming of our Saviour, the grounds of this 
 confidence have been rendered still more ex- 
 plicit and satisfactory ; for, unless Christ him- 
 self was in error, or designed to mislead others, 
 when he enjoined so urgently and repeatedly 
 the duty of constant, persevering, and importu- 
 nate prayer, when he recommended it by his 
 own example, when he uttered the declaration 
 of its universal success, " Every one that asketh, 
 receiveth ;" — then w^e have the strongest assu- 
 rances that God is verily " plenteous in mercy 
 to all them that call upon him." 
 
 This belief is inseparable from the simple 
 belief of revelation. Except, therefore, I am 
 unhappily and presumptuously inclined to re- 
 nounce or to explain away the revealed truth 
 of God, and with it the substantial and enduring 
 hope of man, on account of certain metaphysi- 
 cal difficulties which may be raised on this 
 subject, I must endeavour to engage in the duty 
 of prayer, with a firm conviction that it shall 
 never be in vain. But indeed those difficulties, 
 arising from our unavoidable belief of the 
 " determinate counsel and foreknowledge of 
 God," have in themselves no weight. My 
 doubting, or slothful, or desponding temper of 
 mind may suggest the thought, — How can I 
 hope to move or influence an unchangeable 
 
EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 23 
 
 Being ? " The counsel of the Lord standeth 
 for ever, the thoughts of his heart to all genera- 
 tions." As reasonably might it be asked, — 
 How can I hope, by taking food, to renew my 
 strength, or prolong my life ; or, by applying to 
 the physician, to obtain the removal of my dis- 
 ease? God hath foreseen and appointed the 
 term of my life, and the measure of my health 
 and strength. 
 
 In these cases the absurdity of the objection 
 is at once apparent. The means by which 
 health is to be restored, strength sustained, and 
 life preserved, are as much objects of the 
 Divine foreknowledge and counsel as the ends 
 connected with them. It hath pleased the 
 Divine Providence to connect them ; and the 
 one will not be without the other. So it hath 
 pleased God, as we learn distinctly from his 
 revealed declarations, to connect the reception 
 of spiritual blessings with prayer ; the real 
 welfare and prosperity of man with supplication 
 to the Author of every good and perfect gift. 
 They are as strictly united as knowledge is 
 with study, or the continuance of life with the 
 use of food. It is no more philosophical to 
 doubt the efficacy and the consequence of the 
 one means than of the other. 
 
 Am I then to expect a special answer to 
 
24 EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 
 
 every petition 1 Are my requests in prayer to 
 be fulfilled without delay or disappointment? 
 This depends on the character and terms of the 
 requests themselves, and the conditions or re- 
 servations under which they are made. It 
 would be not only unchristian, but irrational, 
 for so short-sighted a creature as I am, to pray, 
 absolutely, for any temporal possession or 
 event, or even for the immediate communica- 
 tion of some spiritual benefits. If any thing be 
 more certain than another, it is that I cannot 
 foresee the effect of outward things upon my 
 real good ; nor do I even know what present 
 state of mind and feeling will best promote my 
 ultimate happiness. All a Christian's prayers, 
 therefore, except for things which are uni- 
 versally and immutably good, ought to be quite 
 conditional. They should be so with respect 
 to the best of temporal blessings, such as the 
 life of those most dear to us, and our own 
 health. And they should be so even with re- 
 gard to present spiritual enjoyments, such as a 
 sensible experience of the Divine favour, or a 
 full assurance and foretaste of future bliss. In 
 all petitions for these, there must be a submis- 
 sive reference of our most earnest desires to the 
 wisdom and mercy of Him who knoweth all 
 things, that they may be graciously imparted. 
 
EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 25 
 
 or graciously denied. And if this be not dis- 
 tinct enough, either in our words or in our 
 thoughts, we must conclude, (when our desires 
 remain unfulfilled), that our heavenly Father 
 kindly interpreted those prayers as conditional, 
 which in temper and language were too abso- 
 lute. We must believe Him to say, in the 
 refusal or postponement of our request, — My 
 son, if thou hadst meditated more on my per- 
 fections and thy own position, thou wouldst 
 have added, like Him who suffered for thee, 
 "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt:" 
 and thus, in love to thee, for the sake of that 
 illustrious sufferer, I have treated thy prayer. 
 
 Our heavenly Father has promised to " give 
 good things to them that ask Him ;" * i.e. to 
 give at all times those things which are always 
 good for man, in measures proportioned to the 
 earnestness and frequency of the request ; and 
 to give those things, which are only good at 
 certain periods, and for certain states of cha- 
 racter, only when they will thus become 
 " good things." If this could be otherwise, we 
 must suppose the all-wise and all-gracious God 
 to give, not " good things" to them that ask him, 
 but things which they erroneously suppose to 
 be good for them ; which would be fearfully 
 
 * Matthew, vii. 1 1, 
 
26 EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 
 
 contrary to the Divine attributes and to our 
 welfare. It is evident, that the spirit of our 
 prayers, and our hopes as to their efficacy, 
 should be regulated by these considerations. 
 
 There are petitions which may be always 
 unconditionally presented; such as for the in- 
 fluences of the Holy Spirit in general, for vic- 
 tory over sin, and growth in holiness ; more 
 particularly for strength in the fulfilment of 
 known duty, for direction in doubt and difficulty 
 where our duty is concerned, for help to exer- 
 cise each Christian temper and grace, for 
 deliverance from every evil disposition, for 
 increasing conformity to Christ, and faith and 
 love towards him. Yet even to these petitions 
 I am not to expect sudden, complete, or sensible 
 answers. This would be putting an end to m}^ 
 state of trial, and would be manifestly at vari- 
 ance with the order of God's moral govern- 
 ment. The efficacy of these prayers is 
 sufficiently evinced, if there be, on the whole, 
 a progress in the attainments desired ; and it is 
 not disproved by occasional declension, whether 
 seeming or real, any more than the efficacy 
 of food is disproved by occasional debility or 
 disease. 
 
 Probably I ought to ascribe, much more fully 
 and strictly than I do, whatever right inclina- 
 
EFFICACY OF TRAYER. 27 
 
 tions, or purposes, or habits I am conscious of, 
 to the direct efficacy of my daily petitions for 
 spiritual good. They should be considered not 
 only in a general manner as gifts of Divine grace, 
 but as particular answers to my entreaties for 
 that grace ; supplies immediately connected with 
 my renewed requests. It is true, I have even now 
 cause to be profoundly humbled at the experi- 
 ence of evil in my heart and life ; but, were it 
 supposable, that, without apostacy, and through 
 perversion of the understanding rather than of 
 the will or affections, I might be induced hence- 
 forth to restrain or renounce all prayer, there is 
 every reason to conclude that my spiritual state 
 would thus be awfully deteriorated ; that good 
 wishes and designs w^ould be speedily weakened 
 and suppressed; that evil passions would gain 
 strength ; that the doubts which even now as- 
 sault me would triumph, and exclude comfort 
 from the soul; that my confidence in God 
 would utterly fail ; that I might be betrayed into 
 some dreadful and irrecoverable fall, prompted 
 by a criminal inclination or a despairing mind. 
 We read of persons who " draw back unto per- 
 dition," — " abominable and disobedient, and to 
 every good work reprobate," — who are " alto- 
 gether become filthy," — who " search out iniqui- 
 ties," and "encourage themselves in evil," — 
 
28 EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 
 
 " who say, in iheir heart, There is no God." We 
 see these scriptural statements verified in the 
 dreadful example of some around us, in every 
 class of society. These are men who never have 
 truly prayed, or who have renounced prayer. 
 And to what but prayer as a mean, (an essen- 
 tial and efficacious mean, because so appointed 
 by the Father of mercies,) shall I mainly attri- 
 bute my preservation from this wretched state? 
 It ought to be ascribed w^th the deepest grati- 
 tude to the mercy of Him w^ho " heareth us 
 always," that I, who am so fallible, so weak, 
 so sinful, w^hose heart is "deceitful above all 
 things, and desperately wicked," have still been 
 enabled to " continue" in prayer ; and have re- 
 ceived a portion of those succours which prayer 
 procures, far greater than the unbelief and lan- 
 guor of my approaches to God w^ould have led 
 me to expect. All these considerations should 
 most powerfully operate to lead me constantly, 
 with devoted praise and believing supplication, 
 to his throne of grace, that I may still " obtain 
 mercy, and find grace to help in time of need." 
 
APATHY, ETC. 29 
 
 IV. 
 
 ON APATHY AND DEADNESS RESPECTING REVEAL- 
 ED TRUTH. 
 
 I EXPERIENCE at present an utter averseness 
 and reluctancy to meditation and prayer. But 
 is this a reason why I should refrain from these 
 duties, or defer them ? Surely not ; for my 
 state of feeling implies a blindness with regard 
 to the highest truths and interests and expecta- 
 tions, which it is most essential to my spiritual 
 safety and happiness to have removed. And 
 by what means can I promote its removal, ex- 
 cept by sedulously exercising my thoughts in 
 order to the excitement of my affections, and to 
 the effectual solicitation of Divine aid ? " Many 
 are hindered, because they refuse to give them- 
 selves to prayer or meditation, except they feel 
 themselves brought to it by devotion ; and ex- 
 cept it be when these duties delight them, and 
 go to their hearts ; otherwise all seems to them 
 unprofitable. But this kind of men are like him, 
 that being vexed with cold, will not go to the 
 fire except he were first warm ; or like one that 
 3* 
 
so APATHY RESPECTING 
 
 is ready to perish with famine, and will not ask 
 meat, except he were first satisfied. For why 
 doth a man give himself to prayer or medita- 
 tion, but that he may be warmed with the fire 
 of Divine love ? or, that he may be filled with 
 the gifts and grace of God 1 These men are 
 mistaken in thinking the time lost in prayer and 
 meditation, if they be not presently w^atered 
 with a shower of devotion ; for I answer them, 
 tiiat if they strive as much as in them lieth for 
 this, and do their duty, and are in war, and in 
 continual fight against their own thoughts, with 
 displeasure because they depart not, nor suffer 
 them to be quiet, such men for this time are 
 more accepted, than if the heat and devotion 
 had come to them suddenly, without any such 
 conflict." 
 
 I perceive the justness of these arguments ; 
 and have the more need to be practically influ- 
 enced by them, inasmuch as I am not merely 
 like one so situated diat food will not be brought 
 to him if he bo too slothful to seek it, but like one 
 whose appetite is impaired ; not merely like one 
 " vexed with cold," but like one beginning to 
 be motionless wilh cold, in whom sensation is 
 partly blunted. — Rouse thyself, O my soul, from 
 this spiritual lethargy ! Remember that thy 
 weak indifference cannot produce even the mi 
 
REVEALED TRUTH. 31 
 
 nutest change or intermission in the sleepless 
 course of things. Still, amidst seeming rest and 
 inertness, the solid earth is rolling on its axis, 
 and rushing through space. — Every planet flies 
 with undiminished velocity through its vast 
 orbit. — The pulses of animal life vibrate in thy 
 frame, and its vital fluid incessantly circulates, 
 •while thy spiritual Ufe is stagnating. — At every 
 moment, unnumbered beings make their en- 
 trance into time, and a multitude take their 
 flight into eternity.— The infinite energy of the 
 Eternal Mind is awake to all the events of his uni- 
 verse, and governing them all. — The praises and 
 melodies of heaven are unsuspended. — The la- 
 ments of the miserable are wakeful and unas- 
 suaged. — The ever-prevailing Mediator continu- 
 ally intercedes. — The day of thy summons into 
 an unknown world swiftly approaches by the un- 
 ceasing lapse of time ; and every little section of 
 the dial or the watch, which the shadow or the 
 index traverses, is a portion of thy unintermitted 
 (never to be intermitted) progress towards the 
 home of spirits. — " Behold, the Judge standeth 
 before the door." — It will be but a transient suc- 
 cession, a swift continuation of hours and mi- 
 nutes, and thou shalt have to look back upon the 
 consummation of terrestrial things ; upon the 
 awful disclosures and decisions of the great retri- 
 
32 APATHY RESPECTING 
 
 butive day; upon the moment when thy own 
 character, as viewed by the Searcher of hearts, 
 shall be first revealed, and with it thy allotment in 
 a new untried existence ! — And now, while those 
 scenes are yet future, every action, every tem- 
 per, every purpose and bias of the mind, is to 
 be regarded as a sowing for an eternal harvest. 
 The influences of heaven, even of the Almighty 
 and All-holy Spirit, are offered to him that im- 
 plores them, and are able to produce in the soul 
 " fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting 
 life." A celestial and endless blessedness is set 
 before thy faith, with every solemn promise and 
 mighty work of Christ to guaranty its reality ; 
 and he who is gone to " prepare a place" for 
 his followers, has engaged to " come again and 
 receive them to himself 
 
 And is there all this animated activity in the 
 creatures and operations of God ? — All this 
 beneficent energy in him who preserves and 
 actuates them? — All this restless rapidity in the 
 flight of time, and in the progress of events and 
 dispensations towards their final period ? — All 
 this growing nearness, and amplitude, and 
 splendour in the prospects of eternity ? Do the 
 records of revelation meanwhile open to me the 
 exhaustless fountain of spiritual good, proclaim- 
 ing, " Ask, and ye shall receive ?" — Does He 
 
REVEALED TRUTH. 33 
 
 that died for me utter the awakening words, 
 " Behold, I come quickly, — hold that fast which 
 thou hast, that no man take thy crown ;" — " him 
 that overcomcth will I make a pillar in the tem- 
 ple of my God ?" And can I be languid and 
 listless in the midst of these facts and these 
 incitements 1 If they fail to move and stimu- 
 late my desire or fear; if, through deep stupor 
 and somnolency of spirit, I am not affected or 
 awakened by such thoughts, then how indispen- 
 sable and urgent the necessity of solemnly 
 applying (in however broken a manner) to the 
 Father of mercies, entreating that he would 
 dissolve the spell w hich binds my soul ; lest at 
 length " the thunder of his power" should rend 
 it, and present to my view^ not the mild light 
 of grace, but the " fiery stream" of judgment, 
 where " the hght of Israel shall be for a fire, 
 and his holy One for a flame l" 
 
34 IMPERFECTION OF HUMAN 
 
 V. 
 
 ON THE IMPERFECTION OF ALL HUMAN THOUGHT 
 AND LANGUAGE UN THE VIEW OF THE CREATOR. 
 
 A VAST mountain or successive ranges of per- 
 pendicular cliffs, are objects that powerfully ex- 
 cite in us the idea of grandeur. They are among 
 the sublimest objects within the near scope and 
 measurement of our senses. And it seems to 
 be chiefly from comparing them with those 
 lesser things to which our near view is usually 
 directed, and particularly with the minuteness 
 and feebleness of our own bodily structure, that 
 we gain this impression of their stability and 
 greatness. For we know, on reflection, that 
 the grandeur, even of the Himalayan moun- 
 tains, is merely relative ; and that all the dif- 
 ferent inequalities of our earth's surface are, 
 proportionally to its magnitude, but as the 
 greater and smaller grains of sand or dust, 
 (differing a little in size and aggregation,) which 
 might be strewn and cemented on the surface 
 of an artificial globe. 
 
 So there is, to us, a grandeur in human 
 eloquence. To hear or read the expression of 
 
THOUGHT AND XANGUAGE. 35 
 
 thoughts, which (in our figurative way of de- 
 scribing them) are eminently clear, solid, lofty, 
 and comprehensive ; which are well combined, 
 and conveyed to us by the most distinct and 
 appropriate signs that language furnishes, is 
 highly gratifying and elevating to the enlight- 
 ened mind. And to minds which are at all 
 spiritually, as well as intellectually, enlightened, 
 there is no way in which true eloquence can 
 appear more nobly exercised, than in prayer to 
 God. False or affected eloquence indeed, is in 
 no other use of it so deeply disgusting, because 
 in this it is not only puerile but profane. The 
 true eloquence of prayer is that simple great- 
 ness of thought and reverential fervour of 
 desire in which lowliness and sublimity meet. 
 With this a devout and well-ordered mind is 
 elevated and charmed ; charmed perhaps too 
 much : that is, as far as the charm results from 
 an admiration of superior thought and ex- 
 pression. For we know, or should know, on 
 reflection, that the loftiness and compass of 
 human eloquence are as merely relative as the 
 mass and height of mountains ; and that in the 
 view of the infinite Mind of Him who " taketh 
 up the isles as a very little thing," the differ- 
 ences between the most expansive and the nar- 
 rowest, the most exalted and the humblest 
 
36 IMPERFECTION OF HUMAN 
 
 modes of human thought and speech, are utterly 
 inconsiderable. The disproportion between the 
 conceptions and communications of Lord 
 Bacon and those of a peasant, is to us im- 
 mense ; but to the All-comprehending Intellect 
 it is only a difference in degrees of Httleness : 
 it is as the difierence between Caucasus and a 
 hillock unto him " who meted out heaven with 
 a span." To us the thoughts of some few 
 among our fellow men, and the medium through 
 which they are conveyed to us, appear splen- 
 didly distinguished from those of the multitude : 
 the difference is real ; and is, relatively, great : 
 but it is a difference between " very little 
 things," and therefore, in itself, a very little 
 difference. 
 
 The full and finished strain of the parent 
 nightingale enchants us ; the chirp of her brood 
 has no powder to please. Both however are but 
 the feeble and limited notes of birds. — The elo- 
 quence of Cicero and Chatham transported 
 their hearers ; while a child or an miinstructed 
 person can scarcely give distinct utterance to 
 one interesting thought or emotion. Yet both 
 classes speak only " with the tongues of men ;" 
 and thought conceived and expressed by means 
 of so earthly and frail an organization as ourh], 
 is probably, even in its strongest conception 
 
THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE. 37 
 
 and best enunciation, exceedingly weak and 
 circumscribed, not only in the view of the 
 Deity, but of some created minds. Even to 
 Newton, the difference between the acquire- 
 ments of a child who knew the first rudiments 
 of numbers, and of a student who could demon- 
 strate the theorems of Euclid, must have ap- 
 peared, comparatively, trifling; because he 
 himself is said to have comprehended the latter 
 intuitively. We cannot, therefore, doubt that 
 intelligences of a higher order must look on the 
 highest reach of human science as infantile, and 
 the ablest use of language as a very indirect 
 and defective method of signifying thought. 
 Even we feel its inadequacy. How much more 
 must they ! And if, therefore, the differences 
 of human thought and speech appear little, 
 (when absolutely considered,) to superior finite 
 minds, how little to Him that " fashioneth oiu' 
 hearts alike!" 
 
 These reflections may counteract the shock 
 which imagination sometimes gives to faith, 
 when we witness a peculiar limitation and 
 feebleness of mental powers ; especially when 
 this intellectual feebleness augments in propor- 
 tion to the decay of bodily health and life, so 
 that all sensible indications oppose the idei of 
 4 
 
38 IMPERFECTION OF HUMAN 
 
 capacity for a separate spiritual being, and of 
 the near approach to such a state. 
 
 Paley, when combating that skepticism as 
 to a future Hfe which grounds itself on the 
 general contractedness of the human faculties, 
 very pertinently asks, " whether any one who 
 saw a child two hours after its birth, could 
 suppose that it Would ever come to understand 
 fluxions." But with regard also to what is 
 sometimes termed second childhood, or to a 
 comparative childhood of the mind through life ; 
 the thought which has now been dwelt on, (that 
 is, the small absolute distance between the low- 
 est and highest points of our intellectual scale,) 
 tends to correct false and painful impressions. 
 
 " This is the bud of being," says Dr. Young. 
 If a very young florist were taken at early 
 spring, into a nursery of rose-plants, and saw^ 
 but a few, of which the large buds began to 
 show their crimson, seeming ready, though but 
 just unfolding^ to burst into bloom on the next 
 genial day, while many of equal age, scarcely 
 gave signs of vegetation, and many appeared 
 checked and drooping from partial frost, with- 
 ering rather than growing, he might think, with 
 sorrow, that all must die, except the few w^hich 
 were budding so auspiciously. But the culti- 
 vator, with smiles at this fear, might say, — My 
 
THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE. 39 
 
 Utile friend, to you the difference is great 
 between an opening and a quite unopened bud, 
 or one tliat has been chilled by these easterly 
 winds. But despair not of my charge. I shall 
 soon transplant them to a better soil and 
 position. In summer they all will bloom ; and 
 some of the humblest seedlings here, or of those 
 which seem to you all but lifeless, may then 
 bear the sweetest and noblest flowers. 
 
 This illustration, weak as it is, applies to the 
 different degrees of development of the human 
 faculties in our present condition. 
 
 To return to the consideration of eloquence, 
 (one chief exercise and expression of human 
 faculties;) — its great inadequacy may furnish us 
 with one reason for that absence of the " ex- 
 cellency of speech," which some have treated 
 as an objection to the Divine origin of Scrip- 
 ture. Had Titian become a Christian mission- 
 ary, and been stationed among savages w^ho 
 were used to express facts or thoughts by 
 rudely-painted hieroglyphics, it is highly proba- 
 ble that he would sometimes have used the 
 aid of his pencil in addressing them. But it 
 is improbable that he would have used any 
 of their colours, or selected those which it 
 was their taste or fashion to prefer, or adopted 
 their rules for mingling and applying these ; 
 
40 IMPERFECTION OF HUMAN 
 
 perceiving that neither their best materials, nor 
 their rules of art, would be at all adequate to 
 his subject. It would be much more likely, 
 that, with some simple touches from a fragment 
 of chalk, or sketches with a half-burnt brand, 
 he should prove to them that his genius and his 
 mission were from another world of painters. 
 
 The thoughts we were considering before this 
 diversion are particularly applicable to the 
 subject of prayer. They forbid me to indulge 
 contempt or distaste for the prayers of the most 
 limited or untaught, provided they express, even 
 in the lowliest channel of thought and utterance, 
 an unfeigned piety. " The Lord looketh on the 
 heart." Incense may be presented in a cruse of 
 the coarsest pottery, or in a classic vase of the 
 most ornamented porcelain ; it is of the same 
 quality and value in each: the vessels indeed 
 differ ; yet each is but an earthen vessel ; and 
 though, in many respects, they are contrasted, 
 yet, in reality, both abound in flaws, are soon 
 defaced and easily broken. 
 
 It does not at all follow, that attention to 
 manner and language, in social prayer, is im- 
 proper or superfluous. And even in secret 
 devotion, the connected clearness and unaf- 
 fected energy of speech may be, as it respects 
 many minds, a criterion of the real fixedness 
 
THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE. 41 
 
 of thought and concentration of desire on 
 spiritual things. So far as it is an effect and 
 proof of these dispositions, such eloquence, if 
 he be ever conscious of it in the closet, must 
 and should afford satisfaction to the Christian. 
 But yet, the reflections which have been now 
 dwelt upon, should equally guard him against 
 vain elation in that consciousness, or despon- 
 dency at the want of it. At one time, perhaps, 
 he is happily borne on, in a strain of devotion 
 which is fluent and forcible. Thoughts and 
 words arise spontaneously, and connect them- 
 selves without effort. He " pours out his heart" 
 with a copious and glowing freedom before his 
 Father, who seeth in secret. And can petty 
 *' pride and naughtiness" find fuel for self-idol- 
 atry even there ? 
 
 The most usual, and strongest rebuke of such 
 a feeling is, " What hast thou that thou hast not 
 received ?" As well might the dumb, to whom 
 our Saviour restored the power of speech, have 
 prided themselves on the eloquence of their 
 thanksgivings 1 
 
 But a further rebuke may be drawn from the 
 present topic. What is the amount of differ- 
 ence, in the ear of Him who heareth prayer, or 
 even of His angels, between thy best addresses, 
 and the meanest or most embarrassed words 
 4* 
 
42 IMPERFECTION OF HUMAN 
 
 of genuine worship which arise from the hut, 
 the work-shop, or the field ? 
 
 Perhaps, however, there may be more fre- 
 quent occasion to apply this thought to the 
 relief of discouragement. The w^orshipper's 
 mind is confused ; untuned by anxiety, haunted 
 by some prevailing idea. Unrestrained by the 
 presence of fellow creatures, and but faintly 
 realising the presence of the Invisible Spirit, he 
 utters incoherent petitions and praises, repeals 
 the same thoughts and words, or uses such as 
 are inapproprrate : instead of distinctly solicit- 
 ing particular blessings, deprecating special 
 evils and dangers, acknowledging individual 
 mercies, — his petitions are a sort of helpless 
 summary of his wants ; his confessions, a dis- 
 orderly acknowledgment of sin and weakness ; 
 his thanks, a dim retrospect of half-remembered 
 benefits. The review of such a kind of secret 
 prayer, or the consciousness of its character 
 while uttering it, mortifies and dejects the 
 mind. Indeed, so far as it has arisen from a 
 real decay of pious affections, or from distrac- 
 tions which it were a duty to shun, there is 
 reason both to feel compunction, and to seek 
 diligently the remedies of those spiritual ills. 
 But so far as it is independent of such causes, 
 (and none will doubt that it may sometimes be 
 
THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE. 43 
 
 so), the pain with which it is contemplated may 
 be reheved by various considerations. 
 
 He " that inhabiteth eternity," has not said, 
 " To this man will I look," and " with him will 
 I dwell," even him who worships me with en- 
 larged and varied thoughts, with lofty, and flow- 
 ing, and well-arranged words ; — but, with " him 
 that is of a humble and contrite spirit, and that 
 trembleth at my word.' The publican's prayer, 
 which our Saviour commends, is, though truly 
 eloquent in its kind, such a brief and general 
 supplication, as might be uttered and reiterated 
 by the most enfeebled and discomposed spirit. 
 And perhaps the eyes which that suppliant 
 would " not so much as lift unto heaven," and 
 the hand which " smote upon his breast," were 
 signs of confession and entreaty more ex- 
 pressive than his vocal signs, in the " presence 
 of the angels of God." " We know not," says 
 St. Paul, '• what we should pray for as we 
 ought, but the spirit itself maketh intercession 
 for us with groanings that cannot be uttered." 
 It is plain, therefore, that the aid of the Spirit 
 does not necessarily, or always, consist in im- 
 parting or enhancing the eloquence of words. 
 
 These are the weightiest considerations ; but 
 the thought, which it has here been attempted 
 to illustrate, may be auxiliary to them. For one 
 
44 IMPERFECTION OF HUMAN THOUGHT. 
 
 may justly say, — This feeling of the poverty 
 and brokenness of my prayers, as compared 
 with my own at some other times, or with the 
 eloquent devotions of others, is a highly exag- 
 gerated estimate of difference between degrees 
 of weakness, arising from the very minuteness 
 of my whole range. To an insect, it may be 
 much, whether the sun-beam paint his wings, 
 and cheer him into a flight of some hand- 
 breadths from the soil, or whether an autumn 
 drop have so stained and chilled his wings, that 
 he can but flutter from blade to blade : but in 
 the eye of the eagle, or even of the little song- 
 stress who aspires to the morning cloud, what is 
 this difference, or how much is it " to be 
 accounted of?" 
 
 Perhaps the sublimest strain of worship that 
 ever a mere mortal uttered, has been, in the 
 estimation of higher intelligences, no more 
 superior to these broken prayers, (supposing an 
 equal measure of true piety to be in each), than 
 the more graceful or significant gestures of one 
 speechless petitioner would appear to me to 
 excel those of another. The mode of commu- 
 nicating ideas is so extremely defective, that 
 its differences claim little or no regard. Let 
 me ever bear in mind that emphatic and gra- 
 cious admonition, *' My son, give me thine 
 
GREATNESS OF BLESSINGS, ETC. 45 
 
 heart." Our heavenly Father knows that his 
 children have nothing else to give ; and even 
 this they give that it may be " formed anev^." 
 When its sacred renovation is complete, none 
 can doubt that the intellectual power, the afflu- 
 ence of feeling, and the means of expression, 
 will be perfected beyond all that hope can 
 anticipate, or imagination reach. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ON THE GREATNESS OF THE BLESSINGS WHICH WE 
 SEEK IN PRAYER. 
 
 Who has over rightly conceived, when ad- 
 dressing himself to the throne of the heavenly 
 grace to implore benefits for his immortal spirit, 
 — the true greatness and worth of the favours 
 that he is about to ask ? Nothing but the reve- 
 lations of a world " not seen as yet," can give 
 a due impression of their nature : and immor- 
 tality itself cannot appreciate their amount, be- 
 cause it will be everlastingly to come. Yet, 
 
46 GREATNESS OF THE 
 
 doubtless, a much stronger apprehension of the 
 value of spiritual good might be attained, than 
 that in which I have commonly rested. It will 
 be attained at that period, (so inevitably sure, 
 although so vaguely and dimly anticipated,) 
 when I shall be a prisoner on the " last bed of 
 languishing," w^here sensitive and earthly good 
 must be viewed in its real insignificance and 
 impotency ; and I must feel with an entire, 
 irrefutable consciousness, " All this availeth me 
 nothing !" 
 
 What an incalculable importance and excel- 
 lency will the possessions and prospects of the 
 soul then assume in its own estimation ! What 
 words or thoughts shall then suffice to compute 
 the preciousness of " eternal redemption," or of 
 that " partaking of the Divine nature," which is 
 the pledge of perfect and imperishable bliss ! 
 
 We can imagine a subject of the great 
 northern monarchy, sentenced, for some state 
 offence, to banishment for life into the Siberian 
 deserts. We can see him prostrating himself 
 before his prince with intense anxiety for par- 
 don, overwhelmed with the bitter thought of 
 perpetual separation from all that is dear to 
 him, — and the shame, and hardship, and deso- 
 lation of that lingering, irreversible penalty. 
 And should my heart be cold, when I fall be- 
 
BLESSINGS SOUGHT IN PRAYEH. 47 
 
 fore the true and universal Monarch, as an 
 offender against the state and Majesty of hea- 
 ven ? When the favour which I have to entreat 
 is that of a pardon from the righteous and un- 
 controllable Ruler of all worlds l What would 
 be the intenseness of my soHcitude to obtain 
 this act of grace, and the satisfying assurance 
 of its reality, if I could contemplate the unmixed 
 gloom, the hopeless rigour, and unutterable 
 ignominy, of a spirit's banishment from the 
 Father of mercies, and from the society of the 
 rejoicing milHons that triumph in his love ! 
 
 There is, indeed, this most happy difference, 
 that, while success in entreating pardon from 
 an earthly ruler, must be always, in a high de- 
 gree, doubtful, — pardon from "the King eter- 
 nal, immortal, and invisible," if perse veringly 
 pleaded for with a truly penitent heart, through 
 the atoning mediation of his beloved Son, is 
 declared to be infallibly sure : — " He is faithful 
 and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse 
 us from all unrighteousness." And this cer- 
 tainty, it would seem, must remove the deep 
 and painful anxiety with which the suit would 
 otherwise be accompanied. So, indeed, in the 
 mind of the true penitent, it ought to operate. 
 His solicitude should not long be of a nature 
 inconsistent with substantial peace. Yet it is 
 
48 GREATNESS OF THE 
 
 to be remembered, that he has, m the present 
 life, no external conveyance of this Divine par- 
 don, and no internal sign, or ratification of it 
 which will prospectively suffice. The well- 
 founded assurance of its being really granted, 
 can only be proportioned to the continued sin- 
 cerity and faith with which w^e seek it, and to 
 the unaffected contrition and unreserved allegi- 
 ance of soul, of which w^e are lastingly con- 
 scious. 
 
 That precious seal of personal redemption, 
 which the Holy Spirit is ready to impress day 
 by day, continually, can find no place in " the 
 tablets of the heart," except that heart be daily 
 softened and made susceptible of the blessing 
 by penitential prayer. Supplication for par- 
 don cannot, by the enhghtened and truly humble 
 Christian, be felt or judged, at any period of his 
 earthly course, to have become superfluous, or 
 to be a mere formahty. Although he has 
 attained a peaceful hope of justification from 
 that paternal Sovereign, before whom he has 
 long bowed with unfeigned penitence and true 
 contrition of soul, still, in order to maintain this 
 state and sense of acceptance, he has ever to 
 sue for the same inestimable gift of remission. 
 What humble, self-examining mind will doubt 
 that this is fit and needful, both in the review 
 
BLESSINGS SOUGHT IN PRAYER. 49 
 
 of sins long past, and of recent offences'?* 
 '* We must renew our requests for pardon every 
 day," says a most pious writer : " It is more 
 necessary than to pray for our daily bread :" 
 and again, " Who can understand his errors ? 
 Who can enumerate the many defections from 
 that straight rule of our duty ?' 
 
 Nor is it pardon only, but it is the gift of the 
 Holy Spirit ; it is the inheritance of the saints ; 
 it is everlasting life, which I am about to sup- 
 plicate. And by what measure can I fix in my 
 mind the magnitude of these requests ? If we 
 had seen, in former times, a Castihan nobleman 
 about to enter the Escurial, that he might solicit 
 an appointment to the vice-royalty of Peru, 
 should we not have expected strong marks of 
 ambitious desire and deep concern for the issue 
 of his suit to appear upon his brow ? And yet 
 how strikingly would such a sight exhibit the 
 penury and fallaciousness of this world, where, 
 while the object sought included power, wealth, 
 and magnificence almost regal, the candidate 
 would yet, in fact, be asking, with all the de- 
 votion of his soul, for a burden of splendid 
 cares ! When a Christian appears before the 
 King of Kings, and asks to be prepared and 
 qualified by divine influence, for a " crown of 
 
 * James, iii. 2 ; 1 John, i. 8. 
 5 
 
50 GREATNESS OF THE 
 
 life," it is certainly nothing resembling this 
 earthly domination, or selfish glory to which he 
 aspires. His requests are consistent with the 
 deepest humihty and self-renunciation, other- 
 wise he " knows not what he asks."* The sum 
 of his requests, when he asks aright, is, that he 
 may be enabled perfectly to love and glorify 
 God, and "be satisfied with his likeness," while 
 all the praise shall redound to the infinite Giver. 
 But he neither can, nor ought to hide from 
 himself the vastness of these gifts, which he is 
 encouraged and commanded to implore. He 
 asks the Uncreated Energy to renovate and 
 re-mould within him the very image of Divine 
 perfection; and to fit an heir of frailty and 
 guilt for incorruptible and eternal joys ! 
 
 It might be a weakness, excusable even in a 
 thoughtful mind, to be somewhat dazzled by 
 the full splendour of earthly empire ; to forget, 
 while soliciting a pardon, or a dignity, at the 
 the footstool of its loftiest possessor, that that 
 imperial hand will soon be in the dust, — that I 
 address only the dying tenant of a delegated 
 powder, whose successor may to-morrow reverse 
 his pardons, revoke his donations, annul his in- 
 vestitures ; — to forget, that even were the donor 
 resolved to make his favours irrevocable by 
 
 *Mark x. 38. 
 
BLESSINGS SOUGHT IN PRAYER. 51 
 
 himself, and no less sure to survive him who 
 obtains them, still this pardon could only affect 
 the "life which is a vapour;" these honours 
 only extend to days which are " as an hand- 
 breadth;" — to forget these truths for the mo- 
 ment might be a natural weakness. But how- 
 strange, when approaching "the King, the Lord 
 of hosts," the " only Ruler of princes," to ex- 
 perience an illusion precisely contrary to this ; 
 to have been dazzled by what is false and fleet 
 ing, and to be dead to what is real and eternal ; 
 and how inexcusable to yield to this illusion 
 with a sort of supineness ; to forget without a 
 struggle, that I address Him who is " from 
 everlasting to everlasting ;" of whom " heaven 
 is but the throne, and earth the footstool ;" who 
 hath the " keys of hell and of deatri "' 
 
 When I enter on this employment of prayer, 
 (which except when attended with " pomp and 
 circumstance," many, that bear the Christian 
 name contemn in their hearts, as an imbecile 
 and superstitious observance,) I go to entreat 
 what none but the Lord of the universe can 
 give, a pardon sealed with the blood of that 
 true Victim, who was " slain from the founda- 
 tion of the world ;" a pardon that shall be in 
 force w^hen "the heavens have been folded up 
 as a vesture," and when unnumbered ages shab' 
 
52 GREATNESS OF THE 
 
 have witnessed to the " heirs of promise" the 
 faithfahiess of Jehovah, and "the immutabiUty 
 of his counsel." — I go to entreat that principle 
 of heavenly life, which, if it be kindled from and 
 cherished by the Sun of Righteousness, shall 
 gloriously assimilate my soul to Him, in whom 
 *• is no darkness at all." 
 
 And shall the sneers or the coldness of an 
 infidel and sensual age persuade me that this is 
 a weak or fanatical employment ? Or shall 
 the drowsiness of my ov/n spirit degrade it into 
 a lifeless task, an exercise that profiteth little? 
 
 But pernaps I plead in extenuation, — it is the 
 frequency of the employment, which prevents 
 my rightly feeling the importance of prayer, 
 and the greatness of its object. Is it then thus 
 with the children of this generation in their 
 pursuit of wealth? They are found daily at 
 the same desk ; they return to the same details 
 and inquiries and endeavours. They labour in 
 the same routine of calculation. Every acces- 
 sion to the errand balance excites new dilcrence. 
 and makes the unremitting toil more light. 
 The hoped-for aggregate is still in view ; and 
 ail the irksome steps to its completion are for- 
 gotten. " So is he that layeth up treasure for 
 himself" And shall I, who desire the infinitely 
 jiobler attainment of being " rich towards God," 
 
BLE5SI>-G5 SOUGHT IN PRAYEB. 53 
 
 *• rich in faith," rich in the treasure of immor- 
 lahty, pretend to make the sameness, or com- 
 monness, or repetition of engagements which are 
 the appointed means of this glorious acquisition, 
 an excuse for pursuing them carelessly ? 
 
 Have the suitors and aspirants after court 
 favour, with an ever-growing sense of the 
 uncertainty of success, yet persevered in their 
 heart-sickening round of efforts and repulses, 
 
 " Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy," 
 
 or have they been induced, through successive 
 yearfs, as another of their number has mourn- 
 fully recorded, 
 
 " To lose good days, that might be better spent ; 
 To waste long nights in pensive discontent?" 
 
 And, shall a suitor to the court of heaven, be- 
 lieving the incomparable grandeur, and sure 
 altainableness of the objects of Christian desire 
 and hope, plead the long continuance and fre- 
 quency of his suit as an excuse for not urging 
 it still, with a reverential but untiring ardour ' 
 Surely, to those who receive the promises of 
 the ?sew Testament as divine, the truth needs 
 no demonstration, even if it had not proceeded 
 from the mouth of our Saviour himself, that 
 " Men ought always to pray, and not to faint.** 
 But it needed, as that heavenly teacher knew, 
 
54 IMPORTANCE OF 
 
 to be strongly enforced on our unbelieving and 
 indolent spirits ; and still must the grounds on 
 which it rests be often reviewed by memory 
 and conscience, else the seriousness and fervour 
 of our prayers will bear no proportion to the 
 magnitude of the hope set before us, or to the 
 greatness and the mercy of Him who hath pro- 
 posed it. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ON THE IMPORTANCE OF DIVINE INFLUENCE UPON 
 THE THOUGHTS. 
 
 It is obvious to an observer of his own mind, 
 that a great proportion of his thoughts are un- 
 sought or involuntary. Objects of sensation, 
 (even the most minute or trivial,) are perpetually 
 exciting new ideas. And so multiplied and 
 diversified are the associations to which they 
 give rise, that it is impossible to predict into 
 what train of reflection any circumstance may 
 lead us. And not only do outward objects or 
 incidents excite different thoughts, in different 
 
DIVINE INFLUENCE. 55 
 
 minds, and in the same mind at different times, 
 but the subsequent thoughts, suggested by pre- 
 ceding thoughts, and not by anything externally 
 perceived, are productive of others in a series 
 which none can foresee. " So completely," 
 says a distinguished philosopher, " is the mind, 
 in this particular, subjected to physical laws, 
 that, as it has been justly observed, we cannot, 
 by an effort of our will, call up any one thought. 
 The train of our ideas depends on causes whicli 
 operate in a manner inexplicable by us. Not- 
 withstanding, however, the immediate depend- 
 ence of the train of our thoughts on the laws of 
 association, it must not be imagined that the 
 will possesses no influence over it. — Of the 
 powers which the mind possesses over the train 
 of its thoughts, the most obvious is its power of 
 singling out an}^ one of them at pleasure, of de- 
 taining it, and of making it a particular object 
 of attention. By doing so, we not only stop 
 the succession that would otherwise take place, 
 but, in consequence of our bringing into view 
 the less obvious relations among our ideas, we 
 frequently divert the current of our thoughts 
 into a new channel." 
 
 Admitting the last statement to be practically 
 good and true, I would use those consideration^ 
 whicli my own consciousness and the specula- 
 
5G IMPORTANCE OF 
 
 tions of others furnish, on this very obscure 
 subject, to aid in deepening nny conviction of 
 spiritual influence. 
 
 If it be impossible for me to pre-determine, or 
 foreknow, what thoughts will be suggested to 
 my mind, even when I am engaged in a par- 
 ticular mental occupation, (and still more obvi- 
 ously so when my attention is not directed to 
 any special study, or when a variety of external 
 communications are made through the senses,) 
 how can I possibly calculate in how high a de- 
 gree a special Divine influence may or might 
 regulate, quite imperceptibly, the succession of 
 thoughts, and the consequent train of desires, 
 purposes and actions. 
 
 As far, indeed, as the first suggestion ol 
 thought depends upon influence from without, I 
 have to ascribe it to the general or providential 
 government of God ; but the association of one 
 thought with another, and of that with a third, 
 and the excitement, thus, of a very numerous 
 succession of thoughts, is one of the most 
 secret and mysterious processes of which we 
 can conceive. It is a sort of generative or 
 creative process, inexpressibly rapid, and indefi- 
 nitely variable. To illustrate this by example : 
 
 I see a rainbow. It may suggest to me the 
 heavenly messenger of the Grecian mythology. 
 
DIVINE INFLUENCE. 67 
 
 and lead me, either to the poetry of Homer, or 
 the temples of Athens ; to the horrors of war, 
 or the beauties of sculpture. Or, the briUiancy 
 of its violet rays may bring to mind, either the 
 flower of that name, or the rich plumage of 
 American birds ; and it may depend on which 
 of these associations presents itself, whether I 
 shall retrace a rural walk with a departed 
 friend, or reflect on the conquest of Mexico, 
 and the wealth or barbaric splendour of its 
 monarchs. Or, the rainbow may be viewed as 
 the token of God's covenant, no more to de- 
 stroy the earth by a deluge ; and I may thence 
 be led to reflections on the doom of the antedi- 
 luvians ; to speculations on geology ; or to 
 thoughts on that predicted destruction, by an 
 opposite element, which awaits the globe. Or, 
 the first sight of the rainbow may suggest the 
 Newtonian theory of optics ; and this may con- 
 duct me, either to the telescope or to the micro- 
 scope, thence to the history of insects, or the 
 lunar influence on the tides ; or, first, to the 
 character of Newton, and then to the capacities 
 of the human intellect. These are but a few 
 of the obvious diversities of thought, which a 
 familiar object may immediately bring inco the 
 mind. I know by experience, in this particular 
 instance, that the first association has been often 
 
58 IMPORTANCE OF 
 
 Utterly unlike any of these. And, if the first 
 admits of such variety, how incalculable must 
 be the subsequent multiplication of such v.a- 
 riety ! How immense is each one of those 
 fields into which any one of the second or third 
 series of associations that have been mentioned 
 would introduce the mind, and howimpossible is it 
 to foresee on what track, or what point, in either, 
 it would fix, and where it would begin to take 
 a different or contrary course ! How much 
 contemplation that is animating to human hope ; 
 how much that should excite admiration of 
 divine wisdom ; how much that is connected 
 with scientific inventions and designs, or with 
 that awful consummation of all things which 
 the Bible predicts ; how many injurious and 
 presumptuous doubts, or how many fruitless 
 musings, or how many impure and seductive 
 imaginations, or frivolous recollections, might 
 arise in half an hour, in different minds, or even 
 in one and the same mind, all originating in this 
 single source ! 
 
 Undoubtedly much will depend on the pre- 
 vious inclinations and habits of the understand- 
 ing and the fanc}-. The theologian, the painter, 
 the agriculturist, the mathematician, the lover 
 of money, the voluptuary, will probably have 
 each his peculiar associations at first presented 
 
DIVINE INFLUENCE. 59 
 
 by the same object, and will all likewise be 
 attracted respectively by such of the succeed- 
 ing train as most accord with their desires or 
 pursuits. This shows the deep importance both 
 of our practical habits, and our habits of 
 thought ; and the duty of cultivating those 
 which are good and profitable. 
 
 But still there is, most certainly, in the same 
 mind, a vast diversity in the range of thought, 
 according to the occurrences, the cares, the 
 tempers, or passions, of different periods. The 
 professed study or occupation of an individual, 
 except in some cases of most intense devotion 
 to one object, is very far from determining the 
 occasional, or even ordinary, current of reflec- 
 tion. And one of the unnumbered ideas that 
 have this hour flitted through a mind scarcely 
 conscious of their passage, may at another 
 hour be held fast, and become the source of 
 continued meditation and serious action. 
 
 Nor does the view which has now been 
 taken of this subject at all suffice to express the 
 exceedingly minute, hidden, and often most 
 improbable associations, by which the train 
 of thought is incessantly liable to be changed 
 or interrupted. 
 
 But all these considerations tend to show 
 what illimitable opportunity exists for the ope- 
 
60 IMPORTANCE OF 
 
 ration of spiritual influence on the soul. That 
 Power, in whom I exist, can not only present 
 external objects to impress thought, but can 
 determine which, amidst all possible impres- 
 sions, shall take place. Or, at any stage, in the 
 career of thought, he can suddenly and secretly 
 alter its direction. One association may be 
 selected from amidst a thousand which were 
 as likely to occur, and which might all appear 
 alike indifferent or unimportant ; or, in the lapse 
 of countless indistinct momentary conceptions, 
 the most shadowy and fugitive of the w^hole 
 may be arrested, and made to assume clearness 
 and force. 
 
 It is not easy to understand what the philoso- 
 pher, who has been cited above, meant, when 
 he wrote of "the laws of association," and of 
 " physical laws," as directing the train of our 
 thoughts. It is probable he meant little more 
 than to give a name to operations which he 
 acknowledged to be " inexplicable." He could 
 scarcely suppose general and invariable rules 
 by which thoughts proceed from sensations, 
 and from each other ; for what could be less 
 credible than this supposition to one who had 
 so closely observed the endless varieties and 
 anomalies in the suggestion and succession of his 
 ov^^n thought? But even could that supposition 
 
DIVINE INFLUENCE. 61 
 
 be maintained, bis admission that the mind 
 itself has a power to " stop," or " divert the 
 current" of thought, evidently overthrows it; 
 and if the mind itself have this power, how 
 much more the Supreme and Almighty Mind, 
 which formed and governs all its faculties! 
 
 The more carefully and analytically we 
 reflect on this subject, the more shall wc be 
 convinced, that the influences of the Divine 
 Spirit, (in the highest degree beneficial and eili- 
 cacious,) may be exercised within us, and yet 
 be entirely undistinguishable from the operations 
 of our own mental powers. That I should 
 have this idea rather than another; these passing 
 remembrances or images instead of those ; that 
 flow of thought rather than a different one, is a 
 thing so far from appearing extraordinary or 
 supernatural, that it accords with perpetual ex- 
 perience, and excites no attention. And yet 
 it may arise from the express and special 
 agency of the Spirit of God, and may ulti- 
 mately have the most important eftects on my 
 course through life, on my usefulness, on the 
 well-being of others, on my eternal happiness, 
 and theirs. 
 
 It is very material to consider, that this 
 agency may, as I have said, be altogether un- 
 discerned, and undiscernible by me ; and yet 
 6 
 
62 IMPORTANCE OF DIVINE INFLUENCE. 
 
 my best purposes, my purest actions, my escape 
 or recovery from temptations, may be exclu- 
 sively and directly its result. 
 
 It is reasonable to suppose that the actings 
 of spirit on spirit will be incomparably more 
 refined, more exquisitely untraceable, than those 
 which take place on corporeal substances ; and 
 yet how incomprehensibly minute and refined 
 are the vital functions and changes in the 
 smallest visible creatures! lie w^ho can main- 
 tain and renew all the complexities of the vital 
 system, and the system of instincts, in succes- 
 sive generations of animalcules, can surely 
 bring into the mind a thought, seemingly incon- 
 siderable in itself, which yet may be the sole 
 original instrument of determining the temporal 
 destinies of a kingdom, or the everlasting des- 
 tinies of a soul. 
 
 On the whole, these reflections not only 
 expose the shallow presumption and profane- 
 ness of those who deride the doctrine of spiritual 
 influence, but they should also greatly heighten 
 my persuasion of the paramount importance of 
 prayer for the gift of the Holy Spirit ; of the 
 unknown benefits w^hich such prayer may have 
 already procured me, by influences secretly 
 leading to good, and diverting from evil ; and 
 of the still happier and more decisive results 
 
ON EXEMPTION FROM DISEASE. 63 
 
 which may be expected from continuing, more 
 importunately, to entreat this unseen control 
 and direction. Let me never begin the day 
 without earnestly imploring, that the great 
 Searcher of hearts would "cleanse the thoughts 
 of my heart by the inspiration of his Holy 
 Spirit ;" that he would turn the current of my 
 soul, " as the rivers of water are turned, whith- 
 ersoever he will P' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ON EXEMPTION FROM SEVERE RODILY DISEASE AND 
 HARM, AND ITS IMPROVEMENT. 
 
 It is only by a participation comparatively 
 slight, (and, through the goodness of the great 
 Preserver, very unfrequent,) that I have been 
 experimentally taught the severity of those 
 bodily sufferings to which we all are liable. 
 In any part of this frame, so " curiously 
 wrought," so variously assailable, subject to 
 derangements so numerous — acute pain might 
 be permitted at any time to arise, which would 
 
64 EXEMPTION FROM DISEASE, 
 
 absorb and oppress the mind, incapacitate it 
 for either fulfilling the active offices or enjoying 
 the comforts allotted to me, and induce distress- 
 ful forebodings of a prolonged anguish which 
 no human skill could remove. Or a partial, 
 and in some respects, trifling harm, might con- 
 fine me to one spot ; forbidding all variety of 
 scene or of exertion. The invaluable organs 
 of sight, of hearing, or of speech, might be 
 quickly destroyed or impaired, and then the 
 principal employments of my life must cease, 
 and many of the blessings of society must be at 
 once resigned. Or some disease might assault 
 me which should involve the hazard of conta- 
 gion to others, or be attended with peculiar and 
 extreme mortification to myself. 
 
 But are not these, and other bodily ills, inci- 
 dent to our earthly condition, so well known, so 
 often suggested by observing the calamities of 
 those around us ; or have not they been so much 
 dwelt upon in every form of admonition, that 
 it is quite superfluous to recall and enumerate 
 them ? 
 
 Obvious, and almost inevitable, as may be the 
 kind of reflection with they prompt, it has not yet 
 been deep and efficacious, (and therefore claims 
 to be presented yet again,) unless it produce a 
 constant, heartfelt, and practical gratitude to 
 
 CxOd. 
 
AND ITS IMPROVEMENT. 65 
 
 Have I to confess that his lenity and kindness 
 are sometimes unacknowledged and unthought 
 of, who has exempted me, notwithstanding mul- 
 tiplied provocations of his justice, from this class 
 of grievous trials 1 Or, while daily presenting 
 supplications for new mercies, am I frequently 
 content to revert to these, which have been so 
 long continued, or to recognise their actual con- 
 tinuance at this moment, with a mere heartless 
 ceremonial acknowledgment ? Then are there, 
 indeed, humbling reasons for me to review more 
 feelingly their variety and their value. 
 
 But besides this strong claim on me for cor- 
 dial thanksgiving, the exemption from severe 
 bodily calamity should also powerfully engage 
 me to diligence in every duty; to a watchful 
 concern for all spiritual improvement ; to perse- 
 verance in prayer for all spiritual benefits. 
 While such exemption is granted, I am not only 
 more capable of bodily, but of mental activity ; 
 and especially am I more competent to regular 
 and enlarged exercises of worship, than I can 
 hope to be in seasons of great debility, or rest- 
 lessness, or pain. 
 
 How weak and ungrateful, therefore, is it to 
 
 repine under trivial indisposition, or yield to 
 
 passing languor. Rather let me remember the 
 
 sufferers who are " weary with their groaning;" 
 
 6* 
 
66 EXEMPTION FR03I DISEASE, 
 
 who are " full of tossings to and fro until the 
 dawning of the day ;"' who obtain few and short 
 intermissions of the most distressing and tor- 
 turing sensations. On these, the mercy of Him, 
 who " despiseth not his prisoners," will compas- 
 sionately wait, and their " sighing" shall " come 
 before him ;" but for me, (while indulged with 
 this ability and opportunity to wait upon my 
 God,) there should arise the more ample and 
 unwearied petitions for every sacred gift, that 
 can renew and strengthen and purify and en- 
 rich the soul. 
 
 It cannot, or ought not to be unperceived by 
 me, that, although I am thus favoured with 
 bodily ease and health, the moral disorders of 
 the spirit are many and variable ; some more 
 habitual and insidious, others more occasional 
 and violent. The selfish and angry passions 
 sometimes inflict a wound, which nothing but 
 new supplies of the grace of humility can heal 
 Feverish desires, and aching discontents, and 
 wasting anxieties, invade the breast, which 
 resignation and the cordial of heavenly hope 
 alone can soothe. That faintness or palsy of 
 the will, which is evinced by a backwardness to 
 self-denying duties, by shrinking from exertions 
 which conscience claims, and by general " wea- 
 riness in well-doing," may be found in humiliating 
 
AND ITS IMPROVEMENT. 67. 
 
 connexion with a physical health and strength, 
 that have been denied to some of the most la- 
 borious servants of God, and most indefatigable 
 friends of mankind. And whence, but from a 
 divine energy, quickening and upholding my 
 best resolves, shall these spiritual maladies re- 
 ceive an effectual cure? Conscious, as I must 
 be, of some, if not of all those internal evils, how 
 can I hope, even partially, to subdue and expel 
 them, unless, (by a vigilant use of present advan- 
 tages and facilities,) I embrace the favouring 
 occasion which a gracious Providence bestows ? 
 Is not now the time for progress in his service, 
 foi^ alacrity and steadfastness in every good 
 work, for zealously and importunately seeking, 
 from the Author of good, that complete reno- 
 vation and health of the soul, which should be 
 the first object of my solicitude 1 If life itself 
 be given and prolonged for this great end, then 
 that measure of bodily health and ease, on 
 which the full use of hfe depends, should assu- 
 redly be considered and appreciated and em- 
 ployed, with a reference to the same exalted 
 purpose. 
 
 Our present condition, — in w^hich a prevalence 
 of these blessings is combined with such allot- 
 ments of past and present trial, as have deeply 
 imprinted on the heart the ills to which life is 
 exposed, — is peculiarly adapted to promote the 
 
68 ON EXEMPTION FROM DISEASE. 
 
 earnest and successful prosecution of our high- 
 est good. Have our chastisements been nu- 
 merous and severe enough most intimately to 
 convince us, that we must look to Heaven for 
 what is substantial and unfailing? Has the 
 " Father of our spirits" imposed corrections 
 which have sufficed (as instruments of his di- 
 vine power) to awaken and revive a sense of 
 our dependence, of our demerits, of our spiritual 
 exigencies ? — And yet, are these so graciously 
 moderated, especially w-ith regard to bodily 
 suffering, that they still leave the capacity foi 
 pursuing active duties, and seeking spiritual 
 supplies, in a great degree unimpaired ]_>-jQan 
 there be a more cogent reason for grateful and 
 instant assiduity, both in action and devotion? 
 
 Even that exalted person who was alone 
 entitled to say " No man taketh my life from 
 me, but I lay it down of myself;" said also, 
 (and the solemn declaration has more force 
 than an injunction,) " I must work the works 
 of Him that sent me, while it is day; — the 
 night Cometh, when no man can work." — To 
 us, not only a day of life, but a day of health, 
 of strength, of ease, is a pure gratuity, which 
 only Almighty power and goodness can confer; 
 and, though this gratuity has been reiterated 
 and multiplied so long — w^ho can insure it for 
 to-morrow ? 
 
NTERCESSORiT PRAYER. ^9 
 
 IX. 
 
 ON INTERCESSORY PRAYER FOR RELATIVES AND 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 Boundless and invaluable means of benefi- 
 cence, both social and secret, are ever open to 
 those who believe in the efficacy of prayer for 
 others: which no one that truly receives the 
 Scriptures can deliberately question. Has it 
 been enough observed, how vast is the worth 
 of the Christian revelation in this particular 
 view : and how powerful an argument of its 
 divinity, (so far as that is corroborated by every 
 new aspect or development of its worth,) may 
 be hence deduced? Without discussing the 
 creeds of heathens, ancient or modern, it is 
 plain, that in countries where Christianity pre- 
 vails, those who do not seriously receive it, have 
 generally no settled beUef (if indeed they have 
 any belief at all) in the direct benefits of prayer, 
 whether personal or intercessory. Yet in some 
 of these persons, the sympathies of nature are 
 so far from being extinct, that they appear in 
 the tenderest forms of emotion, and the most 
 engaging acts of humanity. 
 
70 INTERCESSION FOR 
 
 I shall never forget the scarcely suppressed 
 tears of a late amiable metaphysician and poet, 
 when bidding farewell to the youthful assembly 
 whom his eloquence had charmed, and w^ho were 
 then to disperse themselves from that scene of 
 academic enjoyment, into the various and event- 
 ful paths of busy life. This indeed might be 
 only a vague and transient sentiment of melan- 
 choly, on the occasion w^hich always tends to 
 excite it — the last time. But how would the 
 same refined and susceptible spirit have felt, had 
 he, like Sir William Jones in India, prevailed 
 with a beloved wife, languishing under danger- 
 ous indisposition, to quit him for Europe ? 
 
 Even were there not other and far weightier 
 reasons for our desire that both "the wise and the 
 unwise" might believe the gospel, this one would 
 seem sufficient; viz. the comfort derived from 
 that benevolence which is exercised in prayer, 
 towards those whom we may have Httle or no 
 power otherwise to aid, or influence, or requite. 
 There is no need that a continent or a sea be 
 interposed, in order to deprive us of power to 
 aid them. For a child in a distant city, for 
 a relative in another province, for a friend in 
 sickness or calamity, for one who has our best 
 wishes, but whom painful circumstances forbid 
 us to meet, how little can sometimes be done, or 
 
RELATIVES AND FRIENDS. 71 
 
 even attempted, unless faith resort to that exei'cise 
 of kindness, too often despised or distrusted by 
 men, but chosen and prescribed by God, which 
 entreats for them infinitely more than man can 
 give ? By the art of writing, and the facility of 
 conveying what is written, (both which are sub- 
 jects of gratitude,) I may, indeed, address to 
 each some words of affectionate counsel or 
 sympathy; but, besides that these communica- 
 tions cannot be very copious or frequent, and 
 sometimes are wholly precluded, how small is 
 their real value, (justly and highly as we may 
 often prize them,) when compared with that of 
 heartfelt addresses on their behalf to Him from 
 whom cometh "every good and perfect gift." 
 The affectionate wishes of a Christian friend 
 should for this be most valued, that they may 
 be accounted an intimation, and almost an im- 
 plied pledge, of his affectionate prayers, which 
 are far better. " 
 
 It has been the pleasing compact of some, 
 closely joined in heart, but widely distant in 
 place, to look at the same hour at the moon, or 
 at a star, and thus to imagine a kind of sensible 
 union, by being alike and at once present to the 
 same beautiful object. How does it heighten 
 and substantiate this device of friendship, 
 (which else is comparatively a fruitless and 
 
7*/ INTERCESSION FOR 
 
 empty refinement,) to commune not merely 
 with a bright emblem of the divine bounty, 
 but with the omnipresent Benefactor himself; 
 to pour out mutual intercession before the 
 ''Father of" these heavenly "lights," "with 
 whom is no variableness, neither shadow of 
 turning !" My dearest friend may be in 
 another hemisphere ; or, though but a few 
 leagues divide us, a cloud may conceal that 
 star from one which rises in brightness to the 
 other. But if w^e devoutly intercede for each 
 others w-elfare, before him by whose presence 
 all time and space are comprised, — our suppli- 
 cations, whether offered at one or at different 
 hours, form a real and intimate communion 
 with each other and with Him ; a communion 
 fraught, we trust, not only with soothing senti- 
 ments, but with real blessings. The showers 
 of widely separated regions fall or flow into 
 the same mighty deep ; — so the tears of Christ- 
 ian sympathy " poured out to God," though 
 shed in the remotest climates, may be said to 
 drop into the same ocean of his loving-kindness, 
 and to be mingled there. 
 
 But, besides this, our kindest thoughts and 
 wishes for our friends cannot be freely ex- 
 pressed to them, unless our regard be strictly 
 reciprocal, and our sentiments on the most im- 
 
RELATIVES AND FRIENDS. 73 
 
 portant points be similar. The most faithful 
 and thankworthy offices of kindred and friend- 
 ship, are well known to be the most difficult. 
 If I perceive or learn that those for whom I am 
 interested, have imbibed false principles, or 
 joined seducing associates ; if I judge that 
 their situation may invite to a course which 
 will endanger their peace and prosperity; or that 
 they have been hitherto thoughtless of revealed 
 truths and of eternal prospects, or perpetually 
 diverted from them ; yet how hard is it, in any 
 mode of intercourse, to convey, beneficially, 
 such kind admonitions or expostulations as my 
 regard would prompt ! How generally dis- 
 tasteful, how strongly repulsive, sometimes, to 
 persons of every age and class, is this sort of 
 friendly interference ! How do pride, and the 
 passions, in their various forms, revolt from it, 
 and view him that attempts it as officious or 
 severe, censorious or timid, narrow, melancho- 
 lic, or illiberal ! Not that the risk of these 
 imputations or impressions should prevent us 
 from attempting the duty, though it should 
 make us circumspect as to the fit manner and 
 the fit opportunity. The duty involves self- 
 denial; it approaches to what Saurin has 
 emphatically termed *' moral martyrdom ;" and, 
 therefore, if only as a test of sincerity and as 
 7 
 
74 INTERCESSION FOR 
 
 an exercise of Christian fortitude, it should not 
 be wholly declined ; but yet, must not the expe- 
 rience of its great difficulty, and the belief of 
 its small success, nay, its apparent ill effect at 
 times, lead me to prize ten-fold the free, indefea- 
 sible privilege of secret intercession for those 
 on whose behalf I feel so deep concern ; a duty 
 far less difficult, and probably, in many cases, 
 more beneficial? To my child, eager in the 
 chase of some new pleasure ; to my parent fixed 
 in some growing habit; to my friend intrenched 
 in his favourite opinions ; to my kinsman earnest 
 in some absorbing pursuit, my most guarded 
 and affectionate suggestions may be unwel- 
 come. But methinks it cannot be unwelcome to 
 either, nay, that it must move the heart of each, 
 to believe that the voice of my secret prayer 
 entreats for him the checks and the incitements 
 of an omnipresent Friend, the all-powerful 
 monitions and blessed illuminations of a hea- 
 venly guide, the " repentance and remission of 
 sins," the grace, and wisdom, and renovation 
 from above, which insure unchangeable joy. 
 
 And who can say what are not, or shall not 
 be the happy effects, immediate or remote, of 
 our prayers "one for another?' Can I remem- 
 ber critical points in my own history, or have 
 such been disclosed to me in the history of 
 
RELATIVES AND FKIENDS. 75 
 
 Others, when either bodily danger has been 
 imminent, or different and greater perils have 
 impended ; when the mind, or the character, 
 has been on the brink of a gulf, drawn on by 
 a pernicious allurement, entangled in a hidden 
 snare, oppressed with trials hardly to be borne, 
 urged almost to desperation? — And who can 
 say that the prayer of a departed parent, long 
 since uttered and recorded, or the tender inter- 
 cession of a friend far away, was not as the 
 chosen invisible thread, which, in the hand of a 
 gracious Providence, held me back from ruin 1 
 Who knows that it was not declared by Him 
 to whom all power in heaven and in earth is 
 given, or by some rejoicing m.inister of his 
 compassion — The prayers of my servant, to 
 whom thou wast and art so dear, have come 
 up as a memorial on thy behalf? Those secret 
 supplications are the instrument by which the 
 fulfilment of my merciful purpose is procured. 
 In remembrance of them, I rescue thee from 
 this destruction. And, although every source 
 of hope is liable to perversion, this can hardly 
 encourage, in the minds of the irreligious, a 
 delusive reliance on the prayers of others, as 
 superseding their own. Guilt and danger would 
 be consciously aggravated by such a presump- 
 tuous trust, which implies a measure of belief in 
 
76 INTERCESSION lOK 
 
 the momentous truths lh;it arc personally slight- 
 ed. No one can rationally exi)ect eventual bene- 
 fit from the intercession of another, (at least as 
 to this, his highest in1(!resl,) till he is efrectually 
 prompted to })rayers and endt^avours lor himscdl*. 
 None, when so promj)lcd, can he injured by the 
 grateful and aflcc^ting thou^i^ht, that his truest 
 earthly friends may hav(; instrumentally pro- 
 cured for him the awakening influence of that 
 Supreme Friend, to whom he owes the deepest 
 gratitude. 
 
 Nor let it seem more dillicult to believe in 
 the efficacy of intercessory, than of personal 
 prayer, even towards the procurement of ever- 
 lasting benefits. All j)raycr is but an instituted 
 means, connected by the Almighty with his own 
 gracious purpose ; and when viewed in this true 
 light, (a})art from any idea of power or merit 
 in the suppliant oi- recipient,) the one kind of 
 prayer may be as readily and safely conceived 
 to be e^i(^acious as the other. It would, indeed, 
 be unscriptural for the offerer (as well as for the 
 object.) of intcr(-ession, to believe that it can 
 procure the spiritual and eternal good of an- 
 other, unless it first instrumentally procure for 
 him that change of mind, by which he shall be 
 })crsonally disposed to aovk and obtain the })re- 
 rcquisites of hap})iness. But nothing forbids the 
 
RELATIVES AND FRIENDS. 77 
 
 nope that it may conduce to these blessed re- 
 sults ; on the contrary, the facts and promises 
 of Scripture intimate that it often does so. In- 
 tercession for near friends is, in pious minds, a 
 strong dictate of feeling; and ample assur- 
 ances sanction our belief that these, like all our 
 prayers, shall be, some way or other, not in 
 vain. How delightful is it to hope, when we 
 see the objects of fond solicitude in any degree 
 answer our dearest wishes, that prayer has not 
 been in vain! 
 
 Should this, however, be far from apparent : 
 should I have to reflect, as many have with 
 equal grief, that thus far my earnest and long- 
 olTered prayers seem fruitless; — yet how do I 
 know, that although they have not yet procur- 
 ed the desired good, they have not averted far 
 greater degrees of evil ? How do I know but 
 they will be fully answered at length, and the 
 final eflxisions of gratitude both to the Author 
 of good, and to me its feeble instrument, be 
 abundantly increased by the greatness of His 
 long-suffering, and the perseverance of my poor 
 affection, itself derived from Him? — No doubt, 
 in a future state, our gratitude towards the in- 
 struments of good will be more constantly and 
 entirely subordinate, as a feeling, than it can be 
 
 here: because the sensible presence of Him that 
 
 7* 
 
73 INTERCESSION FOR RELATIVES AND FRIENDS. 
 
 hath "so loved" us, must give an inconceivably 
 higher tone to the respondent emotion of love 
 towards Him. But this affords no sort of 
 ground for supposing that our grateful and affec- 
 tionate feelings towards the humblest instru- 
 ments of good will be lessened. On the con- 
 trary, it is obvious that they may be delightfully 
 augmented, and yet be more subordinate, rela- 
 tively, to Him w^ho is worthy of infinite praises, 
 and who, probably, has destined all the happy 
 to an immeasurable progression in love. 
 
 What then will it be for the perfected spirit 
 to embrace, with grateful delight, those whom 
 divine goodness prompted to seek its happiness, 
 as well as to bow in rapture before that Saviour 
 who purposed and prepared and dispenses all 
 good, yea, w^ho is himself "all in all?" With 
 what feelings then shall the child bless his 
 parent, the husband his wife, the friend his 
 friend, before the throne of God, repeating with 
 ardent acknowledgment — This was the unwea- 
 ried and tender suppliant for my happiness — this 
 the beloved friend whom thy grace taught to 
 intercede for me, that I might receive the gift 
 of eternal life through Jesus Christ my Lord ! 
 
 And what will be the correspondent joy of 
 those whose weak petitions shall be so remem- 
 bered and rewarded ! — How can I neglect such 
 a 'duty as this, a duty which ought to be so 
 
MORAL PERFECTIONS OF THE DEITV. 79 
 
 pleasing and consolatory now, and which will 
 yield, (there is every reason to conclude,) so 
 afiecting and delightful a recompense hereafter i 
 How can I neglect, while observing in some 
 measure the letter and semblance of the duty, 
 to fulfil it also in " spirit and in truth V 
 
 X. 
 
 ON THE MEANS BY WHICH OUR THOUGHTS OF THE 
 MORAL PERFECTIONS OF THE DEITY MAY BE ELE- 
 VATED. 
 
 It should be my study to obtain a stronger 
 and more vivid impression of the moral attri- 
 butes of God, than of those which are intellectual 
 or physical only, or which so seem to us. For 
 the former more intimately affect the well-being, 
 and should therefore more deeply excite the joy 
 and adoration, of His creatures. 
 
 The contemplation of the greatness and wis- 
 dom of the Deity, is one kind of measure by 
 which to estimate his moral attributes ; though 
 (I suspect) not enough resorted to for this pur- 
 
80 MORAL PERFECTIONS 
 
 pose. It is a truth inseparable from the idea 
 of God, that, in Him dwell all perfections in an 
 infinite degree. But we know not how^ to con- 
 ceive of perfection, and least of all, of an infinite 
 moral perfection. The moral excellence which 
 we have experienced or witnessed in fallen 
 human nature, even in its most ennobled and 
 purified state on earth, is so imperfect and so 
 limited, that it affords no just analogy by which 
 to rise to the notion of the moral excellence of 
 the Deity. But the Creator having placed bo- 
 fore our eyes the sensible proofs of his bound- 
 less power, of his immense wisdom, of his ex- 
 quisite skill, we should attempt to measure by 
 this vast scale, the immensity of his benevo- 
 lence; the universahty and exactness of his 
 equity; the sublimity and refinement of his 
 holiness ; the boundlessness of his love. 
 
 No doubt, there is a contradiction in the very 
 thought of measuring what is infinite; but, 
 since we are of necessity unable adequately to 
 conceive of w^hat is infinite, we should aim at 
 some approximation ; and it will certainly ex- 
 tend our narrow conceptions towards infinitude, 
 to avail ourselves of the grandest measures 
 which the senses (and that scientific use of 
 them which philosophy has made) can afibrd, 
 
OF THE DEITY. 81 
 
 cither in the way of figurative comparison, or 
 more strictly, in the way of analogy. 
 
 When I look on the noon-day sun, and con- 
 sider '• the immensity of the sphere which is 
 filled with particles" of hght issuing from it, let 
 me remember that this is an emblem, only a 
 very partial emblem, of the munificence of the 
 Creator ; for He has fixed in space a mighty 
 host of suns, from each of w hich light has been 
 directed to my eye. Or, let me thus reason in 
 the way of analogy: — The Creator directs, 
 perpetually, particles of light to pass from 
 unnumbered luminaries, throughout immeasura- 
 ble spaces. Of the minuteness and velocity and 
 multitude of these particles, it is impossible for 
 the human imagination to conceive. Here, 
 then, is exhibited a part of his wisdom and 
 power. But the attributes of God are all alike 
 inexhaustible' or infinite. Therefore, there 
 must be goodness and rectitude equal to the 
 wisdom and power whicii are here displayed. 
 
 Dr. Paley has brilliantly set forth the view 
 which the creation gives of the physical attri- 
 butes of the Deity, when he says, " At one end 
 (of the scale) " we see an intelligent power 
 arranging planetary systems ; constructing a 
 ring for Saturn of two hundred thousand miles 
 in diameter, to surround his bodv, and be sus- 
 
82 MORAL PERFECTIONS 
 
 pended, like a magnificent arch, over the heads 
 of his inhabitants ; and at the other, bending 
 a hooked tooth, concerting and providing 
 appropriate mechanism for the clasping and 
 re-clasping of the filaments of the feather of a 
 humming-bird. Let me apply this scale to the 
 moral attributes. Reason tells me that they are 
 equal to the physical ; i. e. perfect and infinite. 
 Revelation enumerates them. " A God of truth, 
 and without iniquity ; just and right is He." 
 '• Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right ?" 
 " He is glorious in holiness." " The Lord God, 
 merciful and gracious, long-sufiering, and abun- 
 dant in goodness and truth." " His compas- 
 sions fail not." " God is love." 
 
 Do I wish, then, to augment my impression 
 of the stability of this truth and faithfulness ; or 
 of the correctness and infallibility of this jus- 
 tice ; or of the plenitude of this mercy ; or the 
 vastness of this love 1 May not an augmented 
 impression be attained by considering a part of 
 the greatness of a natural attribute, (which is 
 visibly or demonstrably obserA^ed,) as equal to, 
 and the representative of, some part of the 
 greatness of a moral attribute? — For example: 
 — As is that stability of divine power which 
 continually sustains the planet Saturn, a mass 
 one thousand times greater than our world, and 
 
OF THE DEITY. 83 
 
 guides it, together with its immense ring, and 
 its seven moons, in the same orbit round the sun, 
 from age to age, at the distance of nine hun- 
 dred milHons of miles from that luminary, and 
 with an hourly velocity of twenty-two thousand 
 miles — so is a degree or part of the stability of 
 divine truth. 
 
 Or again, — as are the diversity and exqui- 
 siteness of divine skill, w^hich forms and dis- 
 criminates in all climates, and in ail ages, the 
 rudiments of an emmet, and of the grain which 
 it collects, causing each to reproduce its kind — 
 t)r which creates the particles of hght of such 
 an inconceivable smallness, that, although dart- 
 ed from the sun at the rate of tw^o hundred 
 thousand miles in a second, they strike, without 
 w^ounding, the petals of the most deUcate flower, 
 or the retina of an insect's eye — so are some 
 degrees of the extent and exactitude of God's 
 retributive justice. 
 
 Or again, — as is that stupendous energy of 
 attraction, by which the almighty ruler governs 
 all the planets of our system, rushing through 
 their vast revolutions, " enormous globes, held 
 by nothing, confined by nothing, turned into 
 free and boundless space," and as is that mighty, 
 yet gentle process of vegetative life, by which 
 He calls forth the foliage on ten thousand 
 
84 MORAL PERFECTIONS 
 
 forests, and renews the plants, and fruits, and 
 flowers, of every zone and region — so is a por- 
 tion of the unsearchable strength and exceeding 
 tenderness of divine love. " Lo, these are parts 
 of his ways : but how little a portion is heard 
 of Him." For what are the herbs, or flowers, 
 or insects of a single planet, (though the organi- 
 zation, and vitality, and reproduction of either 
 of these classes, unspeakably transcend our 
 thoughts,) when compared with the probable 
 and inconceivable multiplicity of such wonders 
 in the universe? Or what is the magnitude, 
 swiftness, or unerring revolution of one worldf 
 or one system of worlds, (though each of these 
 baffles all our conceptions of grandeur,) when 
 compared with the vastness and multitude of 
 those fixed stars or suns, some of which have 
 been computed to be at least four hundred 
 thousand times more distant than the sun which 
 enlightens our earth ? When, therefore, I at- 
 tempt by such comparisons to estimate in part, 
 any moral perfection of the Deity, (although 
 my apprehension of it will certainly be raised 
 far higher, than by more vague and cursory 
 views and expressions,) I am well aware that 
 the highest measures which our faculties can 
 apply, with any sort of distinctness, are but 
 indefinitely small parts of those which would be 
 
OF THE DEITY. 85 
 
 attained by a wider survey, and more intimate 
 knowledge of the works of God. 
 
 Divine revelation, however, affords me a 
 different and a direct measure of the moral 
 attributes of the Deity: a measure which is 
 adequate also, (if we could but adequately 
 conceive of it,) because it is infinite. I mean 
 the union of the divine nature with the human, 
 in the person of our Saviour. It will be 
 acknowledged, by all who receive this amazing 
 fact, that the primary design of it is the mani- 
 festation of those perfect attributes; including 
 also human salvation, and probably many other 
 glorious efl^ects which eternity will disclose. 
 Thus the grand design of what is made known 
 to man, whether in the works or in the word of 
 God, is to exhibit to him his Creator's perfec- 
 tions. And in both ways of communication, the 
 Deity addresses his feeble creature in vast and 
 sublime hieroglyphics, if I may use such an 
 expression v/ithout irreverence. It is not by 
 fleeting voices, or by mere written declarations, 
 that he announces his perfections. When he 
 would impress on us his omnipotent wisdom, he 
 sets before us the earth and the heavens; the 
 wonders of innumerable worlds. When he 
 would make known the infinity of his holiness, 
 justice, and love, he records, that the "Word 
 8 
 
86 ^. ^ MORAL PERFECTIONS 
 
 who was with God, and was God,'* "without 
 whom was not anything made that was made," 
 assumed our nature into personal union with his 
 own divine nature, and, in that assumed nature, 
 became a sacrifice for sin. It is true, this is 
 (necessarily) recorded in words; for the stupen- 
 dous fact, which is the subject of the record, 
 could not stand permanently before the eyes of 
 man, in the present world, as the facts of crea- 
 tion do, unless the Son of God, in his glorified 
 state, had remained on earth; or unless his abode 
 had become accessible or visible to us in our 
 present condition, which would have been quite 
 inconsistent with a state of probation, or "a life 
 of faith." But it is the fact of the incarnation, 
 not the record, which is the expression or 
 measure of the moral perfections of the God- 
 head. Words are not adequate signs or sym- 
 bols of the divine attributes: divine acts can 
 alone declare these. 
 
 In other worlds, (possibly, at some period, to 
 all moral beings), the fact of the incarnation 
 of the " Word" will be sensibly displayed, by 
 the view of that nature wherein he suffered, in 
 its exaltation to the throne of God ; and thus 
 the moral attributes of Him, that " spared not 
 His own Son," will be even more illustriously 
 exhibited, than are his intelligence and power 
 
OF THE DEITY. 87 
 
 by the spectacle of the material universe. " He 
 that liveth and was dead," for ever occupies 
 the "holy of holies," within the illimitable 
 temple of creation, and proclaims to all crea- 
 tures, **' by the form he bears," that in the 
 Deity there is infinite holiness and infinite love. 
 That kind of measure of these attributes, 
 which was above suggested, is confessedly 
 indirect and insufficient. It is an attempt to 
 compare them with other attributes, exhibited 
 in works which are in some sense, notwith- 
 standing their magnificence, finite. But the 
 " great mystery of godliness" displays these 
 moral perfections by a deed of condescension, 
 of which we cannot otherwise conceive than 
 as infinite. If the incarnation of Deity be 
 more astonishing (which the incredulity of 
 many seems to prove) than the creation of the 
 universe, by so much the more forcibly and 
 eloquently does it express his moral attributes, 
 than the creation expresses his intellectual per- 
 fection. For if those attributes of God which 
 are moral, be more excellent than all others, 
 (and this, I suppose, cannot be denied), it is 
 reasonable to infer, that the manifestation of 
 the most excellent would be the most astonish- 
 ing and glorious; in other words, that the 
 wonders by which perfect purity, justice, and 
 
88 MORAL rERFECTI0>'3 
 
 compassion are evinced, would far exceed those 
 by which wisdom and power are displayed. 
 It was worth the creation of the material worlds 
 to exhibit to all spiritual natures the depths of 
 the divine intellect ; but it w^as worth the incar- 
 nation of Him by w^hom " all things were 
 made," to exhibit to all spiritual natures the 
 heights of the divine rectitude and mercy. 
 
 Does X\ie first kind of measure, by which I 
 attempted to raise my thoughts of the moral 
 perfections of God, become of no use when I 
 contemplate the last unparalleled fact, by which 
 the Christian revelation teaches me to estimate 
 them? Quite otherwise; because while I learn 
 the greatness of these moral perfections from 
 the appearances of nature, I also find, in the 
 agreement of this deduction with the declara- 
 tions of Scripture, and with the inference 
 derivable from the most wonderful fact which 
 it reveals, a corroboration of the divine truth 
 both of the declarations and the fact. And 
 besides, if it were best to resort exclusively to 
 the incarnation, as the direct and most sublime 
 proof of the moral attributes of the Godhead, 
 it would be not the less advantageous, fre- 
 quently to meditate, first, on the " eternal 
 power" and wisdom of the " Godhead," as 
 ' understood by the things that are made." 
 
OF THK DEITY. 89 
 
 For when I would contemplate Him " whom 
 God hath appointed heir of all things," " by 
 whom also he made the worlds," and who 
 " upholds all things" " by the word of his 
 power," as having, by himself, made purifica- 
 tion of our sins, it will surely enhance my sense 
 of the wonderful condescension of this act, and 
 of the moral perfections which prompted it, 
 first to reflect distinctly on some of the phe- 
 nomena of these worlds. When I have intently 
 considered a single planet, or a single satellite, 
 moving through the heaven ; or have thought 
 of that vast mass of waters which covers but a 
 part of our own globe ; or have attentively 
 observed the shielded " gauze wings of the 
 beetle," or the "jointed proboscis" of the bee, 1 
 have a much more exalted idea of Him who 
 " made the worlds," and who " upholdeth all 
 things," than if I had merely read these or 
 other declarations of his power. And in pro- 
 portion to my real apprehension of His great- 
 ness, will be my appreciation of whatever 
 divine attributes are exhibited by his voluntary 
 abasement. 
 
 8* 
 
9^ PRAISE SHOULD BE EXCITED. 
 
 XI. 
 
 ON SEEKING TO EXCITE IN OURSELVES A SPIRIT 
 OF JOYFUL PRAISE. 
 
 Our worship seems but a strange preparative 
 l(.)r heaven, unless praise and thanksgiving form 
 a material part ot" it ; and, indeed, unless our 
 praise be accompanied with joyful feehngs. 
 Yet as he, who by constant and earnest practice, 
 acquires great skill in music, although his present 
 situation and temper lead him chiefly, and most 
 naturally, to exercise himself in plaintive and 
 mournful pieces, will be prepared, when in differ- 
 ent circumstances, to pour forth animated and 
 exulting strains ; so, we trust, he that earnestly 
 cultivates a more and more intimate converse 
 with God, although it may now consist, in a 
 great measure, of sorrowful confession and un- 
 satisfied desire, will yet be fitted, by these very 
 exercises, for the employment of the same de- 
 votional habit, the same heavenly science, in 
 that region where adoration and gratitude shall 
 be the unavoidable overflowing of a fulness of 
 delight. 
 
 The musician, however, if he have reason to 
 
PRAISE SHOULD BE EXCITED. 91 
 
 expect that he is to take part, ere long, in some 
 great festival, where every chorus, and indeed 
 every note will be in the strain of gladness 
 and triumph, ought frequently to attempt these 
 exercises of his art, both in solitude and in 
 society, though his pensive mood may not ac- 
 cord with them ; for this is but fit respect to 
 the patron who gave him his instrument, and 
 who designed it ultimately for that most ho- 
 nourable and delightful use. He should remem- 
 ber also, that these cheerful exercises may, in 
 some measure, dispel the feelings with which 
 they disagree, and awaken those which they 
 express. 
 
 The application is obvious ; but it does not 
 reach the difficulty of one who, when oppressed 
 with sadness, would make " melody in his heart." 
 The melancholy musician can produce the same 
 notes of gladness, as if his soul was in every 
 vibration of the strings, and with nearly the 
 same vigour of expression and execution ; but 
 it is hard when the heart is depressed, even 
 to utter a form of words, which conveys and 
 implies the sentiment of gladness and thanks- 
 giving; much more to excite and sustain the 
 thoughts which such language expresses. 
 
 There would seem little need to enjoin the 
 duty of thanksgiving on those Christians, who. 
 
92 PRAISE SHOULD BE EXCITED. 
 
 while on the one hand, they are unassailed by 
 any acute pain or burdensome anxiety of this 
 life, enjoy, on the other hand, a vivid hope of 
 heavenly blessedness ; or in whom, if the pains 
 and anxieties of time become more severe, this 
 pressure is overbalanced by a livelier foresight 
 of the joys of eternity. Such persons, while 
 these peculiar favours and supports are be- 
 stowed, must be, like the apostles, " though 
 sorrowful, yet always rejoicing ;" and it seems 
 impossible that their gladness should not flow 
 forth in fervent thanksgiving. But there is a 
 slate of mind, in which, without even imagining 
 that we are absolutely destitute of Christian 
 faith and hope, and indeed with a very deep 
 sense of the value of these graces, we may yet 
 find it exceedingly difficult to rejoice. This is 
 often to be ascribed, at least in part, to natural 
 disorder or debility, either secretly arising from 
 the inexplicable and refined sympathy of the 
 mind with the body, or from adverse events 
 and circumstances which have affected both. 
 In this state the imagination cannot freely act, 
 but is strongly drawn towards thoughts of fear, 
 doubt and sorrow. 
 
 Nor let it appear to disparage the genuineness 
 or reality of the objects of religious joy, when 
 the term imagination is used. However real, 
 
PRAISE SHOULD IJE EXCITED. 93 
 
 or however great an object may be, whether 
 earthly or heavenly, if it is not under the cogni- 
 zance of the senses, imagination alone can set 
 it in a lively manner before us. If it never has 
 been subjected to the senses, and in our present 
 state cannot be, then imagination can draw no 
 aid from memory, and therefore requires to be 
 more strongly awakened and exercised in order 
 to embody it. The lively, joyful exercise of 
 faith, is, in eflect, an exercise not of behef alone, 
 but of imagination likewise. 
 
 The apostle's expression, " We look not at 
 the things which are seen, but at those which 
 are unseen," justifies this view of it. If we 
 would exercise a vivid, apprehensive faith, even 
 in an object purely spiritual, (as in the Infinite 
 Spirit himself,) it must not be by bare behef, 
 but by an attempt to conceive or image to our- 
 selves (though there be a necessary impropriety 
 in this language, and in our narrow concep- 
 tions) the attributes and operations of a perfect 
 mind. And with regard to all other celestial 
 objects, we are compelled to view them under 
 images of matter and form and place, in order 
 to attain anything like distinctness, or reality 
 of conception. — These imaginations are always 
 more or less erroneous, as they are necessarily 
 founded on human and earthlv resemblances 
 
94 PRAISE SUOULD BE EXCITED. 
 
 alone ; but while we may be quite conscious, 
 and properly so, that the imagination of a glori- 
 ous object — as of the exalted Mediator, or of the 
 heavenly regions, and of their inhabitants — is, of 
 necessity, very far from being, either adequate 
 or correct, it will yet be right and profitable 
 (within certain bounds) to cherish and encou- 
 rage it, as producing a joy and thankfulness, 
 which, without its aid, could not have been 
 awakened. — There are seasons, when to some 
 Christians, it is very difficult to do this; nay, 
 to some it is habitually so : Probably the minds 
 in which an extravagance or excess of imagi- 
 nation, in regard to revealed objects prevails, 
 are few in comparison with the number in 
 which the conception of them is faint and lan- 
 guid. 
 
 Cannot I then excite in myself the delightful 
 temper of praise and joy, by endeavouring to 
 place before my mental eye the Vv^onderful and 
 gracious acts of the Son of God on earth, when 
 he came, in the fulness of his compassion, " to 
 seek and save the lost ;" — when he assumed 
 '' the form of a servant," and, through that veil 
 of humiliation, his revering followers beheld his 
 spiritual glory, " the glory as of the only-begot- 
 ten of the Father, full of grace and truth?" 
 Can I not image him to myself, as addressing 
 
PRAISE SHOULD BE EXCITED. 95 
 
 from the smooth lake the more still and breath- 
 less multitudes — or dispensing to them miracu- 
 lous supplies of food in that grassy seclusion of 
 the wilderness — or gloriously transfigured on 
 the mountain before his favoured and surprised 
 attendants ? — Cannot I trace, in every look, the 
 ineffable union of dignity and tenderness ; — and 
 view the paralytic arising at his word; — and 
 the bhnd rejoicing, at his touch, in the first 
 beams of day; — and see in all his works the 
 lively emblems of his far higher purpose, to 
 heal the spiritual diseases, and conquer the spi- 
 ritual death of a race that is self-destroyed ? 
 
 Can I not find matter of grateful rejoicing 
 even when stationed in thought by the brook 
 Cedron, or " by the cross of Jesus," and gazing 
 on that meek and glorious sufferer, whose pas- 
 sion of unknown depth, and unsearchable in- 
 tenseness, but transient and for ever past, there 
 achieved " the joy set before him," and made 
 " propitiation for the sins of a world ?" 
 
 And can I think, without delight, of this Re- 
 deemer ascended and interceding, having " led 
 captivity captive, and received gifts for men," 
 " sitting at the right hand of the Majesty on 
 high," preparing heavenly mansions for his 
 humblest followers ? Can I anticipate, without 
 joyful emotion, his second coming, to receive 
 
96 PRAISE SHOULD BE EXCITED. 
 
 these followers unto himself? Even now he 
 appears in " the presence of God for us," 
 
 " Our Advocate before the throne, 
 And our Forerunner there." 
 
 But what will it be to be personally received by 
 that sacred and sovereign deliverer, to whom 
 we shall owe all the joy and blessedness that 
 eternity can impart ? 
 
 If I cannot conceive of the near and trans- 
 porting interview with a Benefactor so august, 
 let me think, at least, of some joyful messenger, 
 commissioned to prepare my exulting, yet 
 trembling spirit, for the honour and the joy! 
 Let me picture in thought, a kind celestial 
 guide, leading me (and those dearest to me) 
 through some majestic avenue, towards the 
 throne of his glory ; a throne not decorated by 
 the feeble devices of art, but formed, and sur- 
 rounded, and approached by the subhmest 
 imagery of nature. Let silent forests and sha- 
 dowy mountains be the vista, and radiant 
 clouds the canopy, and these, " and all the 
 dread magnificence of lieaven," but mere ap- 
 pendages to the majesty of Ilim, who, thus 
 enthroned amidst the noblest wonders of crea- 
 tion, unveils the far nobler symbols and expres- 
 sions of his own transcendent attributes ; and 
 
PRIVATE WORSHIP SHOULD BE SPECIFIC. 97 
 
 thence let me hear his mild, though awful voice, 
 saying, (as once to his disciples on earth,) — 
 " Be of good cheer, it is I ! be not afraid !" 
 
 If we could raise our minds to a lively 
 conception of scenes like these, would our wor- 
 ship be unaccompanied by ardent thankfulness 
 and sacred joy? 
 
 XII. 
 
 ON THE DUTY OF MAKING EVERY PART OF PRI- 
 VATE WORSHIP SPECIFIC. 
 
 Prayer is then most likely to degenerate into 
 a mere form, when I allow myself to rest in 
 general praises, confessions and supplications. 
 The memory is so furnished with these, that the 
 employment, when thus conducted, may include 
 scarcely an}?- exercise of the understanding; and 
 still less of the affections. In pubHc and social, 
 and even in family prayer, a much greater 
 degree of generality is obviously necessary, 
 than in secret worship; but in this last I should 
 be careful to shun it. When I acknowledge 
 the goodness of God, let me dv/ell not only on 
 9 
 
98 PRIVATE WORSHIP. 
 
 the more occasional and signal experience of 
 it; but, in the ordinary course of my life, let me 
 thoughtfully select, as peculiar topics of prease, 
 those possessions and privileges, which, from 
 my circumstances or temper, I most highly 
 value. Do I, for example, especially need the 
 counsels and supports of friendship? I have 
 reason to make it an especial subject of thanks- 
 giving, that I have never been without a true or 
 confidential friend. Would the loss of sight be, 
 in my case, a peculiarly grievous privation? 
 Then I should, in a peculiar manner, bless the 
 Divine Preserver, that this faculty is fully pos- 
 sessed, or has been so little impaired. 
 
 Still more should this particularity be the dis- 
 tinctive character of secret worship in regard 
 to confession ; that being a topic which in social 
 worship requires to be most general. We 
 cannot, in society, confess our own particular 
 sins, as if they were the sins of others also ; 
 and even if we could ascertain that some 
 present had cause to make precisely the same 
 confessions with ourselves, they might often be 
 of a nature quite unsuited to pubhcity. But 
 when I " enter into my closet, and shut the 
 door," it is of great importance that my con- 
 fession should be specific ; that I should recall 
 and acknowledge my most prevailing and most 
 
SHOULD BE SPECIFIC. 99 
 
 recent offences, so distinctly and circumstan- 
 tially as to bring them strongly before the eye 
 of the mind. I should notice their particular 
 causes and aggravations ; not yielding to the 
 erroneous notion that such details are inconsis- 
 tent with the majesty of Him whom I address. 
 He knoweth all things ; and no detail can be 
 superfluous or unfit in his estimation, which 
 tends to fix my spirit more deeply and repent- 
 ingly on its own moral defects and diseases, 
 and to evince more strongly its desire of being 
 *' made whole." If, for example, I am con- 
 scious of having lately given w^ay to an anxious 
 and impatient temper, let me not be content 
 with acknowledging generally, that I have not 
 " ruled my own spirit," but let me confess that 
 I have not done so in that particular instance, 
 where provocation or trial was to be expected ; 
 or that I have betrayed heat or peevishness 
 where the youth, or old age, or ignorance, or 
 known infirmity, or other circumstances of the 
 party with whom I had intercourse, should 
 have operated as a strong preventive. If I 
 have indulged sinful musings and desires, I 
 should call to mind the immediate source of 
 temptation ; such as injurious society, or perni- 
 cious books ; (whether casually presented, or 
 more deliberately sought) ; or the w^ant of a 
 
100 PRIVATE WORSHIP 
 
 right occupation, or a distaste of what is good, 
 prompting the unsatisfied or slothful spirit to 
 resort for enjoyment to what is evil. It will be 
 both an exercise and an incentive of penitence, 
 to trace and to declare these motives before 
 God. 
 
 If I have to charge myself with the omission 
 or delay of some known duty, or with having 
 performed it negligently, it is not enough to say 
 in secret, what may suffice in public, "We have 
 left undone the things which we ought to have 
 done ;" I should rather acknowledge to the 
 Searcher of hearts — this duty, which con- 
 science urged on me, I have deferred, through 
 indolence and self-indulgence ; and in that, 
 which I nominally performed, the most diffi- 
 cult or important part was scarcely attempted, 
 through false shame and imagined incompetence. 
 Or, if I confess, more generally, the transgres- 
 sions of past months and years, or even of the 
 whole course of life since I became an account- 
 able agent, still let my retrospect and my 
 confession be as particular as the casa admits. 
 There has been, doubtless, one kuid of sin which 
 has most frequently or successfully assailed me, 
 which has been inwrought, as it were, into the 
 very texture of my constitution and habit ; and 
 there mav be vet another and another, which 
 
SHOULD BE SPECIFIC. 101 
 
 the review of my own experience will show to 
 have been often prevalent. Now, even in what 
 may be called a general confession, these pre- 
 dominant evils should be distinguished and 
 specified. Their being so will give a realising 
 and substantial character to my acknowledg- 
 ments of guilt, and will deepen the correspond- 
 ing sentiments and desires. For it is evident, 
 that specific confessions prepare the way for 
 specific supplications. If I only confess sin 
 generally, though it were with many repetitions 
 of the same words, or with many variations 
 which are little more than verbal, I do not lay 
 the foundation for particular requests. But 
 there is no object more important in secret 
 worship, than the seeking divine help and 
 strength against each particular evil, and against 
 each wrong habit or disposition of which I am 
 conscious ; and the kind of confession which I 
 have now been considering, naturally and almost 
 necessarily leads to a similar kind of petition ; 
 namely, that the Holy Spirit would succour and 
 strengthen me against that particular sin which 
 has been expHcitly acknowledged, would excite 
 in me those particular motives and convictions, 
 by which it may be repressed, and impart that 
 especial grace, or temper of soul, which may 
 expel or subdue it. 
 9* 
 
102 I'RIVATE WORSHIP 
 
 Thus, if 1 confess the unhappy prevalence of 
 discontent, respecting a particular branch of the 
 duties which Providence has assigned me, or 
 concerning an especial disadvantage attendant 
 on my lot in life ; such confession will scarcely 
 fail to be followed by especial prayer, that I 
 may henceforth learn to meet the difficulty, or 
 endure the inconvenience referred to, with an 
 unrepining and m.ore acquiescent mind ; that I 
 may habitually compare this trial with the 
 greater trials of some around me ; that I may 
 consider how utterly unentitled I am to ask a 
 dispensation from this, or even from much 
 severer duties and crosses, on the ground of 
 desert ; and that I may more approvingly and 
 practically consent to that view of the present 
 life, w^hich the Scriptures give, as designed to 
 be a state of labour and conflict. And so, in 
 every other instance, specific confession, if it 
 be heartfelt, will be succeeded by specific peti- 
 tion : and each may, in secret, be far more 
 detailed than the hints w^hich have now been 
 given ; because of course, it is not the object of 
 these general reflections to enter upon individual 
 and actual examples. It should also be remem- 
 bered that prayer, besides its direct efficacy, is 
 undoubtedly productive of indirect good; as 
 being the most eolemn kind of meditation, the 
 
SHOULD BE SPECIFIC. 103 
 
 most serious review of our strong reasons for 
 gratitude, submission, and diligence in "well 
 doing," and of the various moral and spiritual 
 evils which we have to resist; involving a 
 resolution practically to foster the one class of 
 habits, and to oppose the other. But this 
 indirect advantage of devotion must wholly 
 depend on its specific character ; and therefore, 
 it may be added, must chiefly attach to that 
 which is secret. 
 
 We can easily conceive of great direct efh- 
 cacy in the briefest and most general prayer, if 
 offered with the w^hole heart; but to obtain 
 those indirect benefits, there must be a distinct 
 recollection of the blessings which are to be 
 appreciated, and the duties which are to be 
 pursued. Above all, there must be a clear re- 
 cognition of the evil tempers to be subdued, 
 the temptations to be resisted, the occasions to 
 be shunned, the passions to be moderated or 
 controlled. It is only when thus conducted, 
 that secret worship can be in the highest sense 
 a profitable and reasonable service, whether we 
 regard its primary aim, or its general tendency. 
 It will then be most remote from " vain repeti- 
 tions," most reverential towards the God who 
 heareth prayer, and most beneficial to ourselves. 
 
104 PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ON AIMING AT LARGE VIEWS OF THE PREVALENCE 
 OF GOOD IN THE UNIVERSE, AS DEDUCIBLE FROM 
 THE REVEALED PERFECTIONS OF ITS AUTHOR. 
 
 If the Scottish " minstrel" boy, w^hose genius 
 and sensibihty have been so attractively deli- 
 neated by Beattie, (himself perhaps partly the 
 model of the character he drev/,) had been born 
 and bred up on a ground-floor, in one of the 
 closest and narrowest passages of the Scottish 
 capital, detained by some cruel guardian in 
 perpetual servitude at a sedentary trade, sur- 
 rounded by dismal and repulsive objects, and 
 purposely kept in deep ignorance of 
 
 -" the boundless store 
 
 Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ;" 
 
 we can suppose what a confused desire and 
 melancholy veneration would have possessed 
 his mind, as he saw the sun and moon and 
 stars, crossing by turns that narrow section of 
 the pure sky, which was visible between the 
 dark and towering walls around him. Imagine 
 him then, on some happy night, suddenly libe- 
 
PREVALErsCE OF GOOD. 105 
 
 rated, and conducted before dawn to the sum- 
 mit of the mountain which overlooks the city 
 and the surrounding country ; there, in full free- 
 dom, to view the day breaking on the whole 
 expanse of the heavens, the river magnificently 
 widening to the sea, its bordering towns and 
 busy navigation, the noble city beneath him, 
 and the varied plains and woods, mountains 
 and islands, which combine to form that great 
 panorama; and think what a new conception 
 of nature and art, what a tide of delight and 
 wonder, would rush into his spirit at the sight ! 
 — But is not this, in some sort, an emblem, 
 though a very imperfect one, of the contrast of 
 a Christian's present and approaching state, as 
 to his view of the spiritual creation ? We are 
 here on earth confined in a narrow scene, 
 which sin has pervaded ; doomed by our fallen 
 and mortal condition, to see and converse with 
 nothing earthly, but what this bane of happiness 
 has, in some measure, touched with its contami- 
 nating influence. There is, indeed, through the 
 great mercy of God, a pure and heavenly light 
 of divine knowledge, glancing on us from above, 
 (if we will but raise the mental eye to meet it,) 
 amidst all this moral gloom, and through the 
 hazy atmosphere of ignorance and depravation. 
 But when we shall be suddenlv borne awav, each 
 
106 PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 
 
 through some one of the thousand dark avenues 
 of death, to a wide and free survey of the spirit- 
 ual world, will not the astonishing and transport- 
 ing contrast be incomparably greater, than that 
 which would delight the captive minstrel boy ? 
 In the meanwhile, let it not be forgotten, that 
 the spiritual light of revelation, which has 
 reached our minds, is a much more informing 
 light as to the prevailing character of the spi- 
 ritual universe, than the natural light could be 
 to that youth, while so immured, as to the 
 character and aspect of the material world. 
 Revelation has, in some degree, though in a 
 highly figurative manner, intimated to us the 
 glories and felicities of other regions ; but, (and 
 this is far more important than any such inti- 
 mations,) it has made us acquainted with the 
 moral perfections of God ; with that sovereign 
 and infinite principle of good, which is greater 
 than the universe, and which must eternally 
 forbid that evil should predominate, or, in any 
 large and relative sense, abound. 
 
 It is not to be concealed, that the whole 
 volume of revelation, — whether it proclaims the 
 hatred of the Supreme Being to sin, or relates 
 his past judgments against transgressors, or 
 denounces his threatenings for the future, or 
 above all, declares that amazing sacrifice, by 
 
PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 107 
 
 which his judicial indignation against guilt has 
 been manifested, — does unfold a far more awful 
 view of the nature of moral evil, and the misery 
 of its unprevented results, and consequently, of 
 the spiritual state of a world which has " be- 
 come guilty before God," than was or could 
 have been discovered by the depraved reason 
 or conscience of man. But then it should be 
 ever and attentively recollected, that the very 
 same record by which this melancholy state of 
 mankind, as partakers of a ruined nature, and 
 obnoxious to condemnation, is unfolded, reveals 
 likewise, (and alone reveals fully,) that infinite 
 moral perfection of the Maker and Preserver of 
 all things, from which we cannot but infer the 
 greatest possible perfection in his works and 
 designs. It should be considered that we have 
 not a whit more revealed evidence, nor other 
 or stronger scriptural testin\ony of the deep 
 malignity of sin, and the dreadful penalties 
 which the unpardoned sinner will suffer, than 
 we have of the infinite holiness, goodness, love, 
 and happiness of Him that ruleth over all; 
 whence it is unavoidable to infer an immense,* 
 
 * Although the word immense is used by some of the best 
 writers as convertible with infinite, yet as it may well bear 
 the lower sense, of tliat which is unmeasured or not measu- 
 rable by us, (which seems also to be its popular acceptation,) 
 
108 PREVALEXCE OF GOOD. 
 
 if not infinite preponderance of good, and that 
 for ever, in the universe which he rules. Indeed, 
 the terrible fact itself, that sin, and its conse- 
 quent misery, are so repugnant to the will and 
 government of God, as to have needed and 
 received an infinite atonement, involves the 
 conclusion, that sin and misery, even as intro- 
 duced into this minute portion of his works, 
 form a dreadful infraction of the universal 
 order, a tremendous anomaly in itself, though 
 permitted for the wisest and most benevolent 
 end, and, for aught we know, indispensable to the 
 greatest final good. We have, therefore, strong 
 reason to be confident, that the entrance of sin 
 and misery is a mysterious exception to the pre- 
 vaiUng perfection and stability of moral beings. 
 Since ihe Deity, as revealed to us in his word, 
 has all natural and moral perfections, (that is to 
 say, all the attributes which constitute and pro- 
 duce happiness), it is inconceivable that the 
 sentient creation, as a whole, should not ulti- 
 mately, as to the sum of natural and moral 
 good or happiness, correspond, in the highest 
 possible degree, to the character of Him who 
 formed and upholds it. The moral evil which 
 
 I have in the present piece made this use of it, and of its 
 derivatives. 
 
PllE7ALE??CE OF GOOD. 109 
 
 exists, is, indeed, a mighty mass to us, who 
 see nothing on earth that appears to be un- 
 mingled with it, or wholly unaffected by it ; 
 and could we much more clearly apprehend its 
 extent, and its depth, in human society and 
 human hearts, and estimate its penal conse- 
 quences, it would then be a sight insupportable 
 to our limited minds. He who sees a volcano 
 showering its ashes on his native city, or a 
 cloud of locusts, twenty leagues in breadth, 
 darkening the whole sky, and spreading famine 
 through the plains, will not easily reflect with 
 attention and pleasure on the safety of a thou 
 sand other cities, or the unravaged fertility and 
 plenty of whole regions and continents. But 
 difficult as it is — while we look on a " world 
 that lieth in wickedness," and a whole terres- 
 trial creation participating its penal effects — 
 to expatiate, in fixed and rejoicing thought, 
 over a pure and happy universe, yet faith and 
 reason may rest assured from the revealed 
 character of God, that the sum of evil can be 
 relatively but minute, being certainly the least 
 possible. And should any one, professing a 
 steadfast belief in the moral perfections of the 
 Deity, assume (in the total absence of scrip- 
 tural proofs or intimations) that this least pos- 
 sible sum of evil in the universe may yet be 
 10 
 
110 PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 
 
 great, relatively to the amount of good, the 
 assumption would not only be devoid of all 
 ground of credibility, but would involve (as I 
 apprehend) a gloomy speculative profaneness. 
 
 Let us then aim at the widest views; for 
 they are the most effectual to cheer and sustain 
 the meditative mind. Unless we habitually 
 seek to measure the superabundance of good, 
 almost by the infinitude of its Author, — we are 
 in danger of being " shaken and troubled," by 
 the apparent magnitude and probable effects of 
 evil. But if we could steadfastly adopt and 
 maintain this just view of things, evil would 
 become a sort of vanishing quantity. For 
 even though the multitude of intelligent or 
 sentient beings should be not infinite (though, 
 understanding that word in the sense of ever- 
 growing, or increasing without end, we can be 
 no way certain that it will not be) ; and even 
 though there were several races of beings, 
 beside our own, subjected to moral and natural 
 evil, (though we can have no right to presume 
 that there are,) yet might the proportion of evil 
 to good, in the whole of the divine dominions, 
 be but as the smallest rivulet.to the ocean. 
 
 A Christian, called, as he evidently is, by his 
 Divine Master's example and command, to 
 reflect deeply on the evil that is in the world, in 
 
PREVALENCE OF GOOD. Ill 
 
 order to shun its influence, to escape its effects, 
 and to aim at the diminution of it, will be liable 
 to receive too gloomy and disheartening an 
 impression from the view of its wide dominion, 
 unless he can launch forth into contemplations 
 of a contrary character, which are far more 
 wide and vast. 
 
 Should one of our female philanthropists, 
 from a misjudging devotedness to her object, 
 instead of visiting the prison and the hospital, 
 bind herself to constant residence within one of 
 these, (as nuns within their convents,) it is hardly 
 to be doubted, that a more oppressive sense of 
 human wretchedness and calamity would weigh 
 upon her mind. It would be more and more 
 necessary to correct this feehng, by a frequent 
 effort of reflection on the great excess of health 
 and freedom over disease and bondage, which 
 is found in the whole city, or the whole country. 
 
 And we, who, at the dictate of revelation, 
 contemplate the world in which we dwell, as a 
 great infirmary, where the fatal cases exceed 
 the happy cures — have, surely, need to coun- 
 teract the feeling which this situation prompts, 
 by all the resources which the same revelation 
 yields. It is probable, that superior and happy 
 beings regard this abode into which evil has 
 entered, and that abode where sin is punished. 
 
112 PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 
 
 as we should regard a solitary hospital and 
 prison in a vast and well-ordered and flourish- 
 ing capital ; though, indeed, with this most joy- 
 ful difference, that in the other countless mansions 
 which they visit or behold, throughout the 
 immeasurable " city of the living God," they 
 witness, not a partial, but a total exclusion of 
 moral evil. 
 
 The astronomy which has developed the 
 incalculable magnitude of creation, is, in this 
 view, auxiliary to our faith ; for, in proportion 
 as our knowledge is enlarged, as to the actual 
 vastness of the divine works, we discover, so 
 far, a corresporifl ence between the facts in the 
 existing universe around us, and the inferences 
 we would draw from the revelation of the 
 divine character. 
 
 Had the stars been neither mentioned in 
 Scripture, nor visible in nature, still, from the 
 moral perfection of the Deity, which is dis- 
 tinctly revealed, we should be led to believe in 
 an immense predominance of happiness some- 
 where ; — but, seeing a host of heavenly worlds, 
 and learning that their number is beyond all 
 computing, we make one grand advance to- 
 wards our conclusion, on the ground of ocular 
 and mathematical proof. Faith is relieved, as 
 it were, from its work of creation. The mighty 
 
PREVALENCK OF GOOD. 113 
 
 structure of innumerable worlds is before us. 
 Divine wisdom and power have actually done 
 what we otherwise should only have judged 
 they would do ; nay, the boldest conception of 
 faith, or of fancy, would never have gone a ten- 
 thousandth part so far as the fact carries us. 
 Here is ample room, then, in the actual works 
 of the Deity, for a preponderance of happiness 
 which may well be called to our feeble appre- 
 hension, infinite. The Deity is "just" and 
 " holy" — " good" and " gracious," yea — " God 
 is Love:" while we believe this, (and be it 
 remembered, that when we cease to do so, all 
 belief in revelation fails,) it is impossible not to 
 believe that such an immense preponderance of 
 happiness is both produced and secured. 
 
 This vastness of the works of God also evi- 
 dently magnifies the love and condescension of 
 their Author, in interposing, even by his provi- 
 dence, (much more by the astonishing method of 
 redemption,) on behalf of our fallen world; 
 which, had it been annihilated in its state of 
 moral ruin, might have been, to other beings, 
 but as a meteor gliding into darkness, from 
 amidst the multitudinous grandeur of the hea- 
 vens. And when we consider the ultimate, and 
 even the present efficacy of that marvellous 
 interposition, towards the recovery and salva- 
 10* 
 
114 PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 
 
 tion of mankind, as far more extensive than 
 some persons can allow themselves to hope, we 
 dissipate, in part, the gloom even of this world's 
 prospect. 
 
 It is not, however, this world's state or pros- 
 }^ct to which \ve should confine ourselves, or 
 on w^iich we have now sought to dwell. It is 
 a scene immensely greater ; and to that greater, 
 that universal view, it is the proper tendency of 
 every devotional engagement to exalt us. For 
 whenever we pray, we have always for the 
 grand object of thought, (if our thoughts be 
 truly elevated and expanded towards the per- 
 fections of Him whom we v/orship,) an infi- 
 nitely good and infinitely happy Creator; — 
 why not also, as a concurring or proximate 
 object of thought, that w^hich is necessarily 
 to be inferred from the idea of such a Crea- 
 tor, the utmost possible sum of goodness and 
 happiness in his creation ? We should be deeply 
 grateful for that revelation, which assures us 
 of the moral perfection of God. Without it, 
 although our knowledge of sin and its deserts 
 would be far less painfully distinct, we should 
 be left in a dreadful uncertainty as to the ex- 
 tent and duration of evil. We could not dis- 
 prove that it prevails in all parts of the creation, 
 and that it will everywhere and continually aug- 
 
PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 115 
 
 ment. We should, indeed, know much less of 
 (what the human mind has so great a repug- 
 nance to admit) — the malignant essence of evil, 
 its contrariety to the divine nature and will ; 
 but therefore, (on that very account,) we could 
 not know that its dominion is limited, and that 
 good immensely preponderates. 
 
 Deists may offer strong arguments in proof 
 of a certain kind of divine perfection ; but 
 there is no ground to believe that they who 
 altogether reject revelation have real confi- 
 dence in the moral attributes of Deity ; and 
 it follows that they must remain either in fear- 
 ful doubt, or stupid thoughtlessness, as to the 
 ultimate issues of good and ill. 
 
 A Christian, on the contrary, may confidently 
 regard all the evil, which is, or can be per- 
 mitted by a God of hoUness and love, as indis- 
 pensably conducive to the production and 
 maintenance of a good that will incomparably 
 overbalance it. He sees in the works of Christ, 
 in his perfect rectitude, purity, and benevolence, 
 an " image" of the perfections " of the invisible 
 God;" he has been taught by the words of 
 Christ, that the Divine goodness so transcends 
 that of all creatures, as to be in fact the only 
 essential goodness ; " None is good, save one, 
 that is God." 
 
116 PREVALENCE OF GOOD. 
 
 From these assurances of Him, who is One 
 with the Father, and who attested his words by 
 miracles of goodness, tlie Christian may, I 
 tliink, without presumption conclude, that if the 
 universe, viewed by prescience in its whole 
 extent and duration, had not been foreseen to 
 contain an incomparable excess of good, the 
 eternally good and blessed God would never 
 liave been its Creator. 
 
 We know that the follower of Christ cannot, 
 in one sense, be too much occupied with the 
 existence of moral evil ; he cannot too strenu- 
 ously oppose and contend against it, in himself 
 and others, nor can he have any spring of 
 action so truly identical with that which reigned 
 in the soul of his Saviour, as a pure desire of 
 preventing or counteracting its diversified ef- 
 fects. Yet, in contemplation, it is his duty 
 often to *' turn aside," and see a far greater 
 sight ; to anticipate the period when evil shall 
 not only be extinguished in himself, but shall 
 for ever cease to be prominent, perhaps even to 
 be perceptible, in his view of the creation ; and 
 to lose all his present partial views in that ** far 
 more exceeding and eternal weight" of glory 
 and blessedness, which will be as exhaustless 
 as the perfection of Him that " filleth all in all." 
 
TORPOR AS TO SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 117 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ON TORPOR OF MIND WITH REGARD TO SPIRITUAL 
 OBJECTS AMD INTERESTS. 
 
 When is it most necessary f(>r me to meditate 
 on things spiritual? precisely when I have 
 least inchnation and abihty to do so ; when 1 
 take up the Scriptures, or a book of piety, with 
 ahnost as htllo rcHsfi as I should a treatise of 
 mensuration; when I seem unimpressible by 
 what is exalted, or remote, or refined ; when 
 the mind is little better than the mere instru- 
 ment of the animal, instead of the animal powers 
 and organs being the mere instruments of the 
 spirit. This, to one that has known and felt 
 anything of its opposite, is a humiliating and 
 comfortless state of the understanding and 
 affections. What can account for it, but that 
 prone and servile tendency of the human soul, 
 induced by its fall from original rectitude? 
 For, \>y the sui)position, this is not a state of 
 ignorance, nor is it, properly speaking, a state 
 of unbelief, as to the reality and excellency 
 of spiritual objects ; since, were it either of 
 these, there could be in it no conscious unhap- 
 
118 TORPOR AS TO 
 
 piness or degradation. It is, in fact, far other- 
 wise. The immensity and majesty of nature- 
 have been familiar to my eye, and the glorious 
 secrets which the universe must have to unfold, 
 have been contemplated with awful curiosity. 
 The proofs of its incomprehensible Author's 
 being and perfections have approved them- 
 selves to my reason and my conscience. The 
 vastness and condescension of his revealed love 
 have overwhelmed my thoughts. The possible 
 discoveries of an endless life have oppressed me 
 wdth their undisclosed multitude and grandeur, 
 and this little theatre of sense has seemed to 
 shrink into nothing. — And am I yet now com- 
 pelled to say, with an application of the phrase 
 sadly contrary to the connexion in which the 
 apostle uses it, "None of these things move 
 me?" How contrary this to the proper bias 
 of that new and heavenly nature, wliich the 
 Scriptures ascribe to the children of God? — I 
 am like a traveller who has passed along the 
 Apennine ridge, sometimes gazing on the far- 
 empurpled sky; now on the vast masses of 
 southern foliage below, and a bright river divid- 
 ing the extended valley; then on the calm lake 
 or boundless ocean stretching beyond, and who 
 exclaims, w^ith a glowing heart. How delightful, 
 iiow magnificent ! But soon afterwards he finds 
 
SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 110 
 
 himself enveloped in the chill vapour of the 
 malaria, and looks in vain through the noxious 
 mist, for all the w^onders and glories of that 
 splendid prospect. There is danger for the 
 traveller, not only from the unwholesome air 
 through which he passes, but lest, forgetting the 
 refined enjoyments of other hours, he should 
 seek amends in sensuality, for the lost pleasures 
 of contemplation. But there is, in one view^, 
 more danger for me ; because, in his case, the 
 concealment of the objects does not take away 
 or impair the conviction of their reahty. But 
 in mine, there is a sort of doubting, though not 
 disbehef, induced by the want of mental percep- 
 tion. Suspended apprehension, respecting spi- 
 ritual or " unseen" objects, is very much allied 
 to doubt. 
 
 If it be possible for a rcasoner, by dint of 
 subtleties, to bring into question, as the estima- 
 ble but paradoxical Bishop Berkeley did, the 
 existence of " the things which are seen," how 
 much more easy is it, through a cessation of the 
 mind's acting upon objects of mere intellect, to 
 lose all realising sense of " the things which are 
 not seen !" There may be, and is, no actual, 
 at least, no abiding disbelief in either case. 
 Bishop Berkeley, it is presumed, coiild, only in a 
 very occasional state of high abstraction from 
 
120 TORPOR AS TO 
 
 the influence of material things, seriously feel 
 as if that opinion were credible, which his dia- 
 logues maintain ; and it is only in the state ex- 
 actly opposite, viz., that of absorption in material 
 things, (when the appetites and varying states 
 of the body, or thoughts only terminating on 
 what is earthly, quell and suppress the higher 
 action of the soul,) that we are dead to the 
 impression of what is spiritual. But from the 
 lamentable readiness with which, in our degene- 
 rate condition, w^e take impressions and even 
 laws from sense, this last is a common and 
 natural state; while that of Berkeley, if he 
 really doubted, or imagined himself to doubt 
 the existence of matter, has been, probably, 
 unparalleled in any sane mind. If I conclude, 
 that he never could be under this illusion, it 
 equally serves the present purpose to suppose, 
 that some student of his system, whose sanity 
 need not be contended for, sometimes really 
 was under it. There is, we too well know, a 
 contrary unsoundness of mind, which, though it 
 excites no wonder and no ridicule in a sensual 
 world, is in truth infinitely more to be deplored : 
 that of feeling as if things spiritual had no exist- 
 ence. The herds of Babylon might naturally 
 cease to wonder, if they ever wondered at all, 
 that the king should take "his portion with 
 
SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 121 
 
 ihem in the grass of the earth, and have his 
 body wet with the dew of heaven;" but an 
 angel, ever bhssfully awake to the reaUties and 
 glories of the spiritual universe, probably re- 
 gards the " brutish persons" who are dead to 
 these, with more astonishment and compassion 
 than I should regard that visionary, who might 
 feel as if the material world were non-existent. 
 No doubt these remarks apply most strongly to 
 such as are manifestly not " renewed in the 
 spirit of their mind," who are altogether what 
 the apostle Paul denominates natural or animal 
 men ; but still they apply, in a degree, to that 
 temporary and partial insensibility, which it is 
 presumed every Christian sometimes feels. 
 
 And what, as a means, (in the hope of divine 
 aid and influence,) is likely to remove this ? 
 
 If the deluded follower of Berkeley had ar- 
 rived at such a point of self-deception in his 
 study, as to feel some repugnance to eat or 
 walk, or to have little fear of a precipice, from 
 imagining these acts and objects unreal, what 
 would be the fittest remedy for him? Not, I 
 conceive, to take a general and distant view of 
 nature, even in its most striking scenes — but to 
 lift some hard and massive body, to make proof 
 of some highly pungent taste, to try the point 
 of some sharp instrument. 
 11 
 
122 TORPOR AS TO 
 
 Have we any resources similar to these, 
 when we would seek to revive the deadened 
 apprehension of spiritual things'? They, it is 
 evident, cannot be corporeally tasted, touched, 
 or handled. But there are two ways of men- 
 tally viewing them, which have some analogy 
 to the two ways of being conversant with ma- 
 terial things, that were just mentioned. — I may 
 attempt to contemplate the most sublime, illi- 
 mitable and remote spiritual objects, to medi- 
 tate on the nature and Vv'orks of the Deity, on 
 the person of Christ, on the day of judgment, 
 on " the eternal states of all the dead ;" and all 
 these things, momentous as they are, may (with- 
 out being disbelieved) appear, in the carnalized 
 state of mind to which we have referred, as 
 immense indeed, but shadowy and almost doubt- 
 ful visions, which have no power to excite emo- 
 tion. — Let me rather try, therefore, without 
 looking abroad into the vast field of spiritual 
 existence, to fix on a single point, and that the 
 nearest. Let me return, with Descartes and 
 Fenelon, to the first point of spiritual knowledge 
 — " I think ; therefore I am." I will not use it 
 for the same purpose that they did, or to deduce 
 thence the proof of an infinite and perfect being ; 
 but for the purpose of intently recognising my 
 own consciousness. This consciousness is one. 
 
SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 123 
 
 It is not divisible or dissoluble, like the material 
 organs which it actuates, and which will so 
 soon be dissolved. When a few years have 
 passed, the whole frame will sink into irre- 
 mediable helplessness ; the last pulses will beat, 
 the last respiration cease, the particles so won- 
 derfully combined into organic life will be sepa- 
 rated. Even they, however, will be only sepa- 
 rated, — not destroyed. " We have no reason to 
 believe," (say the philosophers,) " that matter 
 perishes, but only changes its form." " There 
 is no evidence of the destruction of anything 
 since the universe was formed." But my con- 
 sciousness, which is not composed of parts, 
 cannot be separated. And if matter which has 
 parts, which is infinitely divisible, which is 
 actually divided, be not destroyed, how much 
 less that consciousness, which is one and indi- 
 visible ! To annihilate, is, for aught we know, 
 as much a divine and incommunicable preroga- 
 tive, as to create ; nor have w^e the slightest 
 evidence, direct or presumptive, that this pre- 
 rogative has ever been exercised on one mate- 
 rial particle, or one spiritual essence. When 
 this frame is dissolved, therefore, as it soon 
 inevitably must be, my consciousness will still 
 subsist. I, who think, shall be ; — shall be some- 
 where : shall reflect ; shall feel ; shall be either 
 
124 TORPOR AS TO 
 
 happy or unhappy. — It is a striking thought of 
 a foreign writer, that even atheism cannot de- 
 monstrate to itself, on its own principles, that 
 there will be no future and ever-during misery. 
 As little, surely, can that vague and Epicurean 
 sort of deism do it, which forgets God, or asks 
 itself secretly, Does God indeed see and regard ? 
 Yet this is virtually the state of the Christian's 
 mind, whenever its actings are sinful. Even 
 could this questioning be unhappily converted 
 into a well-founded affirmation ; could it be 
 shown that the proofs of God's holy providence 
 are fallacious ; this dreadful argument would 
 not at all involve the consequence that the spirit 
 is destroyed, w^hile the parts of the body are 
 only dissolved and changed ; or that it has 
 parts which may also be dissolved ; or that its 
 consciousness, in a new state, will not be un- 
 happy. 
 
 The resort to this kind of reasoning does not 
 imply either distrust or depreciation of that 
 testimony which the Gospel yields both to the 
 character of the Deity and " the life of the 
 w^orld to come." It is intended for those mo- 
 ments when external reasons of behef and 
 expectation, however powerful, do not move 
 the mind. It is intended, likewise, to endear the 
 assurances and offers of revelation, by impress- 
 
SPIRITUAL OBJECTS. 125 
 
 ing that awful prospect of an unknown futurity 
 of being. For whatever depraved or listless 
 torpor lulls my spirit now, that surprising instant 
 will arrive, surely and soon, that instant of 
 miraculous change, the first of a new mode of 
 being ! Can I easily revert in recollection to 
 the hours of early childhood, when my present 
 mode of being was new ; and is it much less 
 easy to anticipate the latest moments of this, 
 the awful verge of another ? — Am I not, mean- 
 while, consciously amenable to an inward law 1 
 Is not the sense of moral good and evil, of con- 
 sequent weal or woe, more indelibly fixed in my 
 spirit than words imprinted " with an iron 
 graver, in the rock," or on crystal " with the 
 point of a diamond ?" What is it but the never- 
 dying echo of the eternal voice ? These things 
 are fully as sure as any thing material and 
 external, any object of sensation, and they are 
 incomparably more intimate and unchangeable. 
 But if I be truly awakened to these, if I fore- 
 think this approaching entrance into an untried 
 state of consciousness, which must be either 
 holy or depraved, which must excite unmea- 
 sured joy or unutterable disappointment — can I, 
 under such expectations, remain indifferent to 
 the message of salvation, to the deeds and 
 words of an Almighty Redeemer ? Thus, then, 
 11* 
 
12Q IXTESCESSION OF CHBIST. 
 
 let me seek to arouse the domiant perception 
 of spiritual realities, commencing the sur^-ey 
 at home, contemplating the mysterious immor- 
 tal inm.ate of my bosom. Hence let me ascend 
 towards the throne of Him who is hid from 
 mortal sight ; hence fly to the cross of Him 
 who stooped to mortal son*ow^s. But, O Thou 
 Spirit of Holiness, who succourest mortal 
 weakness, do Thou communicate to my soul 
 the vividness of solemn thought, the depth of 
 grateful sentiment, and cause me by thy power 
 which is alone sufhcient, to " abound in ho[>e." 
 
 XV. 
 
 ox THE EXCOURAGEMEX'T WHICH THE IXTERCES 
 SIO.\ OF CHRIST AFFORDS TO PRAYER, 
 
 Vt'hex I consider how defective, how mean, 
 and how defiled are the most solemn of my 
 devotional services, I might w^ell despair of 
 their being in any way acceptable to the Deity, 
 or procuring for me any communication of his 
 niercy and favour, were it not for the peculiar 
 
INTERCESSION OF CHBIST. 127 
 
 way of access and acceptance revealed. Not 
 only my previous character as an offender, but 
 the offences contamed in my acts of worship, 
 might suffice to defeat my hopes, If a peti- 
 tioner were to approach the most exalted, bene- 
 volent and venerable of men, without manifest- 
 ing any due impression of his dignity and 
 excellence; if he were visibly and audibly to 
 manifest the contrary, by unseemly gestures, 
 and by wandering, incoherent, and even dis- 
 graceful expressions, mingling in every part of 
 his professed supplication ; if that supplication, 
 though not a precomposed form, were evideni- 
 ly, in many of its parts, mechanical; a sort of 
 half-conscious exercise of memory, combined 
 with vague desire ; while the mind was chiefly 
 occupied with the irrelevant and often base 
 imaginations, wdiich seemed interposed as in- 
 sults to the majesty and patience of the hearer ; 
 — what should we augur of the reception and 
 success of such a supphant? Would not the 
 servants or friends of the personage addressed, 
 be ready to remove the intruder, unanswered 
 except by reproof? — But my addresses, to One 
 who is ineffably more august and venerable 
 than any created being, have often correspond- 
 ed to this description, and have always, more 
 or less, partaken of this character. For thoughts 
 
128 IJsTEECESSION OF CHRIST. 
 
 and feelings, not expressed aloud, are quite as 
 substantial and apparent before the Omniscient 
 God, as those which are uttered. They form, 
 undeniably, as real a part of the action of the 
 mind, during any act of worship, as the confes- 
 sions, petitions, or adorations, verbally pro- 
 nounced. What then would be the texture and 
 series of my prayers, if all the ideas and emo- 
 tions which arise during their continuance, 
 could be submitted to the view of others, and 
 my own, as they unquestionably are to the 
 view of Him "that searcheth the heart?" 
 Would not the irreverent confusion and impi- 
 ous intermixture, of things sacred and profane, 
 solemn and trivial, spiritual and carnal, be 
 enough to mortify the pride of a Stoic, and 
 confound the self-righteousness of a Pharisee? 
 If such a copy of the acts of my soul, during 
 secret devotion, could be faithfully made and 
 set before me, it would certainly confirm, in a 
 most humbling manner, my conviction of spi- 
 ritual weakness and depravity, and might justly 
 induce despair of such services being well- 
 pleasing to God, were it not for the consoling 
 and cheering assurance that Jesus " ever liveth 
 to make intercession for us." " For we have 
 not an High Priest which cannot be touched 
 with the feehng of our infirmities ; but w^as in 
 
INTERCESSION OF CHRIST. 129 
 
 all points tempted like as we are, yet with- 
 out sin." It is in this behef alone, that I can, 
 or ought to " come boldly unto the throne of 
 grace:" but with this belief, notwithstanding 
 the experience and the foresight of exceeding 
 imperfection and unworthiness in my offerings, 
 I may " have access with confidence." How 
 should it endear this great High Priest and 
 Advocate, to think of Him as pleading for the 
 gracious acceptance of my praises, which, when 
 compared with, the claims of the divine grace 
 and majesty, have been so negligent and for- 
 mal ; of my thanksgivings, which have been so 
 cold ; of my confessions, which have been so 
 seldom prompted by a deep and tender contri- 
 tion; of my entreaties, whose fervency has 
 borne no proportion to the magnitude of the 
 good besought, or of the evils deprecated ; of 
 my whole worship, which, as before described, 
 has been often a shameful intermingling of 
 incongruous and degrading thoughts with those 
 of piety? Is it presumptuous to hope and 
 believe that the divine Mediator intercedes for 
 those who are conscious of defects so great, 
 and offences so flagrant, in their approaches to 
 Him who " knovvcth the secrets of the heart ?" 
 I trust not ; because many of the most devoted 
 worshippers have confessed and deplored simi- 
 
130 INTERCESSION OF CHRIST. 
 
 lar defects and offences in their attempts to wait 
 on God. And though I cannot suppose, that in 
 these eminent Christians they have been by any 
 means so habitual or so great as in myself, I 
 am not warranted in despairing of the accept- 
 ableness of my prayers, on account of the 
 deeper degrees of evil which I may believe to 
 pervade them. The compassionate aid and in- 
 tercession of Christ, when on earth, were not 
 withdrawn from those disciples with whom he 
 had frequent reason to expostulate on account 
 of the weakness and littleness of their faith ; 
 and who, in a season peculiarly adapted to 
 excite their feelings, drew from him, by their 
 heaviness and stupor, the affecting rebuke, 
 " What ! could ye not watch with me one 
 hour?" These failures of their faith and vigi- 
 lance did not prevent his leaving wdth them 
 that animating promise, '• Lo, I am with you 
 always, even to the end of the world." 
 
 At the same time, the hope that my imper- 
 fect and sinful offerings are accepted through 
 this all-powerful and gracious Intercessor, can 
 never, surely, admit so fatal a perversion, as to 
 become a plea or refuge for indifference in that 
 sacred employment ; to place me at ease in the 
 indulgence of wandering thoughts, in a supine 
 or unsjoverned state of the faculties and affec- 
 
INTERCESSION OF CHRIST. 131 
 
 tions. Let me solemnly remember, that, in 
 every act of worship, whether public or secret, 
 there is only so much of prayer as the " under- 
 standing and the spirit" concur in. It is impos- 
 sible to suppose that our exalted Saviour, who 
 expressly declares — " They that worship God, 
 must worship him in spirit and in truth," should 
 intercede for the acceptance of those parts of 
 our prayers, in which, though the lips utter 
 them, the mind is not engaged ; or in which, 
 (although the memory and the reason, by a con- 
 fused kind of co-operation, combine to produce 
 them extemporaneously,) the desires and affec- 
 tions are wholly unconcerned. 
 
 The efficacy of prayer must be proportioned 
 to the real amount of sincere and true devotion, 
 which enters into any exercise of worship. If a 
 mass of gold or silver ore be sent to the refiner, 
 he will value, not the amount or variety of 
 heterogeneous matter, but the amount of pure 
 metal which is found in it. He may accept 
 and prize it, notwithstanding the alloys and 
 worthless substances with which it is debased, 
 but it can be accepted only at the worth of the 
 separated bulHon. It is not meant to intimate, 
 by this comparison, that our prayers, (were 
 they ten times more unalloyed than those of 
 fallen creatures can be,) would possess any 
 
132 INTERCESSION OF CHRIST. 
 
 meritorious value. Tiie mind and will, the 
 ability and inclination, for these, as for all 
 other services, are themselves the gifts of God. 
 But he has chosen to connect his blessings with 
 prayer, and encourages me to hope, that, 
 through the intercession of the " One Media- 
 tor," he will accept even such prayers as mine. 
 And though they are accepted — notwithstand- 
 ing these alloys and deplements— yet the result 
 of them, or the blessings to be procured by them, 
 can only have relation to the sum and intense- 
 ness of real devotion. So that the hope that my 
 real prayers are presented, and made availing, 
 by so glorious an Advocate, should confer, in 
 my estimation, an immense importance on the 
 privilege of worship, and should make mo 
 incomparably more solicitous, that my prayers 
 may be real, and that " out of the abundance of 
 the heart, the mouth may speak." 
 
SENSUAL INCLINATIONS. 1 HS 
 
 XVI. 
 
 ON THE INFLUENCE OF SLOTHFUL AND SENSUAL 
 INCLINATIONS. 
 
 How disgraceful and wretched a subjugation 
 is that of the mind to bodily appetites and 
 propensities ! How low and narrow must be 
 our ideas of happiness while we act or feel 
 as if mere sensual ease or animal indulgence 
 could secure it ! When the spirit is " brought 
 into subjection" to the body, what is its utmost 
 bliss but that of a half-slumbering or half-besot- 
 ted slave ? And what captivity so ignominious 
 as to be the slave of one's ow^n indolent, weak, 
 disorderly vassal I What " servant of servants" 
 can wear a yoke more abject? Whenever I 
 am conscious of the downward tendency to 
 this worst of servitudes, oppressed at once by 
 the thought of its sinfulness and its degradation, 
 urgent, indeed, is the necessity of applying to 
 the " Father of spirits" for strength to shake off 
 the bondage of corruption. Have I forgotten 
 that the blessedness of Him, who is independ- 
 ently and supremely happy, must be purely 
 12 
 
134 SLOTHFUL AND 
 
 spiritual, and that we can conceive no remis- 
 sion of blissful activity in the Eternal Mind? 
 What then should creatures, oiiginally made 
 " after his likeness," endowed with spiritual 
 faculties and desires, pursue as the best, the 
 only perfect and sufficient kind of enjoyment, 
 other than that which constitutes the happiness 
 of their Creator? 
 
 Never, when most ensnared in slothfulness 
 and sensuality of heart, let me consent to sus- 
 pend devotion. Never let me fail to implore, 
 with an early and strenuous resistance to the 
 depraved bias of my mind, the renewal of that 
 " right spirit," which alone is " life and peace." 
 Never let the inebriating or stupefying power of 
 sense overbear my conviction, that, under this 
 dominion, the very life of life, the very element 
 of heaven, would be extinguished. Never let 
 me cease to solicit a new and deeper impres- 
 sion of those real joys, which arise from near- 
 ness and similitude and love to " the source 
 and centre of all minds." He who made and 
 upholds all things, possesses within himself all 
 the stores of happiness which are or can be 
 dispensed to his creatures. His " loving-kind- 
 ness is better than Hfe." What comparison 
 can there be between pleasures in which rep- 
 tiles partake and those which flow immediately 
 
SENSUAL INCLINATIONS. 135 
 
 lo the rational and immortal soul, from the 
 infinite Spirit? 
 
 Even if these sublime enjoyments, for which 
 I pray, be not soon or amply communicated, 
 yet ought the very hope, or even desire, of such 
 exalted benefits, to be more cherished and more 
 acceptable than the fullest possession of mere 
 bodily delights. There must be more real satis- 
 faction of the mind in perseveringly aspiring 
 to the noblest, the only substantial and enduring 
 good, ahhough one were not to be indulged, in 
 the present state, with any assurance or con- 
 sciousness of its attainment, than in the full 
 acquisition of pleasures which we know to be 
 insufficient, mean, and transitory. 
 
 How forcibly does the energetic Baxter urge 
 this preference of the all-originating good, and 
 a sacred scorn of all that would compete with 
 it ! — " Where do you think, in reason, that all 
 the streams of goodness do finally empty them- 
 selves ? Is it not in God, from whom, by secret 
 springs, they originally proceed? Where else do 
 all the lines of goodness concentre ? Are not 
 all the sparks contained in this fire, and all the 
 drops in this ocean ? Surely the time was, when 
 there was nothing besides God, and then all 
 good was in Him. And even now the crea- 
 ture's essence and existence are secondary 
 
136 SLOTHFUL AND SENSUAL INCLINATIONS. 
 
 derived; contingent, improper, in comparison 
 of His, who is, and was, and is to come, whose 
 name alone is I AM. What do thine eyes see, 
 or thy heart conceive desirable, w^hich is not 
 there to be had? Sin, indeed, there is none; 
 but darest thou call that good ? Worldly 
 delights there are none, for they are good but 
 for the present necessity, and please but the 
 brutish senses. — Do you fear losing or parting 
 with anything you now enjoy ? What ! Do 
 you fear you shall want when you come to 
 heaven ? Shall you want the drops, when you 
 have the ocean? Or the light of the candle, 
 when you have the sun ? Or the shallow crea- 
 ture, when you have the perfect Creator." 
 
 It is while these powerful considerations least 
 affect me, w^iile I am most prone to sink under 
 the influence of that " carnal mind which is 
 death," and my soul, immersed, and, as it were, 
 half imbruted in earth and sense, knows not 
 how to taste, and scarcely how to contemplate, 
 a spiritual and real blessedness — it is" then that 
 I have surely the most pressing occasion to ask 
 the heavenly gift, of better thoughts and nobler 
 affections, from the Fountain of spiritual light 
 and life. He can enkindle within me a divine 
 ambition — can cause my spirit to " thirst for 
 Himself, even for the living God" — for " the 
 
PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 137 
 
 fulness of joy which is in his presence" — for 
 that perfect righteousness which is the essence 
 of his own happiness. To him, therefore, dull 
 and insensible, or earthly and sensual, as I now 
 am, — to Him let me approach, deeply feeling 
 how essential to my happiness is his enlivening 
 grace ; and let this be the tenour of my earnest 
 petition — " My soul cleaveth unto the dust ; 
 quicken Thou me according to thy word !" 
 
 'f 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ON THAT PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND WHICH 
 UNFITS IT FOR DEVOTION ; AND ON THE MEANS 
 OF COUNTERACTING IT. 
 
 There are some trials which press on us 
 heavily, and yet do not, like many other occur- 
 rences, tend to disincline or disqualify us for 
 prayer. On the contrary, though they give a 
 special direction and cast to our petitions, they 
 promote solemnity and fervour; and lead to 
 that greater abstraction and composure which 
 is the effect of increased seriousness. Such are 
 those afflictive circumstances in which we are 
 12* 
 
138 PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 in a great measure passive ; when the event has 
 come, or must come, immediately from the 
 hand of God; or when we are particularly 
 called to deliberate or to act. Such are, some- 
 times, the death or sickness of friends, or the 
 ills or disappointQients which they or we may 
 suffer from causes quite uncontrollable by us. 
 — Such was the situation of Paul and his fellow 
 voyagers, in the Alexandrian vessel, after they 
 had been compelled to " let her drive," had cast 
 out her equipments, and, having no further 
 power to direct her course, were " driven up 
 and down in Adria;" — such, also, was that of 
 the aged Jacob, v/hen he was constrained to 
 permit his Benjamin to be taken away to Egypt, 
 and could only say, after an affecting prayer 
 for his return, " If I be bereaved of my children, 
 I am bereaved !" Who can doubt, that, when 
 the youth was out of sight, when the melan- 
 choly train, which he followed with a father's 
 eye to the summit of some neighbouring moun- 
 tain, had disappeared, he then offered more 
 earnest and fixed and enlarged supplications for 
 the safety of his beloved child ? Prayer was 
 then his only duty, his only office of kindness, 
 or resource of affection. 
 
 There is another class of trials, which, though 
 they ought to have the same influence, and in 
 
PREOCCUrATION OF THE MIND. 139 
 
 the most pious minds certainly have so, yet 
 have, at the same time, a contrary or disturb- 
 ing force. It is that diversified class in which 
 we are compelled to be active ; more especially 
 those in which speedy action is, or seems to be, 
 required ; as w^hen, for example, ourselves, or 
 those dear to us, are involved in embarrassing 
 or hazardous circumstances, and must be extri- 
 cated by means which require consideration and 
 eflbrt. Situations of this kind also are recorded 
 in the fives of both the Scripture characters re- 
 ferred to ; as when the patriarch heard of the 
 approach of his offended brother with an armed 
 band, and was in consequence " greatly afraid 
 and distressed," but obliged to decide on mea- 
 sures for his own and his family's safety ; and 
 when the apostle, at Damascus, became ac- 
 quainted with a conspiracy against his life, 
 which required him to adopt instant means 
 of concealment or escape. 
 
 These are occasions, (and there are many, 
 far less pressing and important, that yet par- 
 take of the same character,) which, w^hile the}^ 
 strongly prompt a good man to look up to God 
 for strength and guidance, do yet, by the evident 
 duty of action which they impose, tend to 
 divert the mind from a calm and undivided 
 exercise of devotion. At least they so operate 
 
140 PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 on some minds ; and not so much on powerfu 
 ardent, enterprising minds, formed for action, 
 and which therefore we might suppose restless 
 from impatience to begin it, as on those of an 
 opposite complexion, to which decision and 
 action are most arduous, and which are there- 
 fore most perturbed by the near prospect of 
 such duties. These will undoubtedly attempt 
 prayer, perhaps in many more words than the 
 apostle or the patriarch, on similar occasions, 
 uttered ; but their prayer will often be extremely 
 distracted. Comparative brevity is suited to 
 such occasions. Diffusiveness and prolixity are 
 ill-timed. Indeed, prayer can never be com- 
 puted by the sum of words and minutes, but by 
 the amount of faith, reverence and desire. It 
 is when these quahties seem lost amidst the 
 confusion or perplexity of the worshipper, that 
 the very essence of the duty appears to be want- 
 ing ; although, when this proceeds from mere 
 infirmity, it will be mercifully regarded by 
 Him who " knoweth our frame." 
 
 It were well, however, if only such exigen- 
 cies could produce these effects. There are 
 other feehngs and situations, hardly deserving 
 (in comparison) the name of trials, which yet, 
 not seldom, excite in minds of the same 
 temperament as high a degree of distrac- 
 
PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 141 
 
 tion, nay, sometimes a higher; because be- 
 ing in themselves less urgent or critical, 
 the need of divine aid is not so deeply 
 felt, while the counteracting or alienating 
 impulses of thought are almost equally strong. 
 Thus, in deciding on some new occupation or 
 connexion for ourselves or others, or meditating 
 some arrangement in which the tempers and 
 views of several persons are to be consulted, 
 the affairs in question may scarcely come under 
 the grave denomination of "trials," and yet 
 they may so possess the mind, as exceedingly 
 to discompose it in sacred duties. Or, let some 
 design engage us, which may be quite practi- 
 cable, wholly blameless, or even praiseworthy 
 — such as a scheme of personal advantage, 
 undertaken in the most proper manner, and 
 with the most upright aim ; or a plan of admin- 
 istering charity or instruction ; or an exercise 
 of thought in some scientific or literary attempt ; 
 or a wish of publicly advocating some benevo- 
 lent institution; none of these can be called 
 trials, in the religious acceptation of the w^ord, 
 for they may be pleasurable rather than pain- 
 ful; nor can they, in themselves, be deemed 
 temptations, for the supposed employments are « 
 " lawful and right ;" and yet they may very 
 readily become temptations ; for they may so 
 
142 PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 engross and haunt the mind, as to incapacitate 
 it for the right performance of duty to the 
 Supreme Being. 
 
 It is far easier in this, as in many other cases, 
 to feel and understand, and analyze the evil, 
 than it is to suggest (much more to apply) 
 an effectual remedy. The poet tells me, that — 
 
 A soul immortal 
 
 Thrown into tumult, raptured or alarm'd. 
 At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
 Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
 To wafl a feather, or to drown a fly." 
 
 Nor can the calmest reason account this figure 
 extravagant, in representing the disproportion 
 between our little and momentary interests 
 here, and the nature and prospects of a spirit 
 which is to exist for ever. 
 
 But even supposing it quite certain, (and one 
 would be most reluctant to adopt the contrary 
 belief w hich some have expressed,) that even this 
 poet possessed the true devotion which many 
 parts of his writings indicate, it may well be 
 questioned whether their composition did not at 
 times so occupy and swallow up his mind as to 
 preclude or impede the direct exercises of piety. 
 *i^ Yet who would say, that the composition of the 
 ^' Night Thoughts," (or of "The Task," by 
 Cowper,) was a hurtful or unprofitable employ ? 
 
PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 143 
 
 One corrective of that unhappy influence on 
 spiritual comfort and improvement, which has 
 been now described as arising from absorption 
 of mind, or determination of thought to a parti- 
 cular point, will bq found, perhaps, in allowing 
 to our secret devotions that turn which most 
 accords with the actual bent or current of the 
 soul. Or, to express it differently, — by making 
 our ruhng thoughts for the time, a guide, as far 
 as may be, to the particular cast and topic of 
 devotion. For, where the understanding or 
 the imagination is strongly occupied by an 
 object, it seems more practicable to use this 
 force than to expel or oppose it. Since the 
 power of steam has been applied to navigation, 
 it is become possible to propel a vessel directly 
 against wind and tide ; but there is no inherent 
 force analogous to this, (at least none is found 
 in some minds,) by which the earnest course of 
 thought, strongly " setting in" towards a cer- 
 tain point, can be directly stemmed. What, 
 then, is our resource, but to endeavour that the 
 contrary current shall indirectly serve us; as 
 in the ordinary way of navigation, the vessel 
 yields to the prevaihng breeze, and has her 
 sails filled obliquely by that very gale, which, 
 if her prow were pointed against it, would 
 quite baffle and stop her course. 
 
144 PREOCCUrATION OF THE 3IIND. 
 
 It may perhaps be said, some Christians are 
 intently engaged in pm^suits not at all censur- 
 able, (on which, therefore, in a general way, 
 they can implore the divine blessing,) and yet 
 so secular, that it appears incongruous, and even 
 indecorous, to refer to them in their devotions. 
 A mechanician, exercising his inventive talent 
 on some new application of " power," or some 
 improved adjustment of wheels and valves ; or 
 a chemist, profoundly engaged in the analysis 
 of an earth or a fluid ; or an artist, before whose 
 "prophetic eye" the gradual idea of a fine 
 group is mentally rising, must force himself, it 
 may seem, quite away from the immediate 
 object of thought, if he w-ould rightly enter on 
 devout worship. 
 
 Yet the incongruity, or remoteness, is (in 
 these instances at least) more seeming than real. 
 The inquiries and operations of science and 
 art are all connected with the laws and works 
 of nature ; — and what are these but the pre- 
 sence and agency of its glorious Author ? — We 
 can imagine the illustrious Boyle absorbed quite 
 in those celebrated experiments on air, in which 
 mechanics and chemistry were combined ; and 
 that he, w^hen suspending the most favourite 
 studies of the laboratory in order to fulfil the 
 solemn and beloved employments of the closet, 
 
PKEOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 145 
 
 might conduct himself by some such gradual 
 transition as this into the region of devotional 
 feeling. — O Thou, by whom " all things consist," 
 who didst form the substance of matter, and 
 impress on it the laws and properties of its 
 being. Thou knowest it is my dehght to investi- 
 gate thy works; whatever discoveries I may 
 be permitted to make concerning that unseen 
 but wonderful fluid, on which Thou hast made 
 animal and vegetable life, in this world, to depend, 
 may they awaken me to deeper veneration for 
 Thyself, the invisible Spirit, in whom, far more 
 truly and eminently, we live, and move, and 
 have our being ! Grant, also, that the inquiries, 
 in which I am so pleasurably engaged, on the 
 subtile composition and qualities of aerial fluids, 
 may strengthen my joyful belief, or facilitate 
 my apprehension, of the indestructible nature of 
 spirit, and of the promised resurrection of a 
 spiritual body. 
 
 Nor is it more diflicult to suppose the sculptor 
 Bacon, who was likewise eminent for the union 
 of talent and piety, bent on the study of the 
 great Chatham's monument, filled with the 
 design which he was about to execute, or 
 beginning with ardour to sketch or model it, 
 and then retiring into his closet, not to break 
 ofT suddenly and altogether from the object 
 13 
 
146 TREOCCUPATIOIV OF THE MIND. 
 
 which had preoccupied him ; but to say — O 
 Thou Eternal Mind, Source of all that is wise 
 and great, how noble are the faculties which 
 Thou hast given to creatures *' made in thine 
 image, after thy likeness ;" how noble, some- 
 times, the expression and indication of those 
 faculties, even in a frame so soon to be dissolv- 
 ed ! Thou hast endued nie with the talent of 
 feebly imitating that frame which is so " fear- 
 fully and wonderfully made." Thy indulgent 
 providence has made this art an enjoyment 
 Bless it also, by thy grace, to my highest im- 
 provement. Help me to consider with adora- 
 tion and thankfulness, while I labour to convey 
 to lifeless materials some faint resemblance of 
 the character of motion and of mind, how 
 unsearchable thy power and skill, which can 
 give vitality to inert matter, and unite intellect 
 with the dust ! And w^hen I remember how 
 that commanding form, which I am about to 
 represent in marble, now lies mouldering, and 
 how the spirit, which electrified the senate, is 
 passed away — may these thoughts inspire new 
 gratitude for the blessed hope of the gospel ; for 
 that sublime Visitor of earth, who himself broke 
 the prison of the tomb, and rose a living monu- 
 ment of his own voluntary subjection to death, 
 and eternal triumph over the grave. 
 
PREOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 147 
 
 If it be said that the employments of these 
 excellent persons were of an intellectual kind ; 
 and that similar transitions to devout thought 
 could not be made from the anxious affairs of 
 commerce, or from the petty, yet perplexing 
 routine of ordinary business ; — this must be 
 granted ; but then, neither ought those con- 
 cerns, in general, so deeply to absorb the mind, 
 as it is the very nature of intellectual employ- 
 ments frequently to do. 
 
 Another corrective, however, of this mental 
 alienation or prepossession, and one more 
 available, perhaps, in the cases just mentioned, 
 is to be found in the well-known expedient of 
 using (at least in a way of preparation) the 
 pious sentiments of others. The devotional 
 parts of Scripture, and the reading or recitation 
 of sacred poetry, have an obvious tendency to 
 tranquillize and elevate the thoughts ; and, per- 
 haps, the partial or introductory adoption of 
 forms of worship, in secret, will be sometimes 
 profitable. 
 
 There may, indeed, be a wrong and profitless 
 use of all these helps; and particularly with 
 regard to forms of worship, it is conceivable, 
 that some who desire to " pray with the spirit," 
 may yet needlessly resort to them as a cus- 
 tomary resource from mental effort ; yet, when 
 
148 FUEOCCUPATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 the mind is in the state now described, it may 
 be found m.ore practicable, (and that by Chris- 
 tians who are quite awake to the danger of for- 
 mality,) to adopt from the heart the ideas and 
 desires of others, than to collect and express 
 their own ; while those ideas and desires may 
 be likewise in themselves more spiritual, more 
 copious, more appropriate, than any which, in 
 such circumstances, could be at once originated. 
 If experience prove to an individual, that by 
 such aid his " heart is" sometimes more " fixed" 
 than without it, he, certainly, by its use on such 
 occasions, consults the true ends of all worship 
 — his own si)iritual benefit and the glory of 
 God. 
 
 But while every expedient is commendable, 
 that really conduces to these ends, it is not the 
 less certain, that a due regulation of mind is of 
 the first importance to our religious, as well as 
 secular interests. It will be for the happiness 
 of all to cultivate, in every pursuit, habits of 
 fixed attention, composedness, mental self-con- 
 trol ; and especially to do so in the earlier years 
 of life, before contrary habits and tempers ac- 
 quire strength. 
 
 Even idolaters have felt the peculiar impro- 
 priety of not giving the whole mind to sacred 
 rites. We learn from Plutarch, that, while the 
 
RECENT SIN. 149 
 
 Roman magistrate was employed in augury, or 
 sacrificing, a herald admonished the people, 
 " Hoc age 1" Mind this ! — a precept supposed 
 by him to be derived from Pythagoras. How 
 much stronger reason is there for us, when en- 
 gaged in the " sacrifice of praise," or of " a con- 
 trite spirit," before the living God, to remember 
 the more forcible precept of Paul, " In these 
 things BE ;" — or, " Give thyself wholly to 
 them !" * 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ON SPECIAL AND RECENT SIN AS FORMING AN UR- 
 GENT REASON FOR CONTRITE PRAYER. 
 
 Oh that my mind were more deeply and 
 poignantly affected at the thought of having 
 affronted the " terrible majesty" of the universal 
 Judge, and abused the tender forbearance of 
 
 * 1 Tim. iv. 15. An injunction, which, though primarily 
 applied to the official engagements of the evangelist, cannot 
 but be eminently applicable to the devotional duties of the 
 Christian. 
 
 13* 
 
150 RECENT SIN. 
 
 my unwearied Benefactor ; of having stifled the 
 warnings of a conscience illuminated by hea- 
 venly truth, and rebelled against a holy and 
 forgiving God ; against Him who gav^e and sus- 
 tains the very faculties by which I have trans- 
 gressed ; against Him who could instantane- 
 ously, by an agonizing correction, or a fearful 
 judgment, teach me the omnipotence of his dis- 
 regarded justice ! 
 
 How melancholy and how criminal is that 
 tendency which I discover in my heart, (after 
 the first pains of self-accusation are past,) to 
 harden or soothe, rather than humble itself; 
 to extenuate the offence, or to argue with a cal- 
 lous and perilous sophistry. — So many have 
 been the preceding offences, that this can have 
 added little to the account of guilt. 
 
 What deadly qualities are united in this ser- 
 pent evil, which fascinates, while it pierces the 
 soul, and has a venom that not only corrupts, 
 but benumbs and paralyses also ! It is true, the 
 gospel of Christ invites and enjoins me to em- 
 brace the hope of abundant pardon : it forbids 
 despondency after a genuine and penitential 
 recourse to that divine Saviour, whose " blood 
 cleanseth from all sin ;" — but how shall I rightly 
 resort to this pardoning mercy without a true 
 and profound contrition of spirit? Or ought 
 
RECENT SIN. 151 
 
 even the assured hope of forgiveness to prevent 
 or abate undissembled humiliation and bitter 
 self-reproach, when I reflect that all past and 
 present and future good, not only to the latest 
 instant of this life, but through the boundless 
 ages of the future can come only from the free 
 mercy of Him v^'hose gracious precepts I have 
 so lately scorned or forgotten ? Ought not such 
 humiliation and self-reproach to fill my heart 
 when I meditate on having chosen or tolerated 
 that, oif account of which it behoved the Son of 
 God to suffer untold anguish, from pure love to 
 the ruined victims of transgression ? I acknow- 
 ledge that the conduct or spirit of which I have 
 been recently conscious, must, if unforsaken, 
 alienate me for ever from the temper and the 
 joys of heaven, and condemn me, by a dread- 
 ful necessity of nature, to an exile from happi- 
 ness, even were I surrounded by its brightest 
 tokens and manifestations in that kingdom 
 where the righteous " shine forth as the sun in 
 the kingdom of their Father ?" Tremble, my 
 soul, at such a thought ! Shudder at having 
 indulged for a day, or cherished for an hour, 
 (or were it but for a moment,) that which, if 
 perpetuated, were in itself " everlasting destruc- 
 tion ;" that which has in it the accursed quality 
 and savour of the " second death." 
 
152 EECENT SIN. 
 
 When I am penetrated with this appalling 
 truth, that a Being, " glorious in holiness," hath 
 " set my iniquities before Him, my secret sins in 
 the light of his countenance ;" that He " under- 
 standeth my thought afar off," and is " acquaint- 
 ed with all my ways ;" that He could instantly 
 lay open the record of my multiplied offences, 
 and proclaim them by " the voice of an arch- 
 angel in the great congregation of spirits and 
 just men;"* that He could fill me with that 
 " everlasting contempt" and incurable rSmorse 
 which must be the portion of the impenitent and 
 unpardoned; what should be my emotion at 
 having exposed myself to such a doom ; what 
 fervency should inspire and pervade all my 
 pleas for the benefit of that Saviour's atoning 
 death, " whom God hath set forth to be a pro- 
 pitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare 
 his righteousness for the remission of sins that 
 are past, through the forbearance of God ;" and 
 how abundantly augmented henceforth should 
 be my love and devotedness to Him, through 
 whom alone I can attain the peaceful hope that 
 my " transgression is forgiven," that my " sin 
 is covered !" And surely nothing, except 
 unfeigned penitence, evinced by importunate 
 
 * Jeremy Taylor. 
 
RECENT SIN. 153 
 
 prayer, can justly afford me this testimony. I 
 cannot, without the most dangerous and culpa- 
 ble presumption, account myself in a state of 
 acceptance and reconciliation with God, except 
 every known sin be followed by genuine repent- 
 ance, thus heartily expressed. I can now have 
 no evidence, (whatever may have preceded,) of 
 being in a pardoned state, until this disposition 
 and this act, have been solemnly renewed. 
 "Repentance," says the excellent Bates, "is 
 not an initial act of sorrow, but must be 
 renewed all our lives. God's pardoning us is 
 not a transient act, but continued ; as conversa- 
 tion is a continued creation." And if our con- 
 stant sins of imperfection and frailty make this 
 at all times needful, then surely ought the sense 
 of especial and pecuhar guilt to constrain and 
 stimulate us to proportionately earnest suppli- 
 cation. " Our desires," says the same author, 
 " should be raised in the most intense degrees, 
 in some proportion to the value of the blessing. 
 They should be strong as our necessity to 
 obtain it. The pardon of our sins is the effect 
 of God's highest favour. It is the fruit of our 
 Saviour's bloody sufferings. Without it we are 
 miserable for ever. And can w^e expect to 
 obtain it by a formal superficial prayer? It 
 deserves the flower and zeal of our affections.. 
 
154 RECENT SIN. 
 
 How solicitous and vehement and unsatisfied 
 should we be, till we have the clear testimony 
 that we are in a state of divine fiwour !" 
 
 And when I thus address mj'self to the Sove- 
 reign Source of compassion, it is indispensable 
 to implore not only forgiveness, but heavenly 
 strength against the future assaults of that sin, 
 which has " pierced me through with many 
 sorrows." It is indispensable that I should re- 
 sume my sacred resolutions more strenuously, 
 and with niore deep dependence on that hea- 
 venly strength. I must entreat that the essential 
 beauty and excellence of holiness may never 
 more be eclipsed by the miserable and dying 
 illusions of evil ; that the intrinsic loathsomeness 
 and malignity of sin may never more be cloaked 
 or veiled from my spiritual sight, amidst, the 
 fading allurements or specious deceits with 
 which it can here invest itself; that I may 
 never more yield to that wilful infatuation, 
 which refuses to anticipate the dismal retros- 
 pects of a wounded conscience, and its yet more 
 dismal presages : that I may never more be- 
 come insensible to this momentous truth, that 
 Christian uprightness, and purity, and spiritu- 
 ality, can alone arm the soul against inevitable 
 trials — or prepare it for the region where a 
 holv Saviour dwells. 
 
PBAYEB FOR FELLOW CHKIiSTIANS. 155 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ON THE DUTY AND IMPORTANCE OF PRAYER FOR 
 OUR FELLOW CHRISTL\NS. 
 
 Even if I possessed no other part of revealed 
 truth than the historical books of the Old Testa- 
 ment, yet, by fiiith and attention to these, I 
 should find various encouragement to offer up 
 intercession for the servants of God. The con- 
 descension of Jehovah to Abraham's repeated 
 plea for the righteous in Sodom was an early 
 and impressive sanction of this practice. The 
 many prevailing prayers of Moses for the cho- 
 sen people, by which, at one time, the *' wrath" 
 of the Almighty was averted ; at another, " the 
 fire which burnt among them quenched," and, 
 after a signal instance of murmuring and revolt, 
 their iniquity pardoned according to his word," 
 evince its great occasional efficacy. The in- 
 tense perseverance of that man of God, when, 
 as it appears, he repeatedly " fell down before 
 the Lord forty days and forty nights," on their 
 behalf, shows how deep a conviction he had of 
 the importance of earnest and continued inter- 
 cession, to their welfare ; and the remarkable 
 
156 PRAYER FOR 
 
 v^ords of Samuel in a like case, " As for me, 
 God forbid that I should sin against the Lord in 
 ceasing to pray for you," imply that this was 
 deemed by him an obvious and imperative obh- 
 gation of piety. 
 
 But should I assume (what indeed would be 
 a mere assumption) that the office belonged, 
 chiefly or exclusively, to the prophetic or judi- 
 cial character, and that private worshippers 
 could infer no duty or expectation from the 
 practice or success of these eminent individuals, 
 I cannot examine the New Testament, without 
 finding the general duty and efficacy of such 
 prayers distinctly established. The duty may 
 be strongly inferred from our Saviour's com- 
 mand, that his disciples should pray even for 
 their enemies and persecutors, (w^hich is enjoined 
 as a mode of " doing them good,") particularly 
 when we view this command in connexion with 
 his own wonderful intercession on the cross. 
 The precept is strengthened and urged by that 
 divine example ; and since the part of our 
 Lord's intercessions, which is incomparably most 
 difficult to our corrupt n^iture, was thus de- 
 signed to be imitated by his followers — and 
 was so, in a very striking manner by the mar- 
 tyr Stephen — we cannot doubt that other parts 
 of them, which are far more easily imitable, 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 157 
 
 were also intended to guide the practice of 
 Christians. Instances may be offered from the 
 prayer for the support of Peter's faith, by his 
 gracious Master ; and the large and tender in- 
 tercessions for his disciplesj and for those who 
 should believe on him through their word. It 
 was in reference to an office of kindness, that 
 our Saviour said, " I have given you an exam- 
 ple, that ye should do as I have done unto you :" 
 nor can it be conceived, that so natural a re- 
 source of friendship and sympathy would be 
 neglected, with their heavenly Teacher's pat- 
 tern in their remembrance, and with those and 
 his other words on record, " This is my com- 
 mandment, that ye love one another as I have 
 loved you." 
 
 The efficacy of individual intercession is also 
 pointedly declared in the epistle of James ; 
 " Pray one for another — the fervent, effectual 
 prayer of a righteous man availeth much :" and 
 the apostle John directs Christians to pray for 
 a brother who hath committed sin. But should 
 either or both of these injunctions be thought to 
 relate only to the prayer of those endowed with 
 spiritual gifts for miraculous heahng, there re- 
 mains, in the writings of St. Paul, a store of 
 scriptural proof, as to the general duty and 
 efficacy of intercession for our fellow Christ- 
 14 
 
158 PRAYER FOR 
 
 ians, so abundant and explicit, that, if his apos- 
 tolical claims be acknowledged, this conclusion 
 cannot be evaded. Not only does he exhort to 
 *' intercessions for all men," but especially to 
 " the greatest perseverance in prayer for all the 
 saints." He also declares, in various forms, 
 the constancy and earnestness of his own 
 prayers, both for Christian communities and 
 individuals. Thus to the Roman and Ephesian 
 churches he writes : — " Without ceasing, I 
 make mention of you always in my prayers ;" 
 to the Corinthians, " I thank my God always 
 on your behalf," and " I pray to God that ye 
 do no evil ;" to his friend Philemon, " I thank 
 my God, making mention of thee always in my 
 prayers ;" and to his convert Timothy, " With- 
 out ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my 
 prayers night and day." In other places he 
 states more particularly the subjects of these 
 intercessions. And it is clear that he does not 
 regard the duty as solely or peculiarly belong- 
 ing to his apostolic character, for he informs 
 the Colossians, " Epaphras, who is one of you, 
 a servant of Christ, saluteth you, always labour- 
 ing fervently for you in prayers, that ye may 
 stand perfect and complete in all the will of 
 God ;" — and, what is still more to our purpose, 
 he often solemnly entreats the intercession of 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 159 
 
 Christians for himself and others. Thus, ad- 
 dressing the church at Rome ; " I beseech you, 
 brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and 
 for the love of the Spirit, that ye strive together 
 with me in your prayers to God for me." Simi- 
 lar requests occur in at least four other epistles. 
 The apostle also distinctly attributes powerful 
 effects to the past intercessions of his Christian 
 friends ; for he ascribes to these (at least as a 
 partial means) the deliverance of himself and 
 his companions in Asia, when they had " de- 
 spaired even of life ;" " you also helping toge- 
 ther by prayer for us, that for the gift bestowed 
 on us by the means of many persons, thanks 
 may be given by many on our behalf:" and he 
 expresses a similar expectation as to other 
 events. Thus, after naming to the Philippians 
 a particular trial which he was enduring at 
 Rome, he adds, " I know^ that this shall turn to 
 my salvation, through your prayer, and the 
 supply of the spirit of Jesus Christ." It ap- 
 pears, therefore, to have been particularly 
 designed, that the epistles of Paul, among many 
 other most important instructions, should spe- 
 cially enforce this duty, and encourage us in 
 the persuasion of its benefits. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this fulness of encourage- 
 ment from the Scriptures, have I a higher degree 
 
160 PRAYER FOR 
 
 of secret distrust as to any real good which may 
 arise to Christian friends or communities, from 
 my exercise of this duty, than as to the efficacy 
 of my petitions for personal blessings? — What 
 is the source of such distrust ? Is it that I sup- 
 pose certain scriptural declarations to imph', 
 that ihe prayers of Christians for themselves 
 will be always sufficient to secure their real 
 welfare, and that, therefore, intercessions for 
 them may not be, strictly speaking, needful or 
 beneficial? This would be imputing to the 
 sacred writers acts and admonitions which 
 were insincere or erroneous. If the opinion 
 that intercession would be superfluous could in 
 any particular case have been allowably indulg- 
 ed, it might have been by those converts of St. 
 Paul, who had w- itnessed his miraculous endow^- 
 ments ; and by himself, who yet more surely 
 knew that he was constituted a messenger of 
 Heaven, under a special assurance of protec- 
 tion and success. But such independence of 
 human aid would have nourished a pride and 
 self-sufficiency, to the dangers of which the 
 apostle w^as not insensible. He was made, 
 therefore, habitually to feel, that this protection 
 and success would be dependent on the whole 
 system of means fit to be used, both by himself 
 and others, and that among these a principal 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 161 
 
 one was the divinely instituted duty of interces- 
 sion. On the same conviction the first Christians 
 also acted, even with respect to the chief apos- 
 tles. From the unceasing prayer of the church 
 at Jerusalem, for the release of Peter, (who, in 
 the same city, had proved his divine commis- 
 sion by so many miracles, and from the prayers 
 of the Corinthians, (to which Paul refers, as 
 having contributed to his own rescue from 
 impending death,) we learn that no eminence, 
 personal or official, in the objects of the pious 
 regard of these believers, made them imagine 
 intercession on their behalf to be needless. 
 Much less ought we to doubt its importance 
 and value in respect to ordinary Christians, 
 however superior we may account them to 
 ourselves, or w^hatever certainty we may feel of 
 their genuine devotedness. St. Paul expresses 
 an entire assurance of the perseverance and 
 perfection of his Philippian converts : but almost 
 in the next sentence he offers a prayer for their 
 growth and stability in various graces. And 
 with our intimate sense of the defects and in- 
 equalities of our own prayers, and our observa- 
 tion of the numerous imperfections and severe 
 trials of other Christians — have we not every 
 reason not only to desire the intercession of our 
 brethren, but to conclude that they may justly 
 14* 
 
162 PRAYER FOR 
 
 desire a part even in ours, and to believe that 
 these reciprocal exercises of faith and love, 
 are, through the sovereign and wise appoint- 
 ment of our heavenly Father, mutually needful, 
 and will; through his mercy, be mutually avail- 
 ing ? 
 
 The fact that many intercessions may con- 
 duce to the perseverance and perfection of the 
 believer, is analogous to another very familiar 
 fact, viz : that various causes, seen or unseen, 
 are often made to conduce to success in any 
 secular design. When a person aims at some 
 honourable office, his own diligent preparations, 
 and perhaps solicitations, are indispensable ; but 
 still a few unsolicited w^ords, uttered in his 
 favour by real friends, may just fill up that 
 measure of influence, on others or on himself, 
 which is requisite to the fulfilment of his hopes. 
 And as in other cases, so particularly in refer- 
 ence to spiritual interests and attainments, we 
 can discern (as was hinted before) some weighty 
 reasons for this appointment. If our sense oi 
 the need and value of mutual help be one great 
 bond of civil society, yet more is it adapted to 
 be a bond of Christian society, for it promotes 
 those tempers which are distinctive of the 
 Christian character — humility and love. If I 
 believe, with St. Paul, respecting my fellow 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 163 
 
 Christians, that all thuifrs shall turn to mv sal- 
 ration " through their prayer," in conjunction 
 with my own, then I have not only to be grate- 
 ful for the fountain of " living water," " the 
 supply of the spirit of Jesus Christ," but for the 
 various channels, known and unknown, through 
 which it is partially derived and conveyed. 
 The lowest Christian whom I have sought to 
 benefit, or possibly whom I have overlooked 
 and neglected, may be the instrument of avert- 
 ing from me an evil, or procuring for me a 
 good, the extent of which, neither of us can in 
 this world calculate. Such a belief cannot but 
 promote both '' lowliness of mind," and a senti- 
 ment of affection towards all whom I may 
 believe to fulfil sincerely this office of pious 
 friendship ; for every such person, however 
 unable in other respects to aid me, thus assumes 
 the position of a real benefactor. And this kind 
 of obligation, from whatever quarter it be in- 
 curred, is not, like many others, felt to be a 
 burden. We know that they who affectionately 
 offer prayers for us, enlarge and satisfy their 
 hearts, while, in this benefaction, they present 
 nothing with their hands. We hope, also, that 
 we can return for these expressions of their 
 love, intercessions not less genuine. And be- 
 sides this, there is no doubt, that manv a devout 
 
164 PRAYER FOR 
 
 and grateful heart has felt itself relieved from 
 the oppressive sense of other bounties, when, 
 having nought else to render, it has poured 
 forth in secret its best desires and petitions for 
 their dispenser, to their Divine Author. I have 
 been told that a Christian, distinguished by his 
 large pecuniary beneficence,* strictly enjoined 
 his almoners to prevent the objects of it from 
 thanking him, either personally or by letter, 
 for his ample gifts. He justly alleged the 
 multiplied claims on his time as a reason for 
 this prohibition; and probably the knowledge 
 of his own heart suggested another secret rea- 
 son of equal force. But the restriction was so 
 painful to some grateful receivers of his bounty, 
 as to be submitted to with the utmost reluc- 
 tance. We can well conceive a pious benefi- 
 ciary who was compelled to this unwilling 
 silence, taking refuge from that constraint with 
 greater earnestness in the devotions of the 
 closet ; and the feelings of a full heart, like 
 waters forcibly compressed, rising the more 
 suddenly and strongly towards heaven, because 
 debarred from their natural course on earth. 
 We can imagine such an individual entering 
 on fervent intercessions for that munificent 
 
 * The late Henry Tliornton. 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 165 
 
 friend with sentiments like these ; — You have 
 forbidden every expression of my gratitude to 
 yourself, and I feel this deeply as a hardship ; 
 but you cannot prohibit or impede what I trust 
 will be a more effectual, as well as more une- 
 quivocal testimony of it, my solemn and affec- 
 tionate supplications for your eternal gain, 
 which, 1 humbly hope, will be known by their 
 fruits in the great day of account. 
 
 Love is cherished in the mind, not only by 
 the belief that others will benefit us, but also by 
 the belief that we can, in our turn, confer real 
 good on them. Simply to think of a friend 
 wdth affection, is a very inefficient, and, some- 
 times, a melancholy employment ; but if I can 
 perform a real kindness towards him, however 
 secretly, 1 do that which is pleasurable in itself, 
 and tends, by bringing him often into my 
 thoughts as an object of regard, to unite me 
 more and more with him in heart. If you can 
 carry to a sufferer food or medicine, or advice, 
 or consolation, you will probably visit him fre- 
 quently, and your concern for him will increase. 
 If you could bestow nothing but a look of grief, 
 which you know would be fruitless, you would 
 be likely to turn aside from his door. So he 
 who really believes that he can substantially 
 benefit his Christian friends by prayer on their 
 
166 PRAYER FOE 
 
 behalf, will often bring their characters and 
 circumstances in review before his mind, and 
 by every such mental act, will strengthen the 
 habit of sympathizing affection. And while the 
 practice tends to promote humility and love on 
 earth, the retrospect of it may have the same 
 effect, more eminently, in a future state of social 
 blessedness. Hovv delightfully endearing, in that 
 perfect state, for the circles of pious friendship, 
 and those intimately connected here in Christian 
 communion, fully to feel and know that the 
 eventual happiness of each is to be traced in 
 part, instrumentally, to the intercession of all ; 
 so that, in heaven, as well as on earth, " thanks 
 may be given by many," to God and to each 
 other, on behalf of their associates and them- 
 selves ! May Vv^e not suppose, that the most 
 near and tender friendships of the heavenly 
 world, will subsist between those whose prayers 
 have been most earnest and most prevalent for 
 each other, while they sojourned here ? 
 
 And if w^e can thus perceive a present 
 improvement of the most valuable graces, and 
 a future augmentation of pure and never-ending 
 enjoyments, to be the natural results of this 
 divine institute, truly here is enough to repress 
 and to rebuke every doubt of its importance. 
 
 But perhaps my misgiving as to the efficacy 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 167 
 
 of my ordinary intercessions, arises from this — 
 that I cannot habitually intercede in a copious 
 or distinct manner, even for the near circle of 
 my Christian friends ; still less when the con- 
 nexion is more remote. In the latter cases, my 
 petitions are, of necessity, quite general ; and 
 as to the former, if I include in my daily 
 prayers, all, or most, of those who have some 
 special claim on my remembrance, w^ant of 
 time must prevent these intercessions from 
 being specific or enlarged. 
 
 On this it may be observed, that we cannot 
 suppose a devout Christian will often omit daily 
 intercession, though it be necessarily brief, for 
 the few who are most near and dear. But 
 with respect to other friends, it seems most 
 natural and expedient, that our prayers should 
 be but occasional, in order that they may then 
 be more prolonged. There are very few, even 
 of our best friends, w^hom we can visit daily. 
 How happy would some be if they could meet 
 even yearly ! But if we made it a rule of piety 
 and kindness, daily to offer up particular inter- 
 cession for one individual, or one household, and 
 thus successively for each, these secret visits of 
 the heart would, in many instances, be far more 
 frequent than our personal or epistolary inter- 
 course can be. Amidst the inclemency of 
 
168 PRAYER FOR 
 
 winter, or in the chamber of sickness, we might 
 still make our swift excursions, and offer the 
 best though unheard salutations, of Christian 
 affection : — those friends of course claiming 
 precedence in our thoughts, whose feelings or 
 circumstances were known to demand at the 
 time peculiar sympathy or interest. 
 
 In cases, how^ever, where brevity is necessary, 
 the mistrust which may arise from it is an illu- 
 sion. No number or variety of words can con- 
 stitute the essence or effectiveness of prayer, as 
 viewed by the divine mind. If, indeed, our 
 prayers for ourselves w^ere needlessly brief, 
 scanty and general, this would indicate an 
 absence of desire ; a w^ant of sensibility to our 
 own particular sins and defects ; an undue pre- 
 ference for other engagements ; and a distaste 
 for converse with our Supreme Benefactor. 
 Besides, the attainment of pardon, renovation 
 and final perfection, is our great personal con- 
 cern. It were unreasonable and impracticable, 
 in this as in other affairs, that men should ordi- 
 narily give as much time to the concerns of 
 various friends, severally, as to their own. But 
 the brevity of prayers, even for personal bless- 
 ings, when they are offered amidst really urgent 
 occupation, or under sudden temptation, cannot 
 be supposed to render them less effectual, than 
 
FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 169 
 
 when in other circumstances, our emotions and 
 wants have been ever so copiously developed. 
 Those affecting and sublime words of our Lord, 
 "Father, save me from this hour;" — "Father 
 glorify thy name;" — if we may venture reve- 
 rently to appropriate them in the crisis of danger 
 or distress, will surely, at such a moment, express 
 as much before God, as if our need of succour 
 could be fully unfolded, or our submission lai'gely 
 declared. 
 
 And thus the necessary brevity of many of 
 our intercessions, provided there be in them the 
 real sentiment of Christian love, cannot be deem- 
 ed to lessen their efhcacy. It is this sentiment 
 of " fervent charity," in which we so much need 
 to " abound more and more," that would give 
 to our briefest and most general intercessions a 
 new vitality and power. It was this which 
 melted and shed abroad, in a thousand glowing 
 currents, (if one may speak so,) the heart of the 
 converted Paul ; so that " the whole world," as 
 Fenelon observes, " was too narrow for this 
 heart:" and Chrysostom finely remarks on the 
 affection expressed by that apostle for the church 
 at Philippi : " It was much ' to have them in his 
 heart,' but much more when in chains ; yet more 
 when engaged * in the defence and confirmation 
 of the gospel ;' for he seems to refer to the time 
 15 
 
170 PRAYER FOR FELLOW CHRISTIANS. 
 
 when he was brought before his judges, and 
 underwent the extremity of peril. Even stand- 
 ing there, (he seems to say,) I meditated not how 
 I should be rescued from imminent dangers, or 
 how escape the snares of conspiracy, but I was 
 delighting in your love, and in converse with 
 the absent. Not length of distance, nor the 
 crowd of cares, nor the magnitude of perils ; 
 not the fear of rulers, nor the insurrection of 
 multitudes ; not death impending, not naked 
 swords, not the array of executioners, nor any 
 other object, could sever me from the remem- 
 brance of you. — For nothing is more imperious, 
 nothing more sublime than love ; it flies above 
 all such weapons ; it is loftier than the darts of 
 the great adversary ; from the topmost heaven 
 it looks downward on them all, and as the vehe- 
 mence of a mighty wind sweeps away the oppres- 
 sive dust, so the force of love sweeps away the 
 turmoil of all other passions. Thus it was with 
 Paul. In all events, he had sufficient consola- 
 tion, the salvation and the remembrance of those 
 whom he loved." 
 
IN DEJECTION. 171 
 
 XX. 
 
 ON ENDEAVOURING, AMIDST DEJECTION, TO " LOOK 
 AT THE THINGS WHICH ARE UNSEEN." 
 
 All earthly things appear to thee more dark 
 and cheerless than the clouds of a November 
 day. But why not, by an effort of contempla- 
 tion and by the grace of faith, enter into other 
 scenes and rise to glorious and unchangeable 
 realities ? Knowest thou not, that all the dis- 
 appointments and disgusts of this life will, ere 
 long, be as if they had never been? and has not 
 the word of God assured thee of a mansion, 
 nay, of '• many mansions," where all is grandeur 
 and serenity and love ? 
 
 A prisoner confined in the darkest cell, or an 
 artisan wearied with the most irksome sameness 
 of employment, may transport himself, in thought, 
 to the charms of the fairest landscape, or to 
 dwellings of ease and social pleasure. And 
 although his despondency may be, in some cases, 
 justly deepened, by a well-grounded fear that 
 these enjoyments will never become his, thou, 
 
172 IN DEJECTION. 
 
 who art about to worship the " Father of 
 mercies," by that " new and living way," which 
 Christ " hath consecrated for us," art surely not 
 authorized to cherish the same gloomy appro 
 hension with resrard to things eternal. 
 
 The sacred intercourse with Heaven, in which 
 thou art preparing to engage, implies, if it be 
 sincere, a true desire of celestial good, and of 
 that holiness which qualifies for its possession. 
 And will such a desire be disregarded or frus- 
 trated by " the God of all grace ?' The Divine 
 Teacher and Saviour hath solemnly proclaimed, 
 " Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after 
 righteousness, for they shall be filled." 
 
 Seek then to realise, even as at this moment 
 subsisting in all its glory, a w^orld of perfect 
 purity and joy. Think of the full displays of the 
 divine excellency, which there fill with unmin- 
 gled delight every adoring inhabitant. Try to 
 conceive of that inexpressible peace, combined 
 with an unspeakable energy and ardour of love, 
 which a present God can infuse, and is at this 
 very hour infusing, into happy spirits that encir- 
 cle his throne. Even at this point of time, while 
 thou art depressed by saddening thoughts, and 
 the heavy rain-drops only remind thee of the 
 gloom of external nature, there is a joyful as 
 sembly raising the ceaseless anthem of praise. 
 
IN DEJECTION. 173 
 
 which fills with rapture every being that unites 
 in it. No petty cares, no painful regrets, no 
 distractions of thought, no infirmities of the body 
 or the mind, impede that consentaneous flow of 
 love and ecstasy. Every spirit is absorbed in 
 blissful emotion, incapable of satiety, in deep 
 sympathy with the rest, yet supremely fixed on 
 the overflowing source of all their joy. If it 
 were not for the space that interposes, or per- 
 haps the mortal weakness which forbids, an 
 enrapturing view of the felicity which God 
 imparts to unfallen or restored creatures, might 
 this moment burst upon thee. These particles 
 of light which have just reached thine eye, come 
 tinged with a sort of congenial sadness as they 
 gleam between wintry clouds; yet, it is only 
 eight minutes (as the calculations of science 
 assure us,) since these very particles issued 
 from the glowing sun, the fountain of warmth and 
 radiance. Were it ordained that one or more 
 of them should become the organs of thy disem- 
 bodied being, and in their return — (not swifter 
 than their journey hither,) should bear thee to 
 the orb whence they emanated, fewer moments 
 than thou hast now occupied in one low circle 
 of anxious thought, would sufiice to carry thee 
 into the very focus of the light. The full har- 
 mony of the spheres, might, long before that, 
 
174 IN DEJECTION. f: 
 
 enchant thy new and finer sense ; the glorious 
 companies of the happy miglit visibly surround 
 thee with smiles of gratulation : the cares and 
 dark imaginings of this little scene would have 
 died into remoteness and, perhaps, oblivion. Or 
 possibly, not even any change of place were 
 needful to this change of scene. There might 
 only need to be the fall of the grosser frame, 
 the dissolving of this " tabernacle," to reveal a 
 world of blissful existence even here; as the 
 mountain in Dothan, when God opened the eyes 
 of the prophet's desponding servant, was full 
 of " horses and chariots of fire round about 
 Elisha." 
 
 But whatever be the fact (as to nearness or 
 remoteness) w^ith regard to created glories, the 
 Lord of glory is ever with thee. He who gives 
 being and perpetuity to all those unseen joys is 
 Iicre. " Do 1 not fill heaven and earth ? saitb 
 the Lord." Wilt thou then approach, as s 
 worshipper, this God of glory, with a dull and 
 unmoved heart ? After one glance at what is 
 now existing and transacting in some other 
 region (perhaps even in this region) of his 
 works, wilt thou be faint and feeble-minded to 
 implore his Holy Spirit — the earnest of a parti- 
 cipation in his own felicity ? Has not " the God 
 of all patience and comfort," by the lips of his 
 
IN DEJECTION. 175 
 
 beloved Son, most emphatically promised to 
 them that ask him, this divine gift, this inesti- 
 mable pledge ? Is it a gift to be sought coldly, 
 or entreated carelessly? — even the sovereign 
 blessing of Him that has all the springs of joy ? 
 Surely the indifference or distaste which is 
 now experienced by thee with regard to the 
 ordinary comforts and occupations of this life, 
 will not be allowed to extend to those heavenly 
 hopes which are essentially and everlastingly 
 worthy of thy warmest pursuit. They will not 
 be allowed to reach that state where there will 
 be an eternal plenitude of spiritual delights, 
 adequate to the satisfaction of immortal desires, 
 and where these hallowed desires can them- 
 selves never languish or decline. Awake, O 
 candidate for an incorruptible crown ; address 
 thyself to " the Father of lights," as if some 
 ray from the glory and beauty of his heavenly 
 temple were poured upon thine inward vision ; 
 as if some faint echo of the hallelujahs of the 
 perfect had fallen on thine ear ! 
 
176 POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ON THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING, (IN A SINFUL OR 
 INSENSIBLE TEMPER OF MIND,) HOW THE AL- 
 MIGHTY CAN CORRECT. 
 
 The thought of our own death, and of the 
 life which follows, (when impressively present- 
 ed, and deeply received into the mind,) is a 
 thought of unequalled power. But it is not the 
 only thought which can produce a salutary 
 dread, or revive our impaired sense of the awful 
 truth, that " The Lord God omnipotent reign- 
 eth." There are possibihties and probabilities, 
 which, by their number, their variety, and their 
 apprehended nearness in point of time, may 
 affect me more than the foresight of that last 
 event, which, though inevitably certain, is gen- 
 erally thought of as distant. 
 
 Now that my mind is, in a great measure, 
 unmoved by the truth or awfulness of God's 
 moral government, and the infinite importance 
 of his favour, I should endeavour to call up the 
 reflection how entire is my dependence, and in 
 
POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 177 
 
 how many ways I am vulnerable. When the 
 great poet of mythology represents " the Lord 
 of the unerring bow," as bending it against the 
 Grecian hosts, and discliarging arrows " bright 
 with an immortal's vengeance," he does but use 
 the same figure (though with a peculiar and 
 beautiful appropriation of it to the destructive 
 sunbeams) which the poets of the true theology 
 had before applied to the visitations, (whether 
 visible or invisible,) of a power really divine. 
 Job had exclaimed, •' The arrows of the Al- 
 mighty are within me !" David cried out in 
 anguish, " Thine arrows stick fast in me !" 
 And what figure can more truly or forcibly, 
 represent our exposed condition here, than that 
 which the former of these sacred writers adopts, 
 when he says, " God hath set me up for his 
 mark; his archers compass me round about." 
 Mine is the condition of one who is open to 
 the flying points of unnumbered arrows. How 
 silently, how secretly, may the darts of bodily 
 or mental suffering reach me ! The shaft of 
 death may strike suddenly and in succession 
 those that are dearest, till I am ready to adopt 
 that mournful expostulation, " Insatiate archer, 
 could not one suffice V The viewless dart of 
 pain may touch a minute vessel, or a minuter 
 nerve, and all earthly comfort be suspended, 
 
178 POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 
 
 while that hidden wound is unhealed. Or what 
 is still more keen and often less curable, the 
 barb sharpened by calumny or unkindness, by 
 the misconduct or calamities of another, or by 
 spiritual dejection and terror, may " enter into 
 my soul." Of all these kinds, (and how innu- 
 merable the individual varieties of each !) are 
 the weapons of the just and holy God, *' the 
 arrows of his quiver." They are sometimes 
 the missiles of an instant, more rapid than the 
 darting beams that glanced pestilence on the 
 dying Greeks. Would not the actual pang from 
 but one of these, at once painfully awaken me 
 to my need of divine help and healing? And 
 can I doubt, that, amidst my numberless provo- 
 cations, on me also he hath, as it were, " bent 
 his bow, and made it ready?" Yet how seldom 
 has the arrow flown ! And how frequently has 
 it come like an arrow spent or blunted, which 
 might have had a tenfold force or keenness, but 
 for the forbearance or gentleness of that mighty 
 arm which directed it ? What multiplied occa- 
 sions have I had to acknowledge — " He maketh 
 sore, and bindeth up; — He woundeth, and his 
 hands make whole !" 
 
 Nor ought I to consider these arrows of the 
 Almighty, even when their wound has been the 
 deepest, and still rankles, as sent, (like those of 
 
POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 179 
 
 the fabled divinity,) in vengeance. Never can 
 this be supposed, except when they are commis- 
 sioned against the utterly hardened and incorri- 
 gible. What can be more agonizing than those 
 'wounds both of the body and the spirit, which 
 Job describes ? — "He cleaveth my reins asunder, 
 and doth not spare ; He poureth out my gall 
 upon the ground." And yet it is most manifest 
 that these w^ere the " faithful wounds" of a 
 heavenly " Friend." He who " corrects in 
 measure," may have " bent his bow like an 
 enemy;" indeed, He says more than this by 
 the prophet to his servant Israel : " I have 
 wounded thee with the wound of an enemy, 
 with the chastisement of a cruel one ;" which 
 incontrovertibly shows how " grievous," how 
 apparently " incurable," may be the pang that 
 is yet at other times inflicted in mercy. For 
 "what is the sequel ? "1 will restore health unto 
 thee, and I will heal thee of thy w^ounds, saith 
 the Lord." 
 
 Finding in the Scripture such facts and such 
 assurances, I should wrong and affront the 
 divine perfection, by imagining that present 
 chastisement, even when it is the immediate 
 effect of sin, is inflicted for any other than a 
 restoring purpose. It were comparing the 
 righteous and merciful God to the most evil 
 
180 POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 
 
 and merciless of men, to account his arrows 
 envenomed. Rather let me believe that the 
 sharpest are dipped in balm. It is true, the 
 patriarch, in the impassioned language of suffer- 
 ing, says, '* The poison thereof drinketh up my 
 spirit;" but the poison originates and ferments 
 only in the disordered frame which is pierced. 
 Even when revengeful men and malignant 
 spirits are employed as the " archers" of Him 
 who corrects man for iniquity, still he has all 
 power and grace to make their enmity subser- 
 vient to the purposes of his own loving-kind- 
 ness. 
 
 But w hile this consolatory caution with regard 
 to the gracious designs of Him w^ho is all-power- 
 ful, cannot be too deeply impressed on me, let 
 me not forget the situation in which I really am, 
 while on earth, and which the scriptural meta- 
 phor so aptly expresses. Still, even to the end 
 of my course, I shall be like a pilgrim " in the 
 wilderness of Paran," among the predatory 
 tribes of Ishmael, " a mark for his archers." 
 The next moment can wing an unseen arrow, 
 and fix a smart which no human skill may 
 avert or mitigate, or perhaps discern. I see 
 continually the effects of these darts on some 
 around me ; but there is a far greater multitude 
 which are unobserved, and many in whom the 
 
POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 181 
 
 wound is as latent as the weapon's flight. Not 
 that this exposed state of our pilgrimage should 
 occasion dismay. The soldiers of a wretched 
 ambition, (even unshielded as ihey are in modern 
 warfare,) have exhibited astonishing intrepidity 
 and calmness in the thickest perils of battle ; a 
 temper of mind which denotes insane presump- 
 tion, when we consider the cause in which they 
 have been engaged, and the flagrant contempt 
 of God's power and law which their lives have 
 often evinced. But he who venerates the ever- 
 present power, has all reason for coin'age and 
 confidence. Our God at once directs the as- 
 sailants, and provides the defence of his serv- 
 ants. Though " his troops come together, and 
 raise up their way against me, and encamp 
 round about my tent ;" — " the angel of the Lord 
 encampeth" (more closely) " round about them 
 that fear him ;" not indeed to ward off every 
 assault, or avert every weapon, but to afford 
 such aids as the all-wise and gracious Ruler 
 has himself appointed. 
 
 Yet nothing can be more apparent than that 
 a remiss, unwatchful, and, if I may so term it, 
 uncinctured frame of spirit, is entirely unsuited 
 to a state in which pains and perils continually 
 impend ; that indulgence in what is wrong, or 
 neglect of what is right, gives actual cause for 
 16 
 
182 POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 
 
 these chastisements. So that when they are 
 inflicted, conscience, except it be seared or 
 stupified, will interpret them as penalties, and 
 sometimes with the dread that they are merely 
 judicial, not corrective ; an apprehension which, 
 though it be erroneous, yet, while it continues, 
 awfully increases their severity. Besides, that 
 many of the ills of life are express and special 
 penalties, (though of the merciful and corrective 
 kind,) no believer of the Scriptures can doubt. 
 God himself says, " 1 have wounded thee — for 
 the multitude of thine iniquities, because thy sins 
 were increased." 
 
 Even if I could always maintain the alleviat- 
 ing persuasion that punishment is designed in 
 mercy, this does not wholly change its nature 
 as punishment ; still less does it therefore cease 
 to be " for the present — grievous." Though the 
 arrow be commissioned to do the heahng office 
 of the lancet, I can scarcely expect to feel as- 
 sured of this when it pierces me. But if I 
 should, it may yet be clear that I have brought 
 on myself the disease which calls for so sharp a 
 remedy; nor may the wound in itself be less 
 deep, nor the pain less acute, than if it had 
 come from an enemy's quiver. Am I then 
 slumbering when I should press onward ? Have 
 I not to expect, continuing in this position, to be 
 
POWER OF GOD TO CORRECT. 183 
 
 speedily roused by some quickening dart 1 Am 
 I loitering, while the sun of life declines, or have 
 I diverged into some path " the ends whereof 
 are the ways of death ?" May I not then, with 
 certainty, conclude that He who " marketh all 
 my paths," has even now " made ready his 
 arrow upon the string," and that if I persevere, 
 I shall not return without a bleeding heart or a 
 wounded spirit ? Unless love to God (that pure 
 and delightful motive to vigilance against all sin, 
 and zeal in every duty) were perfected in me, I 
 cannot but need the harsh checks and incentives 
 of fear: and if I fail to contemplate feehngly 
 the more awful, but more distant objects of fear, 
 it behoves me to reflect on those which are at 
 hand ; the terrors or sufferings which, if God 
 will, " shall make me afraid on every side." 
 Have I endured "corporal sufferance" and 
 mental anguish in time past ? Do I remember, 
 if not the nature and degree, yet the effects of 
 each, so as thus to compute, in some measure, 
 what was their intenseness ? Do not I know to 
 w^hat an excruciating extremity these might be 
 raised by Him who sustains my very existence ? 
 Am I not well aware that the same Power that 
 " redeemeth my life from destruction," can cause 
 me, before another sun phall rise, to " water my 
 couch with my tears ?" What stronger or more 
 
184 WANT OF JOY SHOULD 
 
 immediate temporal motive for thanksgiving can 
 I have than the present undeserved forbearance 
 of God? What more pressing argument can 
 be addressed to me than these " innumerable 
 evils" to which I am obnoxious, to excite con- 
 stant and earnest prayer for his holy keeping, 
 and unrelaxing watchfulness against those trans- 
 gressions and neglects, w^hich, doubtless, are 
 often the direct cause of suffering, and whicn 
 always form its bitterest aggravation ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ON THAT DISCOURAGEMENT IN PRAYER WHICH 
 ARISES FROM THE WANT OF SENSIBLE FER- 
 VOUR AND JOY. 
 
 Fenelon expresses the remarkable opinion, 
 that " We never pray so purely, as when we 
 are tempted to believe that we are no longer 
 really praying because we cease to taste a 
 certain pleasure in prayer." This is adapted to 
 afford to some minds a most valuable encour- 
 agement, provided they are convinced that it is 
 
NOT DISCOURAGE PRAYIJR. 185 
 
 founded on truth, and may be received with 
 safety. But the very state of mind to which it 
 applies, is that in which we are prone to view 
 all encouragement with suspicion. 
 
 It may be right to premise, (in order to pre- 
 clude any perversion of the sentiments which 
 follow,) that there is a kind of suspicion, which 
 it is a Christian's duty ever to investigate. The 
 want of enjoyment in devotion may doubtless 
 be often traced to the indulgence of some sin. 
 It should, therefore, lead us the more seriously 
 to faithful self-examination, extending to the 
 allowed state of the thoughts and affections; 
 and should induce redoubled watchfulness 
 against all that is evil, as a canker at the root 
 of spiritual joy. — On the other hand, it would 
 be most unwarrantable to affirm, that Fenelon, 
 so distinguished for a self-scrutinizing and self- 
 denying piety, was grossly deceived as to the 
 state of his own heart. It would be presump- 
 tuous to suppose that the Father of our spirits 
 cannot, or does not, try his servants by spiritual 
 privations, as well as in any other manner, 
 without peculiar provocation on their part. 
 And it would be cruel, as well as presumptu- 
 ous, to decide for the individual who mourns 
 under such destitution, that it necessarily flows 
 from his own sins, (otherwise than as all suffer- 
 16* 
 
186 WANT OF JOY SHOULD 
 
 ings originally spring from that source,) or that 
 it is absolutely removable by his own efforts. 
 
 It is undeniable, that perseverance in a duty 
 ■when unattended with pleasure, is a stronger 
 test of principle, than the most ample indul- 
 gence in a privilege which proves its own 
 immediate blessing. 
 
 But while we must admit that some principle 
 is evinced, we are apt (under that painful 
 privation of devotional enjoyment) to inquire, 
 Is it the principle of faith by which I am 
 actuated, or is it a mere effort of conscience, 
 which, to appease its fears, attempts to feign a 
 sacred engagement ? Can we be said to exer- 
 cise real faith, except our prayer be not by 
 self-constraint, but wiUingly ; and unless, in the 
 course of it, w^e attain some joyful or pleasing 
 views of the divine perfections and promises 1 
 — I apprehend we may ; and even that a mucli 
 stronger exercise of faith may be inferred from 
 our " continuing instant" in stated prayer, while 
 such views are not imparted, than from the 
 greatest copiousness of devotion, amidst the 
 fervour of elevated and hopeful feeling. 
 
 It was indeed elsewhere observed, that a 
 lively, joyful faith, is an exercise not only of 
 belief but of imagination, (or vivid concep- 
 tion ;) but it is far from following, as a just 
 
NOT DISCOURAGE PRAYER. 187 
 
 consequence, that faith, without this cheering 
 auxiliary, cannot be genuine, steadfast, or tena- 
 cious. We are accustomed to speak of the 
 light or the eye of faith ; by which we mean 
 belief combined with that powerful conception 
 of its objects which is highly gratifying, and 
 doubtless, sometimes, highly profitable, to the 
 mind possessing it. But the devout and elo- 
 quent author whom I have quoted, often speaks 
 of the " darkness," the " profound night of pure 
 faith," by which he means a mere belief, 
 divested of those accessary aids of imagina- 
 tion and sentiment. And it is manifest, that 
 such a mere belief, if it prompt to supplication 
 and to action, attests its own strength far more 
 clearly, than that which is reinforced and sus- 
 tained by pleasurable emotions. It may indeed 
 have much more of doubt to contend with ; 
 for suspended apprehension, regarding spiritual 
 or unseen objects, is very much allied to doubt. 
 But then the continued life and action and 
 conflict of faith, amidst such doubt, give pow- 
 erful proof of its reality and force, « 
 We can imagine two seamen navigating op- 
 posite shores of the same broad ocean. — On one, 
 the sun has genially risen, and cheers his heart 
 as it scatters brightness over the rippling waves. 
 A favourable gale springs up. He is bidden to 
 
188 WANT OF JOY SHOULD 
 
 weigh anchor and hoist all sail. He obeys with 
 alacrity and delight. There is no sense of fa- 
 tigue or reluctancy. With every strain of the 
 cable his heart bounds homeward. He seems 
 to descry already the cliffs of his native shore, 
 and his loud cheers keep time with his animated 
 efforts. — On the other, the dew of night is fall- 
 ing, or the sharp blast whistles around him. 
 Every star is hidden. The vessel makes no 
 way. Nothing can be seen, and. he hears only 
 the gloomy dash of the billow. He is directed 
 to ascend the mast, to reef a sail, to labour at 
 the pump. He steadily obeys : but it is in sad- 
 ness. His heart is heavy, and his eye dull. 
 No lively anticipation of the desired haven 
 visits his mind. No note of animation or plea- 
 sure is heard. Still he continues instant in toil. 
 Will it be said that this man shows no genuine 
 trust or fidelity ? Rather, surely, that the prin- 
 ciple of faith or confidence is much more deci- 
 sively proved and exhibited by him, than by the 
 first named. 
 
 1^ Discouragements of the kind now referred to, 
 may furlher be alleviated by some other con- 
 siderations. If it were the fact that prayer 
 cannot be true or effectual, unless attended with 
 some degree of pleasurable excitement, then, 
 (as it would be strictly wdiat I have termed it, 
 
NOT DISCOURAGE PRAYER. 189 
 
 indulgence in a privilege,) there could be little 
 or no place for our Lord's injunction, " that 
 men ought always to pray, and not to faint ;'" 
 or for the parallel admonition of St. Paul re- 
 specting it, that believers should " watch there- 
 unto with all perseverance." In an employment 
 which was always gratifying, there could be 
 little danger of our fainting, except, indeed, 
 from the exhausting action of continued plea- 
 sure on our present feeble faculties. And it 
 was obviously not to such fainting that our 
 Saviour referred, but to that which arises from 
 weariness in an arduous pursuit, when not im- 
 mediately or speedily requited. If prayer w^ere 
 habitually a highly pleasing occupation, we 
 must employ a strenuous self-denial in leaving 
 it for the ordinary duties of life. 
 
 Some contemplative and fervid minds have 
 actually had to practise this self-denial in turn- 
 ing from the pleasures of devotion, even to the 
 labours by which they were spiritually to bene- 
 fit others, and much more to those secular en- 
 gagements which they deemed quite inferior. 
 Such was their kind of trial : and a most envia- 
 ble kind of trial it appears; inasmuch as the 
 very temptations of such persons have been 
 towards the highest good, and their very ten- 
 dencies to error have contained the proof of 
 their spirituality. 
 
190 WANT OF JOY SHOULD 
 
 Our trials may be of an opposife and humilia- 
 ting character. But it is a lesson which, in the 
 school of Christ, we are often early and im- 
 pressively taught, and may need to be taught 
 vet more, that we are not to be the choosers of 
 our discipline ; that we are not to select the 
 class in which we will be piacea, nor the tasks 
 we will attempt, nor the mode of their inculca- 
 tion, nor the sort of correction we will endure. 
 
 If we Vr'ere indulged in this selection, who 
 doubts that we should decline all chastisement 
 but what is almost nominal, all tasks but what 
 are brief and easy, and involving in them some 
 portion of excitement and self-applause ? By a 
 half unconscious artifice, we should allot to our- 
 selves those penalties, and those performances, 
 v.'hich, while they might prove grievous or diffi- 
 cult to some others, would be comparatively 
 light to us, and at the same time w^ould foster 
 self-complacency. Our self-imposed crosses 
 would be, like those made of amber by the 
 I^apists of Sicily, of the lightest material that 
 could gratify pride. 
 
 But in all this there would be nothing to pro- 
 mote the spirit which befits all creatures, and, 
 most of all, apostate creatures ; — the spirit of 
 unreserved, undissembled submission to the just 
 sovereignty of God. 
 
NOT DISCOURAGE PRAYER. 191 
 
 Let me then, in spiritual, as well as in tempo- 
 ral things, seek that temper which knows " how 
 to be abased," as well as "how to abound." 
 Let me persevere in prayer, " watching there- 
 unto," from pure confidence in the Author of 
 good ; from mere faith in his perfections, though 
 not feelingly discerned ; from a desire of that 
 final blessedness which will glorify Him, without 
 impatience even for the smallest portion of that 
 present joy, which might " exalt me above mea- 
 sure." — It may be added that it is not, perhaps, 
 sufficiently considered by susceptible minds, 
 how small a portion of heavenly joy, (awakened 
 by a disclosure of divine favour and approach- 
 ing bUss,) might produce mental alienation or 
 bodily disease. 
 
 But we may be, sometimes, tempted to argue 
 — that destitute as I am of lively enjoyment in 
 devotion, where is my pledge or token of pre- 
 paredness for the sacred pleasures of heaven? 
 Is there not rather a fearful intimation of my 
 spirit being un-attuned for the employments of 
 that bhssful society? Rather let me admit, 
 that perseverance in pious exercises, under con- 
 tinued humiliation and discouragement, may be 
 accepted as a proof, that a divine hand upholds 
 my steps, though it scatters no flowers on my 
 path ; that it gives strength, though not buoy- 
 
192 WANT OF JOY SHOULD 
 
 ancy ; that a sacred influence prompts my de- 
 sires, though it does not sensibly gratify them.- 
 
 If we saw a youth, in hours of full health and 
 vivacity, and under some peculiar stimulus from 
 circumstances, applying himself to scientific re- 
 searches wdth ardour and delight, we might pre- 
 dict — that he will distinguish himself at college. 
 And he too might secretly join in the prediction 
 with a sanguine self-congratulating spirit; but 
 if we saw him under languor and discourage- 
 ment, forcing himself to pursue his object, from 
 a conviction of its excellence, although with 
 very little vigour, and with no sense of pleasure, 
 we should not infer, that he could not be pre- 
 pared in other circumstances, to excel and to 
 enjoy. We should rather say — Here is a prin- 
 ciple which nothing can wholly subvert, a taste 
 so deeply implanted, that nothing can eradicate 
 it. Here is vegetation under the snow ; shall 
 we despair of the ripening of the grain in due 
 time? 
 
 Some Christians may, perhaps, best account 
 for this severe kind of inward trial, by con- 
 sidering more practically the express scriptural 
 assurances, that real chastisement is the need- 
 ful portion of the sons of God. This needful 
 portion must be, in some way, effectually dis- 
 pensed. In several ages of the church, it has 
 
NOT DISCOURAGE PRAYER. 193 
 
 been externally and conspicuously great and 
 severe. But in the present age, there are a 
 vast majority, to whom it has not been dis- 
 pensed, as of old, in the form of persecution, in 
 fines, or bonds, or scourges, or cruel mockings. 
 Many have not encountered it in the opposition 
 of friends, or the malice of foes. Many, hke- 
 M^ise, have not endured poverty or open re- 
 proach, nor suffered the most aggravated of 
 relative afflictions. But where the external 
 dispensations of Providence are thus compara- 
 tively indulgent, w^ere there no internal pains to 
 balance the account, the Christian would pass 
 through his state of pupilage without any 
 decisive experience of that chastisement, 
 " whereof" (an apostle declares) " all are par- 
 takers." And since he plainly adds, that our 
 spiritual adoption would be disproved by its 
 absence, how just the fears to which such an 
 exemption might give rise ! We may be grate- 
 ful, therefore, (amidst secret privations and 
 pains,) if our heivvenly Father employs those 
 hidden resources " to humble us and to prove 
 us," that so we need not question our filial 
 relation to him, on account of being screened 
 from a " great fight of" external " affliction." 
 
 Will it, however, still be asked, since these 
 resources of paternal chastisement are bound- 
 17 
 
194 WANT OF JOY IN PRAYER. 
 
 less, why this particular trial, this destitu- 
 tion of enjoyment in his own service? The 
 question still proceeds on a presumed ability 
 and right to choose ; and yet, if other modes of 
 inward trial were offered, which would we 
 accept ? Would we be assailed by sudden and 
 excruciating temptation ? Would we exchange 
 our present privations for the actual infliction 
 of the acutest bodily pain, or for that horror of 
 spirit with which some devout minds have been 
 overwhelmed? 
 
 If those trials, as being perhaps more tempo- 
 rary, would be really less difficult to bear, may 
 not that be precisely the reason why this trial 
 has in wisdom and mercy been assigned us ? 
 What is it we prize and desire the most ? Is it 
 spiritual joy? Is it tenderness and compla- 
 cency in devotion? Is it the sense of God's 
 gracious presence ? Here then is the point at 
 which the self-renunciation demanded in the 
 gospel is thoroughly put to the proof. We are 
 to trust God with our all ; with the best and 
 noblest enjoyments, as well as those which are 
 inferior. This is the ultimate test. He can pro- 
 long our deprivations as he sees to be best ; but 
 He can, also, at any moment, terminate them, 
 imparting " manifold more in this present time, 
 and in the world to come life everlasting." 
 
DEVOTION IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 195 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ON THE MEANS OF MAINTAINING A DEVOTIONAL 
 HABIT AND SPIRIT IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 
 
 A LIFE of business, (taking the term in its 
 largest sense,) is a more usual life than some 
 persons imagine. The great majority of men 
 are actively engaged in secular pursuits, and 
 obviously cannot command any large share of 
 time for retirement. The multitude labour with 
 their hands ; and the middle classes, either in a 
 lighter sort of labours, or in superintending 
 those of others, have more exercise of mind, 
 with sometimes not mucii less fatigue of body. 
 In the higher departments of commerce, and 
 still more in the employments called professional, 
 this mental application is often unremitted and 
 arduous ; and even there it is frequently com- 
 bined with much bodily exertion. Nor can he 
 have seen much of society, nor reflected much 
 on its constitution, who supposes that in the 
 sphere where acquisition of property ceases to 
 be the object of industry, there is no such thing 
 as a life of business, properly so called. The 
 contrary is most apparent with respect to sta- 
 
196 MEANS OF DEVOTION 
 
 tions of public service, such as those of the 
 legislator and magistrate; and of Christians 
 who dedicate themselves, with a far higher aim 
 than temporal emolument, to the ministry of 
 religion. 
 
 But, not to speak of these situations, even a 
 life called private may be a life of business, by 
 the diversity of engagements which it rightly 
 and in most cases necessarily includes. Indeed 
 the prudent management of that property which 
 confers leisure, generally requires frequent per- 
 sonal attention. And even where such attention 
 can be deputed, there will still be many cases 
 which cannot be wholly devolved on others, but 
 to which the principal's time is also claimed. 
 Besides this, many undefined and occasional 
 occupations, which cannot well be avoided, 
 though it would be difficult to class or enume- 
 rate them, enter largely into every one's ex- 
 penditure of minutes. 
 
 An ingenious French WTiter has constructed a 
 systematic register for noting with great brevity 
 the several employments of time; and the 
 classes of occupation to which separate columns 
 are there assigned, (even omitting those which 
 are quite optional, and those in which a devo- 
 tional person is not likely to engage,) will show 
 that even in private life, or what is termed a 
 
IN A LIFE OP BUSINESS. 197 
 
 life of leisure, each period of twenty-four hours 
 must usually be divided into not a few sections. 
 " Sleep," and " repasts" cannot be excluded, 
 though they naight sometimes be abridged ; 
 while " bodily exercises" ought in many in- 
 stances to be prolonged : " religious exercises" 
 are the object of our present remarks; "do- 
 mestic relations," " afflxirs of economy and or- 
 der," cannot with justice or comfort be neglected; 
 " reading," " correspondence," " society," have 
 more or less their several claims. We may 
 add, that the characteristics of the present age, 
 particularly the habit of an increased mental 
 culture, and the many institutions for promoting 
 the good of the community, present si^h de- 
 mands on the time of the less occupied, that a 
 man of leisure, (except secluded in his residence,) 
 must resolutely shun what appear to be just 
 claims for attention and exertion, in order not 
 to lead something very much like a life of busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Nor does this apply exclusively to our own 
 sex. Though it will not be attempted to detail 
 the engagements of the other, observation as- 
 sures us, that without being either frivolous or 
 inappropriate, they may often be sufficiently nu- 
 merous and engrossing, to constitute, if not a life 
 of business, yet certainly a busy life. 
 17* 
 
198 MEANS OF DEVOTION 
 
 All this, the progress of wealth and know- 
 ledge has promoted. In the ruder state of soci- 
 ety, toil is chiefly bodily, and, where not urged 
 by an oppressor, has considerable intervals of 
 inaction. To a numerous class, civilization 
 renders daily life less laborious, but more en- 
 tirely occupied. Especially it augments, for 
 many, the toils of the mind ; and even where 
 these are not stated and obligatory, it yet multi- 
 plies our mental occupations and cares. Nor 
 do we question the good tendencies of this ; for 
 it has been truly said, " Man is born for action, 
 as the fire tends upward, and the stone descends. 
 Not to be occupied and not to exist is for man 
 the sajnG thing." Dr. Isaac Barrow treats with 
 severe contempt " the passable" (popular) " no- 
 tion. What is a gentleman but his pleasure ?' — 
 "If this be true," (he observes,) " if a gentleman 
 be nothing else but this, then truly he is a sad 
 piece, the most inconsiderable, the most despi- 
 cable, the most pitiable and wretched creature 
 in the world."—" But" (he adds) " in truth it is 
 far otherwise. To suppose that a gentleman is 
 loose from business is a great mistake ; for in- 
 deed no man hath more to do, no man lieth 
 under greater obligations to industry than he." 
 
 Yet multipHcity or abundance of occupation, 
 whether it be imposed on us by circumstances, 
 
IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 199 
 
 or voluntarily engaged in, will be attended with 
 evil, if it prevent the right performance of any 
 important duty ; if, from over-pressure, or dis- 
 sipation, or exhaustion of mind, we have not 
 calmness, or elasticity, or strength, for what is 
 incumbent on us. Different minds are qualified 
 to bear, (and even require, in order to their 
 complete action,) different measures of labour 
 and responsibility ; as certain machines require 
 to be regulated, some by appending a less and 
 some a greater weight. 
 
 Amont? the hazards incident to much and 
 diverse occupation, (probably the greatest, in the 
 Christian's view,) will be that of its impairing 
 the spirit of devotion. One is, however, very 
 reluctant to believe, (unless it be in other 
 respects too weighty and various for the mind 
 embarked in it,) that it can of necessity have 
 this effect; because full employment, besides 
 being necessary to the comfortable subsistence 
 of most persons, is in many points so beneficial 
 to all ; and because, also, it agrees so well with 
 the short term of human fife and with the 
 variety of human wants. It is, therefore, of 
 great importance to consider, whether we may 
 not, to a certain point, diligently employ our 
 time and thoughts in active duties, without any 
 detriment to devotional habits. 
 
200 MEANS OF DEVOTION 
 
 That there is less choice of time, and less 
 amount of it in any single undivided portion, 
 for persons, so employed, to devote to contem- 
 plation and prayer, is evident. There appear, 
 however, to be well-tried means, by which, if 
 faithfully pursued, they may hope to secure an 
 equal share of the substance and spirit of piety. 
 
 One of these is the rigorous reservation of a 
 certain and fixed period, in each day, for reli- 
 gious exercises, which no claims of business, or 
 of any other ordinary kind shall infringe. In 
 order to this, the practice of early rising, on 
 other accounts so advantageous and commend- 
 able, is to a Christrian actively engaged in busi- 
 ness, indispensable. The earliest hour is with 
 some the only season secure from interruption; 
 and even were a late hour of evening equally 
 so, this time, though doubtless proper for devo- 
 tion, is by no means so favourable to its vigor- 
 ous, enlarged and profitable performance. If 
 there be any season when the mind is unwearied 
 and unruffled, it must, (in an ordinary state of 
 health and of domestic affairs,) be the first 
 morning hour. An imperative rule of early 
 devotion, were everything really made to bend 
 and yield to it, would very much govern the 
 whole scheme of life ; for by rendering neces- 
 sary, to most persons, a proportionably early 
 
IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 201 
 
 time of retiring to rest, it would preclude those 
 midnight toils and midnight recreations, (though 
 the latter term can be applied but in irony,) from 
 which piety and health, it is behoved, have suf- 
 fered like loss. While tenacious of this early 
 hour of solitude, the man of business, except his 
 best desires be dormant, will be fully awake to 
 its value. Well knowing that he cannot, like the 
 recluse, choose among other hours, he will 
 solemnly apply himself to improve the conse- 
 crated moments which he has redeemed from 
 indulgence, and guarded from intrusion. Were 
 we debarred from uninterrupted intercourse 
 with the dearest relative, except daily or week- 
 ly at a fixed hour, as some state prisoners and 
 victims of persecution have been, it is possible 
 that more affection would be expressed, more 
 consolation sought and obtained, in those limited 
 interviews, than while in the possession of con- 
 stant and undisturbed access. Thus we may 
 believe, that, where the heart really craves 
 spiritual blessings, a season of devotion is more 
 beneficially used by the man of business, in his 
 treasured allotment of sacred time, than by the 
 hermit in his cell or wilderness, where nothing 
 need interrupt a free and protracted intercourse 
 with Heaven. 
 
 The case, how^ever, of the most busy among 
 
202 MEANS OF DEVOTION 
 
 Christians is far from analogous to that of the 
 prisoner, restricted to a few stated interviews 
 of affection. We cannot forget the privilege 
 which enables the most active to multiply their 
 opportunities of devotion ; that of seizing brief 
 intervals of mental engagement, for devout 
 thoughts and aspirations. No restraint, no so- 
 ciety, no interruption, can wholly forbid access 
 to a Friend ever present and invisible, *' to 
 whom all hearts are open." If we could hap- 
 pily so control our minds, that they should turn 
 and ascend, (even in our unclaimed moments,) to 
 the best objects of meditation and desire, then 
 the most conscientious economists of time would 
 not have to reckon those portions of it lost in 
 which they had resorted to no visible employ- 
 ment. They are lost, only because we are slow, 
 and poor proficients in the secret direction of 
 the mind : or they are partially lost, because 
 we are not so "fervent in spirit" as to render 
 the contemplation intent, and the prayer definite; 
 which alone could give a substantial character 
 to each. 
 
 Fenelon, a man full of cares himself, gives 
 the following counsels as the dictates of long, 
 personal experience : — " We must reserve the 
 needful hours for communion with God in 
 prayer. Persons who are in considerable 
 
IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 203 
 
 ofRces, have so many indispensable duties to 
 fulfil, that scarcely any time remains to them 
 for communion with God, except they strictly 
 apply themselves to its regulation. It is neces- 
 sary then to be firm in adopting and observing 
 a rule. Our rigour in this may seem excessive ; 
 but without it all falls into confusion. We are 
 dissipated and relaxed. We lose our strength. 
 We are insensibly at a distance from God." On 
 the other point, (frequency of mental devotion.) 
 his advice is more expHcit and minute : — " We 
 must turn all our moments to account; when 
 waiting for some one, when going from place to 
 place, when with persons so willing to talk that 
 we have only to let them proceed, one lifts up 
 the heart for an instant, to God, and one is thus 
 renovated for further engagements. We must 
 lay hold of all intervening moments. It is not 
 with piety as with temporal affairs. Those 
 demand undisturbed and stated periods for 
 unbroken and long application ; but piety needs 
 not an application so lengthened, close and 
 continuous. In a moment one may recall the 
 presence of God, love him, adore him, offer to 
 him what is done or suffered, and tranquillize 
 before him all the agitations of the heart." 
 
 To the same purpose he elsewhere says, " If 
 you are not at liberty to reserve large portions 
 
204 MEANS OF DEVOTION 
 
 of time, do not neglect to economize the less. 
 Half a quarter of an hour secured, by this care 
 and faithfulness, from amidst pressing avoca- 
 tions, will be in the sight of God worth whole 
 hours given to him in times of freedom. Be- 
 sides, several little intervals collected through 
 the day, will together make up something con- 
 siderable. You will even perhaps derive from 
 this method the advantage of remembering God 
 more frequently, than if you gave to Him only 
 one assigned period." 
 
 It may be desirable to subjoin to this the 
 testimony of a layman, whose claims to the 
 character of a man of business are, if possible, 
 still less questionable. Sir Matthew Hale of 
 England, filled the successive offices of Chief 
 Baron of the Exchequer and Chief Justice of 
 the King's Bench, during fifteen years ; and, 
 besides a previous judicial appointment, had 
 passed his life in the laborious pursuits which 
 qualify one for such a station. After having for 
 a time neglected study at Oxford, (where he 
 was noted as robust and expert in fencing,) at 
 the age of twenty he entered at I^incoln's Inn, 
 where for many years he studied sixteen hours 
 a day.* 
 
 * Dr. Burnet's Life of Hale. We have also his own testi- 
 mony to the variety and amount of his employments : — " I 
 
IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 205 
 
 In one of this judge's papers, " The account 
 of the good steward," which the friend who 
 pubhshed them calls " his very picture,'* he 
 states, " I have endeavoured to husband this 
 short, uncertain, important talent (time) as well 
 as I could — by dedicating and setting apart 
 some portion of my time to prayer and reading 
 of thy word ; which I have constantly and 
 peremptorily observed, whatever occasions 
 interposed, or importunity persuaded the con- 
 trary." We see, therefore, that he gives 
 advice founded on his ov» n practice, when in 
 another place he enjoins, " Be obstinately con- 
 stant to your devotions at certain set times ;" 
 and we may form the same opinion as to the 
 following observations and counsels : — ** What- 
 ever you do, be very careful to maintain in 
 your heart a habit of religion. This will put 
 itself into acts, even although you are not in a 
 solemn posture of religious worship, and will 
 lend you multitudes of religious applications to 
 A-lmighty God, upon all occasions and interven- 
 tions, which will not at all hinder you in your 
 
 have been near fifty years a man as much conversant in 
 business, and that of moment and importance, as most men ; 
 — my hands and mind have been as full of secular business, 
 both before and since I was a judge, as it may be any man's 
 in England." 
 18 
 
206 MEANS OF DEVOTION 
 
 secular occasions, but better and further you. 
 It will give a tincture of devotion upon all your 
 secular employments, and turn those actions 
 which are materially civil or natural, into the 
 very true and formal nature of religion ; and 
 make your whole life to be an unintermitted 
 life of duty to God. For this habit of piety in 
 your soul will not He sleeping and unactive, but 
 almost in every hour of the day will put forth 
 actual exertings of itself in applications of 
 short occasional prayers, thanksgiving, depen- 
 dence, resort unto that God that is always near 
 you, and lodgeth in a manner in your heart by 
 his fear and love and habitual religion towards 
 him. Thus, (he adds,) you doubly redeem your 
 time. 1. In those natural and civil concerns 
 which are not only permitted, but in a great 
 measure enjoined by Almighty God. 2. At the 
 same time exercising acts of religious duties, 
 observance and veneration, by perpetuated, or 
 at least frequently reiterated, though short acts 
 of devotion to him. And this is the great art 
 of Christian chemistry, to convert those acts 
 that are materially natural or civil, into acts 
 truly and formally religious ; whereby the 
 whole course of this life is both truly and 
 interpret atively a service to Almighty God, and 
 an uninterrupted state of religion ; which is the 
 
IN A LIFE OF BUSINESS. 207 
 
 best and noblest and nnost universal redemption 
 of his tinne." 
 
 These extracts, even here abridged, are not 
 recommended by a neat or concise style ; they 
 were the extemporaneous unrevised writing of 
 a man of business, published not only without 
 his knowledge, but against his wish. While 
 valuable for their piety and wisdom, they are 
 more than doubly so as exhibiting what must 
 be supposed, in a great measure, the writer's 
 habits and rules of life. If there be any case 
 in which we may conclude a substantial and 
 steadfast practice to have been the basis of 
 excellent rules, it is that of a character so firm 
 and regular as Judge Hale's, sketching a plan of 
 religious life, not for the public eye, but only for 
 the eye of his children and intimate connexions. 
 
 The temper of mind which these eminent 
 persons have described, should by no means be 
 considered as adverse to a well-regulated cheer- 
 fulness and freedom of spirit. Fenelon warns 
 his correspondents against constrained, austere 
 and absent manners. A fund of genuine cheer- 
 fulness should be created in the mind, by the 
 heartfelt consecration of ordinary acts and cir- 
 cumstances to God's will and service. The ha- 
 bitual reference of all our customary pursuits to 
 his good pleasure, is sufficient to adorn and 
 dignify them all. 
 
208 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ON THE PREVALENT UNBELIEF WHICH FRUSTRATES 
 PRAYER, AND THE IMPERFECT FAITH WHICH MAY 
 BE ERRONEOUSLY IMAGINED TO DO SO. 
 
 It is evident that the founder of our religion 
 and his inspired followers have treated faith in 
 divine revelation and unbelief of it as qualities or 
 acts of a moral kind, the one acceptable to God, 
 the other criminal in his sight. This statement 
 has been cavilled at by rejecters of the gospel, 
 who have plausibly argued, that our viewing a 
 narrative or a proposition as true or untrue, is 
 an act mei'ely intellectual, and in no respect 
 moral. But even if it were not observable, (in 
 contradiction to this.) how greatly the wills and 
 passions of men influence their intellectual acts 
 and habits, yet might those reasonings be suffi- 
 ciently refuted by considering the natural and 
 proximate effects of such unbelief If a chemist 
 should show me a vase of apparently clear water 
 or pure air, and say — On strictly analyzing this, 
 I can detect no deleterious inscredient, — crreat 
 as may be his skill, and unable as I may be to 
 confute him scientifically, yet if I find my own 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 209 
 
 health, and that of others, impaired by tasting 
 or inhaling the fluid, I shall rather trust in ex- 
 perience than in the most skilful analysis. 
 
 This comparison might serve if we could 
 only ascertain some latent connexion between 
 unbelief and moral evil, v^ithout being able to 
 discover a reason of that connexion. But the 
 reason is easily discerned. Unbelief of divine 
 truths is a destitution of the only efficient prin- 
 ciples by which the moral and spiritual life can 
 be sustamed. The experimentalist may display 
 a vessel from which air has been more or less 
 exhausted, and may tell us there is nothing per- 
 nicious in it ; but if we discover a deficiency of 
 support for animal and vegetable life, we shall 
 think him guilty of a poor equivocation. An 
 exclusion of those truths which are super-emi- 
 nently moral, such as the perfect holiness or 
 rectitude of God, and the proper duty of man 
 to glorify and enjoy him, (truths which revela- 
 tion alone demonstrates,) is an exclusion of the 
 only sufficient aliment of true virtue. We may 
 as well expect life and sound where there is 
 no air, as to expect the genuine exercise of real 
 goodness from him who has no faith in God. 
 
 It may however be said, that the physical 
 vacuum is artificial, and that he who creates it is 
 18* 
 
210 PREVALENT UrJBELIEF 
 
 accountable for its effects; but the destitution 
 of faith is natural and inevitable to my mind. 
 
 This we should dispute, even were it possible 
 for tlie mind of any man to be in this void or 
 negative state with regard to moral opinions : 
 we should say, alrhough it be natural, it may 
 not be inevitable. Prejudice and insensibility 
 have closed and sealed the mind against the 
 admission of v/hat is good and true: let these 
 be removed, and the most essential and valuable 
 truilis will then find entrance. But such a moral 
 void, such a blank and neutral state of mind is 
 not in fact possible. Evil thoughts and princi- 
 ples must rush into the heart of man when good 
 ones are excluded ; nay, the former are already 
 there; and to describe unbelief under the figure 
 of a vacuum, is merely to say that the mind is 
 void of the principles of good, because it is pre- 
 occupied and filled with those of evil. The less 
 there is of religious belief, the more there must 
 be of irreligious sentiment ; and the greater the 
 evolution or the influx of this, by the agency of 
 bad passions or of bad associations, the more 
 completely is religious faith excluded. 
 
 This figure is indeed founded on a view of 
 faith and unbelief, which some have thought 
 incorrect, namely, that they admit of degrees ; 
 but it is a view which the language of Scripture 
 
AND I^rrESFECT FAITH. Sll 
 
 amply sanctions,* with which experience ac- 
 cords, and which enables us to apprehend how 
 an act of prayer may be performed, and be in 
 some sense real, while there is yet a prevalence 
 of unbelief which frustrates it. 
 
 That such is the fact, I believe many persons 
 who practise secret prayer, must be painfully 
 conscious, although its explanation may not be 
 easy to them. He who is not conscious of 
 sometimes praying with a measure of unbelief 
 which it may be justly feared will render his 
 prayer ineffectual, is either a person of great 
 singleness and fervour of spirit, or else has not 
 searched far enough into the folds of his own 
 heart. For we appeal to those who closely 
 examine the motive and temper of their devo- 
 tions, whether it be not too possible to pray, 
 even in secret, with a deplorably imperfect 
 exercise of faith. We may be actuated by 
 habit, together with a general conviction of the 
 duty and advantage of prayer, and the sinful- 
 ness of its omission ; by a feeble wish, even at 
 the worst, to avoid evil and pursue good ; bat 
 still we may have a secret presentiment that 
 our prayers will not at this time overcome the 
 
 * Various passag^es speak of " great" and of " little faith :" 
 —of its " increase" or *' growtli :" — of its " weakness," 
 " strength," and " fulness." 
 
212 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 corrupt bias. We may pray, to soothe and 
 pacify conscience, and to acquire the specious 
 plea that we have sought divine help, but we 
 may yet have no firm desire or design to unite 
 our best efforts with our prayers, in reliance 
 on the help which we seek. The suppressed 
 language of the heart, in such cases, seems to 
 be this ; — If God will work irresistibly, if He 
 will check and turn my inclination so power- 
 fully that it shall be at no cost of mine, I shall 
 be rescued and thankful. I will pray therefore, 
 although my prevalent desire runs counter to 
 my prayer; but I scarcely expect success. 
 Have we never, before secret devotion, had 
 some such indistinct views in the mind as these 
 — To-day I shall be tempted to the edge of a 
 sinful pleasure, or to the neglect of a self-deny- 
 ing duty? I feel how great a weight there is 
 in the scale of wrong inclination. I must put 
 some weight into the other scale, that of wisdom 
 and piety. I will therefore pray as I am accus- 
 tomed to do. I will ask for spiritual strength 
 and grace to be kept from evil : but yet I fore- 
 see that unless far more be given than I at pre- 
 sent expect or desire, the scale of inclination 
 will preponderate. There is in this temper of 
 heart an awful approach to trifling with Omnis- 
 cience ; a sort of prevarication with Him " from 
 
AND I3IPEKFECT FAITH. 218 
 
 \\ horn no secrets are hid ;" which as far as it 
 prevails is no less unbelieving than presumptu- 
 ous. While the mind acquiesces in such a kind 
 of self-deceit, it cannot be supposed, nor is it 
 indeed anticipated, that prayer will be effectual. 
 Such being our distressing experimental know- 
 ledge, (that an act of secret prayer may take 
 place, and yet be frustrated by prevailing unbe- 
 lief,) v»e may add that the explanation of this 
 fact seems to depend on the principle before 
 named ; that faith and unbelief admit of various 
 degrees, and may thus co-exist in the mind. 
 If they were not only contrary qualities, but 
 each necessarily complete and exclusive of its 
 opposite, it would not be conceivable that any 
 one under the power of unbelief should intend 
 or attempt prayer. If he appear to pray, it 
 must be an act of mere hypocrisy. But admit- 
 ting that proportions of faith and unbelief may 
 be mingled in the same mind, that the habitual 
 predominance of faith implies or includes an 
 effective reception of the gospel, and that there 
 are cases in which this predominance is for a 
 time doubtful, and others in which, without an 
 entire absence of faith, unbelief either habitually 
 or occasionally prevails, — then w^e have scope 
 for a supposition which agrees with experience, 
 namely, that there may be a degree of faith 
 
214 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 which prompts even to secret prayer, and yet 
 a prevalent unbehef which frustrates it. Now, 
 it is very important for all who are conscious 
 of a lamented measure of unbehef, to ascertain 
 whether their state of mind needs to be essen- 
 tially changed and rectified, in order to the suc- 
 cess of prayer ; so that if it do, this change 
 may first be sought ; that if it do not, ground- 
 less mistrust and fear may be removed. 
 
 The true indication of that predominant un- 
 belief, whether temporary or habitual, which, 
 while it continues, must prostrate prayer, is a 
 prevalence of insincerity in purpose and desire ; 
 a practical bent towards evil, while we are yet 
 in some lesser degree desiring, and in some sense 
 imploring, that which is good. Faith, if we 
 may extend the former figure by alluding to 
 the phenomena of the air, is like the rarefied fluid 
 which causes the aeronaut to ascend; unbelief, 
 (or that stream of evil thoughts and tendencies 
 for which unbelief makes room, and wdiich 
 therefore may borrow its name,) is like that 
 gross atmosphere which enters or acts as the 
 rarer fluid is displaced, and brings him down to 
 earth. But the principles of faith and unbelief 
 are less perceptible and measurable than the 
 fluids by which we would illustrate their opera- 
 tion. As it is by his actual ascending or de- 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 215 
 
 scending motion that the aeronaut must often 
 judge what is the state of the balloon ; so it is 
 by trying to ascertain the practical bias and 
 tendency of the soul in our devotions that we 
 must judge whether faith or unbelief prevails ; 
 consequently, whether we are likely to attain the 
 blessings we ask. 
 
 If some professed Christians were to watch 
 the movement of their own hearts, w^ould it not 
 be found, that, even amidst their devotions, there 
 is an internal dispute with themselves, and seri- 
 ous wavering on the whole question, whether 
 they will give themselves to God or no ? Whe- 
 ther they will, in very deed, and heartily, accept 
 the Son of God as a Saviour and Ruler, or only 
 receive him vaguely as the world receives him 1 
 Whether they will unreservedly dedicate them- 
 selves to Jehovah, or whether they will go on 
 to compromise between Him and their own cor- 
 rupt inclinations and various idols ; and all this 
 with a certain leaning and preference toward 
 the wrong ? 
 
 A person who thus habitually and yieldingly 
 wavers toward evil, cannot reasonably expect 
 success in his entreaties for the blessing of a 
 holy God. Could we suppose a prince would be 
 likely to grant the petitions of a subject whom he 
 had secret means of knowing to be still disafFect- 
 
216 PREVALENT U.NBELIEF 
 
 ncl in heart, slill disposed to withhold or defer a 
 genuine and grateful submission, and sometimes 
 meditating the transfer of his allegiance to an 
 usurper? When, without renouncing prayer, 
 we " regard iniquity," we are in eflect making 
 the vain attempt to " serve two" (or many) 
 " masters." Such a state has been aptly com- 
 pared in scripture to the motion of a wave, 
 " driven of the wind and tossed." There is no 
 steady current in the soul, bearing it towards 
 God and happiness; but it is like a billow, 
 sparkling, perhaps, while scattered, but scat- 
 tered not the less ; dashed upon rocks — rolled 
 over quicksands — lost in the whirlpool. 
 
 But there may be a more apparent and pro- 
 mising desire to serve God than exists in the 
 character just referred to, and yet, it may be, 
 attended with a self-delusion w^hich frustrates 
 prayer. Piety may only have its turn with 
 many changing inclinations of the soul. The 
 feelings and imagination are perhaps sometimes 
 as sensibly borne in this as in other directions. 
 But the fluctuating desire of the best blessings 
 is succeeded by a stronger, more effectual and 
 more enduring bent toward what is sinful. He 
 who has been accustomed to these unhappy 
 variations, cannot but, in some measure, sus- 
 pect, even while he feels pious wishes, that they 
 
AND I3IPERFECT FAITH. 217 
 
 have no root, but will be displaced and sup- 
 planted, like many which preceded them ; — that 
 he is himself " unstable as water." For, we 
 apprehend, there is a difference in kind, and 
 this not undiscernible, between a steady desire 
 that the word and spirit of God should rule us, 
 and a flow of feeling which is deceptive in its 
 rise, and soon fails. The fallaciousness of this 
 may be estimated, even while it exists, from 
 its similarity to other emotions which have 
 passed away. Such a mind is not so fitly 
 imaged by a wave, in the ordinary sense of that 
 word, as by irregular tides, often flowing and 
 ebbing with unlooked-for frequency.* 
 
 Now while the subject of this allowed fickle- 
 ness, frames his devotions on the supposition 
 that his heart is right in the sight of God, he 
 cannot reasonably expect the benefits of prayer. 
 Let him rather, in his best moments, never seek 
 to disguise from himself his unhappy instability, 
 but fervently implore of the Holy Spirit to fix 
 his wavering will, and give constancy to every 
 pious affection. Thus praying, he may justly 
 appropriate to himself much scriptural encour- 
 agement. 
 
 * Such a remarkable tide was witnessed in several ports 
 of Great Britain in the summer of 1824, running in con- 
 trary directions, hourly, or half-hourly. 
 19 
 
218 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 If a youth, who has given many and recent 
 proofs of caprice and unsteadiness, go to his 
 parent, or tutor, and beg to be assisted in some 
 art, or to be indulged in some privilege, which 
 requires the exercise of opposite qualities to 
 these, the discerning friend who detects the pre- 
 valent temper even in the midst of his solicita- 
 tions, may well reply — No ; because to-morrow 
 or next week you wall desire no such thing. 
 You are even aware of this at the present mo- 
 ment, if you will but consult experience, and 
 examine your disposition strictly. Ask me ra- 
 ther, first to teach you a right estimate of things, 
 and influence you to a just steadfastness of pur- 
 pose. When these are acquired, you will be 
 prepared to receive other benefits and further 
 enjoyments ; which, you well know, I shall re- 
 joice to communicate. 
 
 The two states of mind which have been 
 glanced at, evince a strong prevalence of insin- 
 cerity and unbelief; not only sufficient, while it 
 subsists, to frustrate prayer, but also disproving 
 the fact of spiritual renovation. It is here, 
 however, requisite to observe, that, under the 
 force of particular temptations, there may arise 
 a sinful wavering, and even averseness to what 
 piety dictates, in characters essentially differing 
 from each of those described : even in those who 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 21'9 
 
 possess (in the judgment of charity,) a renewed 
 mind, and who have a consciousness of desires to 
 serve God, and to partake his favour, which are 
 genuine, and which ordinarily prevail. The 
 heart, for a season, may be faithless to these its 
 best purposes and convictions ; hurried from its 
 most settled aims by the revolt of passion, or 
 *• drawn away by its own desire, and enticed," 
 and making but a faint resistance to this mislead- 
 ing force. Now, when prayer is offered in such 
 a disposition, there is, for the time, a prevalence 
 of unbelief and insincerity in it ; and consequently, 
 little reason to hope for its success. This is in- 
 deed the state of feeling which I attempted to 
 trace when arguing the possibility of praying in 
 secret without prevalent faith. We do not speak 
 of a mere conflict in the mind, but of a sort of 
 treachery, for the time, among its better princi- 
 ples ; a meditated concession and surrender of 
 its com'^ictions to unbelief and sin ; like the tem- 
 per of a garrison, who almost consent to yield 
 and capitulate, while they still raise the signals 
 of opposition, and adhere to the forms of de- 
 fence. 
 
 Whenever we are conscious of this temper, 
 we have a most melancholy internal proof of 
 the duplicity and depraved weakness of our 
 moral nature ; and such as must always induce. 
 
220 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 while we have any tenderness of conscience, or 
 remains of genuine faitli, very painful doubts as 
 to the reaUty of our conversion ; for, its not in- 
 ducing any such doubts, would certainly show 
 that no faith, founded on scriptural principles as 
 to the evil of sin and the necessity of holiness, 
 exists within us. 
 
 Yet it would be wrong to despair of our 
 spiritunl stale on account of the occasional 
 prevalence of unbelief and insincerity in our 
 prayers ; or to conclude that this, their tempo- 
 rary character, (if it be the subject of grief and 
 penitence,) will frustrate those which are olfered 
 in a bettor spirit. 
 
 No Christian, perhaps, will pronounce him- 
 self absolutely free from an admixture of unbe- 
 lief and insincerity of heart. It is therefore very 
 iinportant to our spiritual advancement, as well 
 as comfort, not to imagine that this alloy can 
 disprove our possession of real faith, or render 
 all our prayers fruitless. 
 
 I would, accordingly, remark, that there may 
 even be a temper of mind not so occasional as 
 that last mentioned, and, indeed, in appearance, 
 nearly allied to the two former, yet in fact far 
 from being identical with those, or similar in its 
 consequence. For there may exist a yet un- 
 subdued degree of practical vacillation, or there 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 221 
 
 may be still a remaining struggle, as to the en- 
 tire renunciation of sin, and the unhesitating 
 choice of God's service, or as to the absolute 
 and confiding acceptance of sovereign mercy 
 through a divine lledeemer — which should by 
 no means lead to the conclusion that prayer 
 will be inefficacious, provided there be a sincere 
 and usually prevailing desire in the heart of him 
 who prays, (although combatted and almost 
 overborne sometimes by opposite desires,) that 
 the will of God be done, and his truth received ; 
 that heavenly light and guidance may be ob- 
 tained, that grace and strength may be given, 
 and that good may overcome evil : and pro- 
 vided also that these devotional desires be at- 
 tended by a practical ettbrt to " keep himself 
 from his iniquity." It cannot be doubted that 
 somewhat of this struggle subsists in the mind 
 of young inquirers, and unconfirmed believers ; 
 and it would be most erroneous to infer from it 
 that their supplications will be vain. If amidst 
 every varied conflict, the suppliant still in some 
 sense " consent unto tlie law that it is good," if 
 Jie in any measure " delight in it after the in- 
 war4 man," if he long to be delivered from all 
 secret reluctance and enmity — there is the 
 strongest encouragement to a steadfast hope 
 that he shall be heard and sustained, and that 
 19* 
 
222 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 " the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus" 
 will at length " make him free from the law of 
 sin and death." 
 
 Still less can it be concluded that he who 
 endures inward conflicts of a more speculative 
 or theoretical kind, is to despond of the success 
 of prayer. We may, (whether by suggestions 
 of human or superhuman adversaries, or by 
 some inherent causes,) " be shaken in mind," and 
 " troubled" as to the very basis of religious faith 
 — such as the truth of the Scriptures, the mean- 
 ing of their weightiest doctrines, the mysteries 
 of Providence, or the very existence of God. 
 Some eminently pious men have left it on record 
 that such reasonings and suspicions have occa- 
 sionally harassed and distressed them even in 
 acts of solemn worship, or in the prospect of 
 those exercises. The mind has been deeply 
 agitated with doubts, and in this sense has re- 
 sembled the driven and restless wave ; but who 
 will maintain that, while " instant in prayer," 
 under these adverse and oppressive feelings, 
 they did not " ask in faith ?" Their faith was 
 surely proved and manifested by their perseve- 
 rance in the duty of supplication, and their adhe- 
 rence to the hope which prompts it, amidst these 
 sore disquietudes. Though moved like the broken 
 billows, they resembled more truly the vessels 
 anchored on those billows, or moored to the^ 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 223 
 
 rock which they vainly assault ; though " tossed 
 with tempests" long and vehemently, they were 
 still securely holden, and at length, " there was 
 a great calm." 
 
 And if these internal conflicts, even respect- 
 ing fundamental truths, cannot be supposed to 
 frustrate prayer, still less can the want of full 
 assurance as to our personal interest in the bless- 
 ings of the gospel, be thought to do so. The 
 number of Christians in modern days, who com- 
 bine a full assurance of salvation with a spirit 
 of unimpeachable humility, I have not observed 
 to be great. There would doubtless be much 
 oflener a happy approximation to it, if we exer- 
 cised, together with a more simple, grateful con- 
 fidence in the divine promises, a higher measure 
 of devout vigilance, and of consistency in Chris- 
 tian deportment. Those persons, however, if 
 such there be, who account this full assurance 
 a necessary mark of true faith, must at least be 
 deemed to err far more widely, than certain 
 divines of great piety who seem to have thought 
 it unattainable. 
 
 The painful fact remains unaltered by reason- 
 ings, that many do entertain habitual fears as to 
 the genuineness of their own faith, (consequently 
 as to their real conver^on and eventual salva- 
 tion,) which we have reason to hope are ground- 
 less ; that many others have similar apprehen- 
 
224 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 sions and suspicions which do not appear 
 unfounded ; and that many whose general piety 
 we cannot question, are yet brought, by occa- 
 sional declensions and relapses, into that state 
 of temporary doubt and despondency which is 
 their natural, although distressing effect. Now, 
 different as these characters and their respective 
 states may be, there is this agreement in them, 
 that each entertaining doubts whether he has 
 real faith, no one of them can be sure that he 
 really " asks in faith." But it would be a per- 
 nicious subtlety, fatal to his spiritual progress, 
 working the very evil which it presupposes, to 
 imagine, that on account of this uncertainty, 
 prayer will be ineffectual. It would imply that 
 nothing but that "full assurance of faith,"* 
 (which if it exist on earth in the sense some 
 attach to it, must be the perfection, the uUimate 
 limit, of spiritual attainment.) can in fact quahfy 
 us to ask with success for spiritual blessings ; so 
 that the pre-requisite for effectual prayer would 
 seem itself to render prayer superfluous. 
 
 Let those who are visited with such self-im- 
 peding refinements of distrust, first undertake to 
 prove (not by vague and dark suspicions, but 
 by a strict demonstration, which they never can 
 produce) that they poss(^ no grain or spark of 
 
 * Hebrews x. 22. 
 
AND IMrERFECT FAITH. 225 
 
 faith ; and then let them begin to conclude that 
 prayer will be necessarily fruitless. They may 
 indeed be " of little faith ;" so little as to induce 
 doubts of its existence ; but our Saviour ascrib- 
 ed miraculous efficacy to that minute measure 
 of faith which he compared to the least of the 
 seeds that are in the earth. And if such a 
 measure of faith " wrought miracles," why shall 
 it not obtain divine blessings from Him who 
 "giveth to all men hberaily," and who says, 
 " Every one that asketh receiveth ?' As a 
 further scriptural confirmation, it may be ob- 
 served, that were the various conflicts of unbe- 
 lief or fear with weak and imperfect faith which 
 have been mentioned, to be regarded as frustrat- 
 ing prayer, then he who entreated of Jesus the 
 cure of his suffering child, and said, " Lord, I 
 believe ; help thou mine unbelief," had no ground 
 to expect success : for this language itself, and 
 his previous address, " If thou canst do any- 
 thing, have compassion on us," strongl}^ imply a 
 conflict of doubt and distrust, both as to the 
 power of Him to whom he prayed, and as to 
 his own possession of the requisite state of mind. 
 Yet the benefit which, (though with a faith thus 
 feeble,) he implored in earnest sincerity, w^as at 
 once conferred. 
 
 Nothing which lias been here advanced on 
 
226 PREVALENT UNBELIEF 
 
 the compatibility of a low degree of faith with 
 success in prayer, is to be so construed as to con- 
 flict with the position first defended, that unbelief 
 in divine truth is strictly connected with moral 
 evil. The connexion is doubtless with different 
 modifications of evil, and these differing greatly 
 in malignancy; but we suppose it is never 
 wholly absent. 
 
 With respect, for example, to the last temper 
 of mind adverted to, that of doubt as to the 
 reality of our faith and conversion ; I think we 
 may afRrm that it is always, in part at least, 
 excited by the subsistence and perception of 
 moral evil in ourselves. It could have no place 
 in a mind perfectly renewed in holiness, abso- 
 lutely freed from sin, unless we can suppose that 
 such a sinless mind might be subjected to the 
 malady of utterly false perception. The void 
 of faith and piety, which we sometimes may 
 mournfully apprehend to exist within us, is par- 
 tially real: and so far as it is real, it is formed 
 by that " body of sin" which our inw^ard view 
 discovers. Without doubt, in morbid cases, the 
 spectre is exceedingly magnified and multiplied ; 
 so that evil may be conceived to reign through- 
 out the soul when this is very far from being the 
 case ; though there is more jr less of evil exist- 
 ii)g, upon w^hich the illusion founds itself There 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 227 
 
 is a real foe, though fear has invested him with 
 a seeming ubiquity and dominion which are not 
 real. However distressful these doubts, and 
 however inevitable they may appear, sin is their 
 prime source; and having such an origin as 
 well as subject, it is no v^onder that they are 
 deeply afflictive. 
 
 And in regard to speculative questionings or 
 misgivings concerning religious truth, even 
 though they should be invariably matter of un- 
 feigned sorrow and repugnance, (which would 
 go nearest to prove that he whose mind they 
 assailed was not morally culpable in respect 
 to them,) yet might it be asked — Was there 
 not a past period- of life, when they were 
 welcome to the mind? Did not pride and 
 sensuality formerly invite them? Were not 
 early habits of thought and practice formed, by 
 which these " evil reasonings" were nurtured 
 in the heart ? And now, according to the well- 
 known laws of human nature, must it not be 
 expected that the same trains of speculation, 
 however grievous to the renewed mind, should 
 continue sometimes to haunt it ; especially 
 when pride or sensuality, by the agency of 
 temptation, evolves itself in the soul, producing 
 (to revert to a former illustration) a propor- 
 tionate void of faith ? 
 
228 PREVALENT UNBELIEF, 
 
 If we ascribe these unbelieving thoughts to 
 Satanic suggestion, (as their sudden and violent 
 incursion has induced many Christians to do,) 
 this may seem, at first sight, to take away the 
 moral evil of their mere existence from the 
 individual ; yet it should be remembered, that 
 if the guileful enemy of truth inject a poison, 
 it is because he detects room for its admission ; 
 there is, as it were, some recess within the soul, 
 which he " findeth empty" of pious truths and 
 sentiments, because replete with a subtle ele- 
 ment of evil, in affinity with the dark mischief 
 he would infuse. 
 
 We may in this manner regard all unbelief 
 as having, although in different modes and 
 measures, a connexion with sin : and yet in 
 perfect consistency with this, we m.ay maintain 
 the encouraging view which has been urged, 
 that nothing but an unbelief habitually predo- 
 minant can frustrate prayer. 
 
 And on this last state of mind, (which was 
 the first delineated,) I would observe, in con- 
 cluding, that however it may annul, (while it 
 subsists,) the benefit of prayer, it cannot annul 
 the duty. He who is conscious of a general 
 repugnance to God's will, or of a very unstable, 
 fallacious wish to fulfil it, is not therefore re- 
 leased from the duty of praying ; for no crea- 
 
AND IMPERFECT FAITH. 229 
 
 ture capable of volition can be exempt from 
 the duty of seeking his Creator's approbation, 
 and his own true happiness. So long as his 
 prayers (if oftered) continue to be forms of 
 hypocrisy or acts of self-delusion, they must 
 continue fruitless. But he is bound to pray for 
 " a new heart ;" for the true " quickening" of 
 the " incorruptible seed ;" in order that he may 
 afterwards receive those successive " showers 
 of blessing" which the Giver of Hfe will not 
 withhold ; which will rear it into a fair and 
 vigorous plant, and cause it to bring forth the 
 fruits of righteousness. If he refuses to entreat 
 that primary gift, it is a moral incapacity, a 
 depraved w^ill, which influences him. If he 
 really and perseveringly implores it, the word 
 of God declares " it shall be given ;" and then, 
 without question, he will gratefully record, that 
 it was God's preventing mercy which inclined 
 him to seek the heavenly boon. 
 
 If, however, we cannot disprove, and dare 
 not deny, that the beginnings of " a right spirit" 
 have been given us, that w^e may have some 
 abiding desire for spiritual happiness, and some 
 kind and degree of faith, (how^ever weak and 
 diminutive,) in the great things which revelation 
 declares, then it behoves us to pray wdth a more 
 hopeful and confiding spirit ; to grasp, (though 
 20 
 
230 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 it be with a feeble hand,) the inestimable promise; 
 and by the very act and exercise of faith, and 
 the aids it will procure, to give to it a new ex- 
 pansion through the soul, that it may rise supe- 
 rior to the noxious vapour which now depresses 
 and obscures it. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS PROPER TO CON- 
 VALESCENCE. 
 
 Not only is the human frame, in some in- 
 stances, so constituted, as to be able to resist or 
 exclude, in a great measure, painful and debili- 
 tating sensations ; but there appear to be minds 
 possessing so happy a degree of independence 
 on the body, as to be far less affected than 
 others by equal measures of fatigue or weakness, 
 disorder or pain. Whether this privilege be 
 the effect of a mental and moral strength intrin- 
 sically greater or more able to control or with- 
 draw jtself from mere sensation— or whether it 
 arises from a less strict and sympathetic con- 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 231 
 
 nexion between thought, or those organs which 
 develope it, and the other organs, no earthly 
 physiologist can tell. The question cannot even 
 be stated with precision. It turns on that close 
 secret within us, which the acutest reasoner 
 should be liumbled by his incapacity to unlock, 
 viz., the subsistence of a thinking power in a 
 material structure. 
 
 But many minds, (and those not among the 
 least perspicacious,) so far from enjoying that 
 peculiar independence, are exceedingly influ- 
 enced by changes of bodily feeling. Slight 
 ailments produce in them such indisposedness 
 for thought, as nothing but the strong sense of 
 duty or the impulse of circumstances can over- 
 come. When the sensations are heightened into 
 positive pain or unequivocal debility, then intel- 
 lectual vigour (except by some special counter- 
 action which cannot be ordinarily looked for) 
 is proportionately broken or relaxed. 
 
 There is beauty in that simple scriptural 
 figure, (as applied to the moral and religious 
 constancy of a patriarch,) " his bow abode in 
 strength ;" and it is no unapt image of that 
 bodily vigour without which devotional energy 
 is often found to languish. Perhaps this sense 
 is included in the figure as used by Job, " My 
 glory was fresh in me, and my bow was re- 
 
232 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TE3IPERS 
 
 newed in my hand." The bow is a delicate, 
 though a primitive weapon. Too much tension 
 makes it unelastic ; and dampness may so relax 
 the string, that it will abide in strength no longer. 
 
 How painful to the Christian, if in seasons 
 when he is most admonished of dependence on 
 the Sovereign of life, and w^hen mortal disease, 
 though not perhaps imminent, is far more feel- 
 ingly anticipated than in days of health, he thus 
 finds a diminished power and readiness to com- 
 mune with his divine supporter ; with Him who, 
 when "flesh" shall irrecoverably "fail," can 
 alone be " the strength of his heart, and his por- 
 tion for ever !" 
 
 Yet, although the tone of health w^hich con- 
 duces to mental animation be rightly termed a 
 privilege, we can conceive that to some minds 
 its partial absence may be always salutary; 
 and that its greater occasional interruptions are, 
 to all Christians, a means of spiritual good ; 
 though it may only serve to disturb that " tem- 
 ple-haunting" pride, which, even amidst the 
 warmth of real devotion, " hath found a nest for 
 herself." The snares of false worship are re- 
 mote from our eyes and from our thoughts. 
 Even if our birth-place did not preclude tempta- 
 tion to gross and palpable idolatries, few could 
 " set up a golden image in the plain :" but many 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 233 
 
 may resemble the Assyrian in the dreams of 
 pride, setting up a visionary image in the heart. 
 Not that these dreams are sent of God, but He 
 permits our vanity to raise them, and would 
 teach us the lowUness of wisdom by their fall. 
 When the faculties are well tuned, and the ex- 
 pansion of thought and exuberance of feeling in 
 prayer or contemplation elate the soul, then, 
 amidst all our humiliating tenets and fluent con- 
 fessions, the personal idol shines unseen, a " form" 
 not indeed " terrible," but full of grace, whose 
 " brightness is excellent." But let sickness assail 
 the body ; let a distempered langour overspread 
 the mind ; and where is our household god of 
 talent and elocution now ? His showy attri- 
 butes have vanished ; his wand and his wings 
 are " broken together ;" he is become " like the 
 chaff of the summer threshing-floor." Thus 
 are we taught, like the men of Lystra, to " turn 
 from these vanities," (which, though in our case 
 latent, are not unreal,) and to bow in fainting 
 humihty before the Hving God ; " cast down" 
 under the conviction that self is nothing, and 
 that He is All in All. 
 
 But there is a further good tendency in the 
 disabilities and depression which sickness cre- 
 ates; whether as they respect the duties of 
 active life or those of worship. 
 20* 
 
234 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 Even were it certain that tlie servants of God 
 on earth, (taken collectively,) honour him more 
 as agents than as sufferers, still might each 
 intermission of bodily and mental strength emi- 
 nently promote his service on the whole, did we 
 always rise or emerge with a chastened ardour, 
 wdth a purer, steadier zeal, to improve the pre- 
 cious intervals, which may each be brief, and 
 w^hich must all terminate ere long. 
 
 Some of the northern rivers have their 
 course suspended in successive lakes. The 
 stream which was rapid before, but tinged with 
 earthly mixtures from many rills, here becomes 
 passive. Lately, it could bear forward the 
 laden barge with swiftness; now, the lightest 
 canoe scarcely drifts upon the outstretched 
 waters. But this inaction is purifying. All 
 that was turbid subsides. And, wdien liberated 
 from their bed of supineness, these clear, smooth 
 waves rush with accumulated strength down 
 new and longer rapids, gliding amidst all ob- 
 stacles, strong for every burden, hastening to 
 the sea. 
 
 Will it not be thus, in some measure, with the 
 convalescent Christian? When mercy first 
 " opened his heart," as it " clave the rocks in 
 the wilderness," and waters of devotion and 
 benevolence gushed forth, they flowed (it may 
 
rROrEE TO CONVALESCENCE. 235 
 
 be) with a degree of turbulence; their course 
 was not quite noiseless ; they were not unstained 
 by the passions or unswollen by pride ; but He 
 whose word created and called forth the stream, 
 " turneth it whithersoever He will." He has 
 brought it into a wude and lengthened valley 
 " of the shadow of death ;" He has said, " Be 
 still, and know that I am God ;" He has made it 
 languish, but not stagnate, only to be quieted 
 and defecated there. And now when He is 
 pleased to give it egress, and bids it renew its 
 full career in a channel prepared for its accele- 
 rated force, will it not flow forth, not merely 
 more swift and strong, but more deep and pure 
 and silent, than if it had never been " poured 
 out" in that unwelcome suspension ? 
 
 Surely thus, at least, it behoves the Christian 
 to resume his course after a season of restraint 
 and inactivity. Besides having been incapaci- 
 tated for other accustomed pursuits, he has, 
 perhaps, found it often impracticable to lift up 
 his soul continuously to God. By reading or 
 even hearing the Scriptures, his weakened and 
 susceptible frame has been quickly exhausted. 
 The alleviation of pain, or present repose, has 
 been more thirsted for, than that sovereign 
 good which he accounts his treasure; more 
 consciously valued than those promises which 
 
236 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 suffering ought to endear. As yet he cannot 
 have forgotten these nnortifying accompani- 
 ments of disease. The heahhful should not 
 wilhngly forget them. Rather ought they (by 
 express effort) sometimes to recal or anticipate 
 feeUngs which (except by a most unusual immu- 
 nity) must be shared by themselves in days or 
 years that " draw nigh." Bui to the convales- 
 cent this is no effort. Those recent feelings are 
 still vividly depicted on his mind. If then he 
 be yet in doubt as to his genuine participation 
 of revealed blessings, w^hat recollection can 
 more strongly prompt the "diligence" which 
 would " make his calling and election sure ;" — 
 sure in the impartial testimony of conscience, 
 and by the faithful tests of Scripture ? What 
 can stimulate us to this augmented diligence, if 
 not the uneffaced perception that a few hours 
 of sickness may suffice to enervate the mind, 
 perhaps irretrievably till death 1 If, on the 
 contrary, an enlightened and cheering hope had 
 been attained, and was not obscured during 
 bodily illness, or is already brightened with 
 reviving health, this happy state can never 
 make pointless the striking admonitions which 
 are addressed, by such changes, to the heart of 
 a true servant of God. He who only assumed 
 *' the form of a servant," that beloved Son who 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 237 
 
 is ihe Father's " sole complacence," asked, with 
 reference to his own course, " Are there not 
 twelve hours in the day?" He spoke, with 
 intentness, of " the works which the Father had 
 given him to finish :" and he said in prayer, with 
 holy joy, at the retrospect of his labours, and 
 the foresight of that decease which he was just 
 accomplishing — " I have glorified Thee on the 
 earth, I have finished the work which Thou 
 gavest me to do." 
 
 The distance from the moral perfection and 
 eflective greatness of His works, to the^adulte- 
 ration and littleness of ours, is by no means for- 
 gotten. It does but give strength to our inference, 
 that the fullest certainty of already possessing 
 the divine approbation can be no plea for slight- 
 ing one precious and precarious opportunity "to 
 do God service." What an unfilial contrast 
 would such a plea present, not only to the tem- 
 per of God's " own Son," but to that of his faith- 
 ful missionary; who made the sure and swift 
 approach of full feUcity his chosen argument 
 for new devotedness ! — " Now is it high time to 
 awake out of sleep, for now is our salvation 
 nearer." * 
 
 Whether the period of bodily convalescence 
 
 * Romans xiii. 11. 
 
238 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 be that of spiritual confidence and gladness, or 
 not — it must, in either case, be a season for pecu- 
 liar gratitude ; in the one, that time and strength 
 are given for attainments yet unsecured ; in 
 both, that what was " grievous" is removed, 
 and that new means are given us of serving oui 
 Divine Deliverer. These will now be far the 
 more justly appreciated. The Christian may 
 become, (to the thoughtless visitors of that 
 chamber which he is about to quit,) like the 
 prophetic watchman in the oracle of Dumah. 
 They ^sk him — " What of the night ? — How 
 have you passed these hours of wearisome seclu- 
 sion?' — He answers, " The morning cometh: — 
 and also the night ! If ye will inquire, inquire 
 ye. Return, — come." The prophecy, as such, 
 is among the most obscure ; but this moral use 
 of it would be no enigma. You ask me, *• What 
 of the night ?" — it were fruitless to describe the 
 sensations of this constrained retirement, which 
 you could not realise. Rather let me say, with 
 grateful acknowledgment, " The morning com- 
 eth." I hope to use what may remain of this 
 life's brief and changeful day, with far more 
 fervour of spirit and oneness of purpose. For 
 now I am struck with the heartfelt conviction, 
 that, there cometh "also the night ;" — that night, 
 which, for these mortal eyes, shall be followed 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 239 
 
 by no daybreak, till they are unsealed to the 
 awful splendour of "the new heavens and the 
 new earth." Oh, could I transfuse into your mind 
 the sentiments which now fill my own, and per- 
 petuate their impressiveness in both ! " If you 
 will inquire" into the will of the Supreme — into 
 the moral state, the real wants, the vast capa- 
 bilities of your spirit — into the crisis and the 
 prospects of an illimitable being; — "inquire" 
 now — while health remains unbroken, and your 
 powers are unoppressed ! "Return" from the 
 wanderings of fancy, from the day-dream of 
 sublunary hope, and muse awhile on those un- 
 imaginable visions which the night of death will 
 bring ! " Come," now, before your day declines, 
 " and the shadows of evening are stretched out," 
 and accept from redeeming mercy the pledges 
 of admission to that heavenly dwelHng, of which 
 it is predicted, " There shall be no night there." 
 "Behold the Lamb of God !"— he is "the hght 
 thereof;" he must be the light to guide you 
 thither: his righteousness your sole title, his 
 spirit your sole meetness, for that inheritance. 
 
 Thus might a convalescent Christian, (imbued 
 with the deepened sense of revealed truths,) be 
 led to address others, and in part to admonish 
 himself At least that ancient warning from a 
 royal pen cannot fail to be, from recent experi- 
 
240 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 ence, more deeply graven on his heart — " What- 
 soever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy 
 might, for there is no work, nor device — in the 
 grave," — nor, probably, in the nearer and dark- 
 er paths which lead to it. 
 
 Not that we can infer with certainty, from a 
 past degree of inability for devout exercises in 
 sickness, that this will be augmented in the 
 closing scene, or even that it will not be great- 
 ly removed. The waters which are spread 
 powerless and passive in the valley (to resume 
 our former figure) may there be made the mir- 
 ror of a glowing sunset, and " airs fi'om heaven" 
 may waft the bark on their calm surface, which 
 itself seems motionless. 
 
 While Doddridge, emaciated by deep seated 
 consumption, was on his voyage to a grave at 
 Lisbon, he several times said to his beloved 
 wife — " I cannot express to you what a mor- 
 ning I have had ; such delightful and transport- 
 ing views of the heavenly world is my Father 
 now indulging me with as no words can ex- 
 press." Before his embarkation, he said to a 
 friend — " My soul is vigorous and healthy, not- 
 withstanding the hastening decay of this frail 
 and tottering body. The most distressing nights 
 to this frail body have been as the beginning of 
 heaven to my soul. God hath, as it were, let 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 241 
 
 heaven down upon me in those nights of weak- 
 ness and waking." 
 
 Still more instructing and consolatory, be- 
 cause more copious, arc the dying conversa- 
 tions of Halyburton,* who has himself recorded 
 his previous severe and frequent conflicts, 
 through many years, with speculative unbelief 
 and various temptation. While enduring ex- 
 treme debility and pain, he said to his physician 
 — " Verily there is a reality in religion. Few 
 have the lively impressions of it. — The httle 
 
 * He was a learned and pious minister in the Scotch 
 church, professor of divinity at St. Andrew's; who died Sep- 
 tember 23, 1712, aet. 37. In the year preceding his death, 
 was born his philosophic countryman, who found it " as 
 clear as any purpose of nature can be, that tlie whole scope 
 and intention of man's creation is limited to the present 
 life ; and that those who inculcate the doctrine of a future 
 state have no other motive than to gain a livelihood, and to 
 acquire power and riches in this life." — See Monttdy Review 
 for June, 1784, vol. 70, p. 428. — A brother philosopher has 
 invited the world to admire the satisfied and facetious exit 
 of Hume ; but simple people will still prefer the last thoughts 
 and prospects of Halyburton. It may be that some refined 
 reader will have a degree of involuntary distaste for the 
 mode of expression, in part, of the following quotations : (and 
 it would be increased by reading the whole memoir ;) but, be- 
 sides that this was the language of Scotland, and of the 
 seventeenth century, what sort of taste do we detect in our- 
 selves, except a taste for fiction, when we would have re- 
 search of words and elegance of style firom the dying ? 
 21 
 
242 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 acquaintance I have had with God within these 
 two days has been better than ten thousand 
 times the pains I have all my Ufe been at about 
 religion." At another time — " These fourteen 
 or fifteen years I have been studying the pro- 
 mises ; but I have seen more of the book of 
 God this night than all that time." To his 
 students — " If I had you lads all about me now, 
 I would give you a lesson of divinity : however, 
 this will be a standing witness of the reality, 
 solidity, power and efficacy of these truths I 
 taught you; for by the power of that grace 
 revealed in these truths, here I lie pained with- 
 out pain, without strength and yet strong. I 
 think it would not be a lost session this, though 
 you were all here." On the sabbath, two days 
 before his decease, he said — " This night my 
 skin has burnt, my heart has panted, my body 
 has been bruised on the bed with weakness, and 
 there is a sore upon me that is racking my spirit, 
 and my heart has been sometimes like to fail ; 
 and yet I cannot say but the Lord, after all this 
 trouble, holds me in health in the midst of all. 
 If the Lord should give such support, and con- 
 tinue me years in this case, I have no reason to 
 complain." On the next day he observed to a 
 minister — " I think, brother, my case is a pretty 
 fair demonstration of the immortality of the 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 243 
 
 soul." And afterwards — " Indeed I am patient, 
 and yet ' not I, but the grace of God in me.' — 
 Could I have believed that I could have had this 
 pleasure and patience in this condition ! If ever 
 I'was distinct in my judgment and memory in 
 my life, it was since He laid his hand on me. 
 Glory to Him ! what shall I render to him ? 
 My bones are cutting through my skin, yet all 
 my bones are praising Him." After taking re- 
 freshment, he said, " I listened to unbelief since I 
 came to this bed, and it had almost killed me ; 
 but God rebuked it. I sought the victory by 
 prayer, and God has given it. He is the hearer 
 of prayer. I have not much more to do with 
 death. Another messenger comes for me, a 
 cough. Oh — I am kindly dealt with. Heze- 
 kiah said, I am cut off * from the residue of my 
 years ;' but I will not say so. God is giving me 
 this to make up the residue of my years. The 
 Lord is even wasting away my body, to let me 
 see that my spirit can live without it." " My body 
 is wasting" (he remarked soon after) " like a 
 piece of brae by a mighty current ; and yet the 
 power of God keeps me up." " How have I 
 formerly fretted and repined at the hundredth 
 part of the trouble 1 have on my body now ! 
 Here you see a man dying a monument of the 
 glorious power of admirable astonishing grace !" 
 
244 ON THE DEVOTIONAL TEMPERS 
 
 — " Study the power of religion. It is the power, 
 and not a name, that will give the comfort I 
 find." 
 
 This is but a small selection of the many 
 striking declarations uttered and repeated by 
 him in various forms through the last w^eek of 
 life ; and in his dying moments, when an attend- 
 ant said — " I hope you are encouraging your- 
 self in the Lord,'* he " lifted up his hands, and 
 clapped them," as a token of his joy, when the 
 power of speech was gone. 
 
 Had there been a temporary restoration of 
 the frame inhabited by a spirit such as this, 
 could it be rightly named convalescence ? Or 
 should we better describe it by the phrase which 
 this dying believer twice used, when partial 
 symptoms of recovery were felt — a being " ship- 
 wrecked into health again ?" Is it not in truth, 
 and sensibly, the convalescence of the spirit, to 
 be thus casting off, with triumph, the death-struck 
 form that encumbers it, " renovated day by day," 
 while the "outward man" is "perishing," and 
 the earthly "tabernacle dissolving" into dust? 
 What is it but the earnest and the beginning of 
 that immortal vigour, which no "fierce diseases" 
 will assault, and which no hidden decay can 
 undermine 1 
 
PROPER TO CONVALESCENCE. 245 
 
 If — with submission to the Great Disposer — 
 a Christian cannot but devoutly long for so 
 blessed a departure, offering to beloved mourn- 
 ers some bright disclosures of endless Hfe, (like 
 morning twilight before a vernal sunrise,) while 
 they gaze upon the image of ruin — then is it too 
 much for him to be more fervent in prayers and 
 in labours more abundant, through the short term 
 of bodily health, or its uncertain renewal, if by 
 any means he may attain unto that farewell 
 blessedness ; if the soul may be made percepti- 
 bly convalescent, while the body sinks in its last 
 anguish, and gives promise (even in dissolution) 
 of a glorious and unfading health, " when Christ 
 who is our life shall appear ?" 
 21* 
 
246 ANNIVERSARIE3, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ON ANNIVERSARIES, AS PECULIARLY PROMPTINO 
 US TO SERIOUS DEVOTION. 
 
 In the earliest stages of life we can have but 
 few private anniversaries. The year is com- 
 paratively unmarked by memory, and all its 
 days are given to hope. Even the birth-day, 
 which is early distinguished by parental notice, 
 and the new-year's day, which general feeling 
 or habit observes, are rather viewed in con- 
 nexion with the future than the past. But the 
 memorable days which succeeding years will 
 recal, must multiply for each of us as years 
 revolve. There arises gradually a calendar of 
 our individual history: and its anniversaries are 
 far more affecting to ourselves, than most of 
 those which the almanac presents. 
 
 The period of our attaining some desired 
 success ; of our entrance on some important 
 employment; of our embarking for some dis- 
 tant enterprise, or returning from it in safety ; 
 of our solemnly assuming new duties ; of an 
 endearing connexion commenced ; of other fond 
 relations ensuing ; of some signal preservations, 
 
ANrflVEBSARIES. 247 
 
 and of some poignant griefs, among which must 
 be the successive dissolution of the tenderes* 
 ties of hfe ; — all these, in some minds, already 
 crowd the record ; and some of the last must, 
 in almost every mind, continue to augment it^ 
 till our mortal records shall be closed. 
 
 Perhaps there are those so awake both to 
 grateful and to pensive recollections, that this 
 unwritten register, amidst all the scenes of 
 passing months, rarely fails to be reviewed; so 
 tliat few such anniversaries escape, without a 
 degree of lively remembrance and appropriate 
 feeling. To some others, a calendar thus in- 
 scribed, (still noting the additional days which 
 are signalized as life goes on,) might be more 
 profitable than many a treatise. It would be 
 tliC briefest and most impressive sort of diary ; 
 and not omitting the seasons which nature or 
 Christianity celebrates, it would add a still in- 
 creasing number, which must awaken, as power- 
 fully, the serious thoughts and emotions of the 
 individual. These em(>tions would indeed be 
 dissimilar in kind and in degree; but all anni- 
 versaries have this one very obvious and im- 
 portant office in common — iHat they most stri- 
 kingly measure out and proclaim the lapse of 
 time. It is true, that waning moons, and re- 
 turning sabbaths, and every setting sun, and 
 
248 ANNIVERSARIES. 
 
 every passing hour, much oftener speak the 
 same monitory language ; but none of them 
 with so distinct and pov\^erful a voice. Anniver- 
 saries of events long past, which have therefore 
 often recurred, already remind me how very 
 large a portion of my mortal course is run. 
 They stand like pyramids on the great plain of 
 time, remote, yet still distinct, and show us how 
 far we have imperceptibly journeyed. But each, 
 even at its first occurrence, marks and an- 
 nounces that a year of life is fled ; that the ma- 
 terial world on which I dwell, (vast in my view, 
 but minute in the sight of Him who guides un- 
 numbered worlds through the abyss of space,) 
 has fulfilled one more of its mighty revolutions. 
 A thousand times a thousand leagues are but a 
 small portion of its annual flight. And in the 
 same swift period, this ever-moving spiritual 
 world within, (little in its attainments while 
 linked with feebleness and death, but vast in the 
 view of Him who comprehends its eternal pros- 
 pects,) has run through its myriads of successive 
 thoughts and wishes, hopes and fears. But its 
 circuits, if they may be called such, are not 
 like those of the globe on which I tread. The 
 soul of man, as its hasty years revolve, should 
 be compared rather to a world which, like the 
 comets of our system, is rapidly receding from, 
 
ANNIVERSARIES. 240 
 
 or approximating to, the source of life and light. 
 Either with each day and year the voluntary 
 distance is widened, till it awfully plunges in the 
 *• hlackness of darkness for ever," — or else the 
 transforming attraction strengthens, and with 
 each circuit of time the spirit draws nearer to 
 the Sun and Centre of all worlds ; soon to be 
 immersed in that nearest brightness, where all 
 its waste places shall blossom and bear fruit 
 unto perfection, through an endless summer. 
 How stupendous, how immeasurable the alter- 
 native ! 
 
 Every greater division of time, such as these 
 anniversary seasons indicate, should lead me, 
 not only to meditate on my own fleeting hfe, 
 but to " consider the years of many genera- 
 tions ;" to mark with how sure and ceaseless a 
 progression the secrets of eternity hasten to 
 their development. Like the great movements 
 of visible nature, like the travelhng of sunbeams, 
 and the courses of the stars, the destined course 
 of ages is to us noiseless and insensible ; but it 
 has a silent grandeur, an equable, irrepressible 
 celerity, which is full of awe. 
 
 "Yet a httle while," exclaimed an apostle, 
 glancing through all the drama to its glorious 
 consummation — " yet a little while, and He that 
 
250 ANNIVERSARIES. 
 
 shall come will come, and will not tarry !" 
 " Behold, I come quickly," says the Lord and 
 Inspirer of apostles, " and my reward is with 
 me, to give to every man according as his work 
 shall be." That great crisis which is yet future, 
 must one day be for ever past. " At midnight 
 there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom 
 cometh, go ye out to meet him !" Overwhelm- 
 ing summons ! Why does not the very fore- 
 thought startle every drowsy energy of my im- 
 mortal spirit ? Does it not appeal to me by all 
 that is solemn and all that is transporting? 
 Does it not hurry me, as with an angel's hand, 
 throusjh the brief circuits of this dreaminsj mor- 
 tality, and bear me, as on an angel's wing, up 
 into the regions where none shall slumber ? 
 
 But the mind soon reverts to that great per- 
 sonal change which is most surely near; and 
 the impression of which is much stronger, be- 
 cause it is much more definite. " When a few 
 years are come," (said the patriarch, amidst his 
 multiplied calamities,) " then shall I go the way 
 whence I shall not return !" He must often 
 have made the same reflection afterwards, and, 
 perhaps, with equal sensibiHty, in the midst of 
 his restored enjoyments. 
 
 Every anniversary suggests to the thoughtful 
 
ANNIVERSARIES. 251 
 
 mind that reflection, and neither its antiquity 
 nor its simpHcity can impair its force. What 
 distinction, what circumstance, so weighty, so 
 affecting as this ? — "I shall not return!" — When, 
 towards the close of life, a voyage is undertaken 
 to another hemisphere, to a shore whence the 
 adventurer never expects to revisit the land of 
 his fathers, if he be of a reflective and tender 
 spirit, what preparations does not this voyage 
 demand ; what objects does it not endear ; what 
 emotion does it not awaken ! — But " when a 
 few years are come," (may every Christian 
 say,) when a few more anniversaries have 
 glided by — what a voyage is in prospect for 
 me ! — that vast and unknown voyage, whence, 
 " till the times of the restitution of all things" — 
 I shall not return ! — not return to the seasons of 
 sacred retirement, or social devotion, those 
 golden hours to fit me for the skies; not re- 
 turn to that abode where alone I can imitate 
 my descended Lord in doing and in suffering, 
 where he found labours enough to occupy an 
 untiring zeal, and to engage, till the last moment 
 of his sojourn, a celestial benevolence. He left 
 a world replete with sorrows, (though, for his 
 true disciples, he bore away their sting,) and I 
 soon must leave it also. Then I cannot return ! 
 
252 ANNIVERSARIES. 
 
 — no more opportunity will remain to me to 
 wipe away one tear of affliction — to lead back 
 one wanderer from the verge of ruin — to guide 
 and help and comfort those who are most dear 
 — to soften the adversities of this liie, or invite 
 to the joys of another ! 
 
 And shall I pass these quickly-circling years 
 as if there were nothing to be done, to be sub- 
 dued, to be acquired, to be imparted, before I 
 launch my bark on its voyage to that " undis- 
 covered country?" 
 
 If the anniversaries which are calculated to 
 afTect us most deeply, should call forth senti- 
 ments at all resembling these, surely they should 
 also impel us to seek, with unwonted earnest- 
 ness, the communication of heavenly strength, 
 that we ma}^ be enabled to pursue a course iii 
 some measure accordant with such feelings. 
 
 Contemplating thus the funeral procession of 
 centuries, the hand's-breadth of our own earth- 
 ly career, and the vast gulf of duration beyond, 
 in which all finite periods are aUke absorbed 
 and lost, whither shall we look but to Him that 
 enfolds the universe in his parental embrace, and 
 comprehends, by his infinite Being, that eternity 
 tow^ards which we tend ? 
 
 If we solemnly desire to improve and conse- 
 
WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 253 
 
 crate to God the remnant of these fugitive years 
 and days, whither shall we resort for the spirit 
 of fortitude and wisdom and fidehty, but to Him 
 that worketh in us "to will and to do of his 
 good pleasure ;" even " according to the work- 
 ing of his mighty power ?" 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 ON THE CAPACITIES FOR WORSIUP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 The frail constitution of our mortal nature 
 sets narrow Hmits to spiritual knowledge and 
 delight. The organization by which the soul 
 now acts, ma}^ be compared to that little modern 
 instrument of music, whose vibrations are pro- 
 duced on glass. A touch, one degree too forci- 
 ble, would break the material and annihilate the 
 melody. If the benignant influence of the natu* 
 ral sun-beams could be made so destructive by 
 the mirrors of Archimedes, how much more 
 might a concentration of spiritual glory, though 
 22 
 
254 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 conveying the naost sublime and joyful impres- 
 sions, disarrange and subvert our present mode 
 of being ! 
 
 In the sublimest revelations made to prophets 
 — (as to Moses, when he beheld from the cleft 
 of the rock the retiring glory of Jehovah ; to 
 Ezekiel, when he looked on the mystic wheels, 
 the flashing cherubim, the sapphire throne, and 
 the likeness of the glory of the Lord ; or to the 
 apostles Paul and John, in their heavenly vi- 
 sions;) — we must suppose, either, (as is some- 
 times intimated,) that the body was miraculous- 
 ly sustained, or, (as St. Paul seems to conjecture,) 
 that the connexion of the body and mind was 
 miraculously suspended. 
 
 The eminently pious and learned John Howe, 
 a man of sound, calm and capacious mind, left 
 these words written in Latin on a blank page of 
 his Bible : — 
 
 " December 26, 1689. This very morning I 
 awoke, for the first time, from the following 
 most delightful dream. An amazing emanation 
 of celestial rays from the supreme seat of the 
 divine Majesty, seemed infused into my open 
 and expanded breast. Often since that memo- 
 rable day, I have recalled, with a grateful 
 mind, that signal pledge of the divine favour, 
 
WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 255 
 
 and with reiterated pleasure have tasted of its 
 sweetness. But what I experienced of the same 
 kind, by the admirable bounty of my God, and 
 the transporting influence of the Sacred Spirit, 
 on October 22, 1704, entirely exceeds all my 
 resources of expression." 
 
 It is not distinctly stated in this very interest- 
 ing memorial, whether, on the second occasion, 
 as on the first, these beatific communications 
 were received during sleep, but it seems implied; 
 and we may well believe that this partial sus- 
 pension of the animal functions was necessary 
 to life, or at least to health, under such emotions 
 unless a counteracting miracle were wrought. 
 But when, from the dissoluble elements of our 
 present frame, there shall be educed, by divine 
 power, a " spiritual body," we can conceive 
 that it will be completely adapted to receive the 
 full intenseness of those impressions which are 
 needful to perfect felicity. 
 
 A poet who has attempted to describe that 
 awful period, when " many bodies of the saints, 
 which slept, arose," represents their spirits, in 
 the luminous vehicle of the intermediate state, 
 descending, by divine command, to contemplate 
 their own sepulchres. Rachel, the mother of 
 patriarchs, attended by her guardian angel, ap- 
 proaches her lonely grave : — 
 
256 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 " And as she spake, there stream'd from forth the tomb 
 
 A sofl-ascending vapour, like the dew 
 
 That moistens roses, or the silvery mist 
 
 Around a vernal bower. Iler spirit's gleam 
 
 Brighten'd the vapour, as a settmg sun 
 
 Tinges the dewy west. She marks it wave 
 
 And soar and suik and fluctuate gently still 
 
 Near her, and yet more near ; and venerates 
 
 Creation's changeful mysteries, profound 
 
 In grandeur, in minuteness as profound ; 
 
 Nor knows tlie fond affinity, nor deems 
 
 How soon with that soft-floating ambient veil 
 
 Thy voice, Almighty Saviour, shall involve 
 
 Her own enraptur'd being. Yet she bends 
 
 To watcli its beauty with a strange delight, 
 
 While the companion-seraph eyes the scene 
 
 Elate. 
 
 Then spake the all-transforming voice : 
 She sank ; — she seemed to melt in tears away ; 
 Delicious tears ; as if her being stole 
 Through some cool glade, and thenee emerged in light. 
 Amidst the fragrance of a flowery shore. 
 — She wakes ; she sees ; she feels herself enshrined 
 In a new form, bright, indestructible ; 
 And with intcnser blessedness adores 
 Him that hath summon'd this access of joy 
 From the sepulchral shade !" 
 
 The achievements of modern chemistry faci- 
 litate and elevate our idea of that splendid 
 change which may pass on the meanest relics of 
 mortality. We had seen, it is granted, more 
 wondrous transformations in nature; so early 
 
WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 257 
 
 indeed, and so often, that we forgot to consider 
 and adnaire them. We knew that He, by whom 
 " all things were made," must have an energy 
 " whereby he is able to subdue all things unto 
 himself;" but when a human artificer, who con- 
 fessedly knows nothing of the substance of that 
 matter on which he operates, or of that mind 
 by which he investigates its properties, obtains 
 by sure processes, a vital fluid from a coarse 
 mineral; an inflammable air from water: and 
 shining metals from the ashes of wood, or of 
 seaweeds ; philosophy thus seems, by her own 
 advances, to cast more and more of practical 
 scorn on her own incredulous question, " How 
 are the dead raised up, and with what body do 
 they come ?" 
 
 Shall a frail and puny inquisitor of nature, 
 whose hand and head must soon return to dust, 
 effect changes thus surprising ; and He that cre- 
 ated the operative hand, the inquisitive eye, the 
 inventive mind, shall He not show us " greater 
 works than these, that we may marvel ?" Mea- 
 sure the probable excellence of the work by the 
 infinite superiority of the Agent, and then con- 
 ceive how magnificently He is likely to verify 
 the prophetic words — " It is sown in dishonour, 
 it is raised in glory ; it is sown in weakness, it 
 is raised in power. 
 22* 
 
258 woEsniP in heavex. 
 
 Those who have nad the most distressing 
 experience of the effects of corporal infirmity 
 on the rnind, will estimate most highly the value 
 of such a glorious change. The delight of pos- 
 sessing a frame which may be as unsusceptible 
 of weariness or debility, as the tide in its flowing, 
 or the moon in her orbit ; able to receive the 
 amplest communications of light and love, ade- 
 quate to the noblest exercises of the intellect 
 and the affections, and endlessly invigorated by 
 their endless expansion. 
 
 And it would seem, that this very change, 
 which will impart to the compound being of the 
 risen saints, a physical capacity for the highest 
 spiritual enjoyment, may be the chief means of 
 obviating that moral danger, which, in their 
 present condition would arise from a far more 
 exceeding and unvarying delight in the service 
 of God. 
 
 The felicity to which that change will exalt 
 •its subjects, must essentially and supremely con- 
 sist in what has been called the "beatific vision;" 
 or the vivid consciousness of a most intimate 
 and gracious presence of the Deity. And this, 
 while it will necessarily be an unfailing spring 
 of the highest blessedness, must also be the ex- 
 haustless source of moral perfection. It will be 
 so by a directly communicative and assimila- 
 
WOESIIIP IN HEAVEN. 259 
 
 ting energy ; — " We shall be like him," (says 
 an apostle,) " for we shall see him as he is." — 
 *• I shall behold thy face in righteousness;" (says 
 a prophet,) " I shall be satisfied, when I awake, 
 with thy likeness." 
 
 But, besides this, we cannot doubt that it will 
 be so indirectly, b}^ precluding all self-importance 
 in the possession of that glorious likeness and all 
 pride in the enjoyment and perpetuity of the 
 richest donation that can be made to a creature. 
 
 If we supposed the most devoted and humble 
 of Christians to attain, in the present life, an 
 uniform elevation of delight in worship, which 
 approached to that of an angel — yet not possess- 
 ing, together with it, that vision of the Deity 
 w^hich the mortal nature could not, without a 
 miracle, endure ; it is dilUcult to conceive that 
 such a state of mind could subsist, without 
 generating a subtle pride and self-idolatry. A 
 miraculous change in the whole constitution of 
 the soul would be as needful to prevent this 
 effect, as it would be in that of the body to 
 capacitate it for the vision which it could not 
 naturally support. Accordingly, we find that 
 those who have been indulged in this life with 
 the most rapturous devotional pleasures, have 
 had frequent fluctuations and declensions of feel- 
 ing ; intended, as it appears, to recall the sense 
 
260 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 of entire dependence, and correct that fallacious 
 self-sufficiency which was secretly nourished 
 within them. But in that state of perfection, 
 where *' the pure in heart shall see God," no 
 such fluctuation can be supposed needful. Doubt- 
 less, indeed, His efficacious grace will be, in 
 heaven as on earth, the primary cause of holi- 
 ness and happiness, and of their eternal stability. 
 Both to glorified saints, and to the "elect angels," 
 this must be ever and alike essential. But (the 
 efficient cause being pre-supposed,) nothing can 
 be conceived so powerful, instrumentally, to ex- 
 clude, for ever, that blind and petty pride of 
 which even the subjects of grace are conscious 
 on earth, as the perpetual and beatific vision of 
 the Majesty of heaven. 
 
 Imagine a holy being, endowed with the 
 loftiest and most blissful attainments of which a 
 created spirit is capable, but consciously indebt- 
 ed for their fulness and perpetuation to the vision 
 of God. Beholding, continually and immediate- 
 ly. Him who is the sole fountain of these immor- 
 tal honours, will it be possible to imagine such a 
 being liable to the folly and sin of self-exalta- 
 tion '( And if it cannot be conceived of an 
 angel, still less can it be conceived of a redeem- 
 ed sinner. 
 
 Were a good man of ardent feelings, to be 
 
WORSIIir IN HEAVEN. 261 
 
 introduced to that one of all his fellow-men, who 
 was known to possess at once the most sublime 
 wisdom, and the most heroic beneficence, ho 
 would surely forget self, for the moment, in hia 
 overflowing admiration. But, if this first of 
 mortals were also his deliverer from prison and 
 from death, a torrent of gratitude would yet 
 more efl^^ectually extinguish all the sparks of 
 pride. So, when a ransomed saint shall be for 
 ever with his Lord, and shall behold that Sa- 
 viour who is the " brightness of the Father's 
 glory, and the express image of his person," but 
 who " humbled himself," becoming " obedient 
 unto death, even the death of the cross," that 
 he mi^ht " obtain eternal redemption" for him 
 — will there be space on the altar of his heart 
 for one particle of strange and earthly fire ? 
 Will not the radiance of that divine love make 
 it flame as a whole and pure offering? 
 
 Surely, the delight of the redeemed in the 
 adoration of their Redeemer, flowing from the 
 presence of its transcendent object, will be 
 guarded, if we may speak so, by its own ex- 
 cess : kept pure and unalloyed by its own 
 redundance. There is no reason, therefore, to 
 apprehend, that the perfection and the joy of 
 celestial worship will need, either on a physical 
 or moral account, intermission or abatement 
 
262 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 We can indeed conceive, that, even in the 
 heavenly state, happiness may be on the whole 
 enhanced by a variation in its degrees; that the 
 intervention of that " peace of God which pass- 
 eth all understanding," as a pause and quiescence 
 from the " fulness of joy," may augment the 
 whole sum of felicity. Yet there is no proof 
 of this ; and the idea takes its rise from a con- 
 tracted mortal experience. 
 
 Our impressions of admiration and delight 
 are, in the present state, weakened by continu- 
 ance or repetition. He who has long and daily 
 looked on the Alps, or the ocean, is far less 
 affected wdth these sentiments than he who con- 
 templates either for the first time. But this 
 well-known law belongs, perhaps, to our fallen 
 and dying nature only. It may be one of the 
 penalties inwrought in the fabric of such a na- 
 ture, that its pleasing impressions should thus 
 work their ov/n decay. The connexion between 
 novelty and enjoyment may be expressly insti- 
 tuted for our earthly condition, in order to 
 detach us from objects which we soon must 
 quit, and which, themselves, " shall wax old 
 like a garm.ent, and, as a vesture, shall be 
 changed." We have no ground however to 
 conclude this connexion necessary, or pern^a- 
 ncnt. We are sure it can have no place in the 
 
WORSHIP IN HEAVEX. 263 
 
 omniscient and infinite blessedness of Ilim wfio 
 is from everlasting to everlasting. Therefore, 
 by a perpetual accession of admiring joy, arising 
 from the contemplation of the same perfect attri- 
 butes and glorious works, created minds would 
 most approximate to that kind of felicity which 
 is proper to the " blessed God." 
 
 Possibly, an angel, sent for the first time on a 
 ministry of love to our earth, may view the 
 Alps illuminated by the setting sun, with im- 
 pressions (as to their rank in the scale of the 
 divine works) like ours at first viewing a dis- 
 play of rich minerals and brilliant gems ; — yet 
 he has one inexhaustible ever-growing advant- 
 age over mortal observers, if by each succes- 
 sive view his admiration and pleasure be, not 
 enfeebled, but enlivened. We have only to 
 suppose this very probable and delightful inver- 
 sion of present experience, in a higher mode of 
 being, in order to anticipate enjoyment that shall 
 not be in any way dependent on intermission or 
 change, and to discover a new and constantly 
 augmenting treasure in the gift of immortality. 
 
 And besides these considerations, there is 
 every reason to expect that, in a future state of 
 happiness, the blissful exercise of adoration will 
 be concurrent v/ith those active services, and 
 those subordinate enjoyments, which may oc- 
 
264 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 cijpy, in boundless diversity and succession, 
 " the whole family in heaven." 
 
 A divine of great note,* and far removed 
 from that class whose statements are most 
 commonly regarded as extravagant, has repre- 
 sented a sort of perpetual adoration as possible 
 even in the present life. " Let no man think it 
 is too much to require at the hands of men, at 
 one and the self-same instant, both to attend 
 their vocation and their prayer. For the mind 
 of man is a very agile and nimble substance ; 
 and it is a wonderful thing to see how many 
 things it will, at one moment, apply itself unto 
 without any confusion or lot liOok but upon 
 the musician, while he is in his practice, he 
 tunes his voice, fingers his instrument, reads his 
 ditty, makes the note, observes the time; all 
 these things simul et semel, (at one and the same 
 instant,) without any distraction or impediment ; 
 thus should men do in case of devotion, and in 
 the common acts of our vocation let prayer 
 bear a part." 
 
 And the celebrated Barrow has said nearly 
 the same : — " As bodily respiration, without 
 intermission or impediment, doth c(5ncur with 
 all our actions, so may that breathing of soul, 
 
 * Hales, of Eton. 
 
WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 265 
 
 which preserveth our spiritual life, and venti- 
 lateth that holy fiame within us, well conspire 
 with all other occupations." 
 
 The remarks of both these authors forcibly 
 and instructively show, how practicable and 
 important it is to habituate ourselves to inter- 
 pose mental devotion, in the frequent intervals 
 and brief vacuities of other engagements. Yet 
 it is plain they were not meant to be understood 
 strictly, either in a philosophical or practical 
 sense ; because many occupations claim, while 
 we are pursuing them, the whole and fixed 
 attention of the mind. And from this fact, that 
 the occupations in which the intellect is most 
 steadfastly and unremittingly engaged, can 
 least admit such interposed prayer, we may 
 draw an inference, humbling to the philosopher 
 and encouraging to the peasant ; namely, that 
 the simple ordinary labours of mankind, in 
 which the body, and not the mind, is chiefly 
 concerned, are peculiarly favourable to that 
 kind of devotion which is least artificial, least 
 intermitted, and therefore most heavenly. The 
 comparisons which those writers have used are 
 most correctly adapted to illustrate that capa- 
 city of uninterrupted worship, which we expect 
 will characterise a future state of perfection. 
 23 
 
266 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Devotion in heaven may neither impede, nor 
 be impeded by, any mode of mental activity ; 
 but may consist with all, be excited by all, be 
 essential to all. The highest employments of 
 the mind may offer no more " distraction or 
 impediment" to a blissful adoration, than the 
 involuntary functions of the body now present 
 to the exercise of thought. And this idea dis- 
 arms the sarcasm of infidels on the perpetual 
 worship of heaven, founded on their own false 
 pretence, that it involves a cessation of vigorous 
 action and of intellectual progress. Is the play 
 of the fountain obstructed by the iris that blends 
 with and encircles it? Must the Hving foun- 
 tains of mind spring up with a less majestic 
 strength, or in forms and combinations of less 
 variety and grandeur, because each drop shall 
 give forth a ray, brighter and more ethereal 
 than itself, to the eternal arch of praise ? 
 
 Such are some of the thoughts of futurity 
 w^hich revelation invites the true worshipper to 
 indulge ; or, rather, it intimates prospects far 
 above his powers of present conception ; since 
 even a distinguished apostle could say — " II 
 doth not yet appear what we shall be." The 
 first impression awakened by such prospects, in 
 a mind deeply sensible to its frailty and demerit, 
 
WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 267 
 
 is — Can such an exaltation be designed for me ? 
 And the only substantial answer which I have 
 discovered, is found in the memorable question 
 of St. Paul ; — " He that spared not his own Son, 
 but delivered him up for us all, how shall he 
 not, with him, also, freely give us all things'?" 
 That truth, believed and realised, must silence 
 all feelings which would Hmit the free and un- 
 measured munificence of our Father who is in 
 heaven. 
 
 What, then, is the great practical impression 
 to be sought from prospects like these, espe- 
 cially as it regards our present exercises of de- 
 votion 1 They should surely abound in grateful, 
 ardent hope, joyfully anticipating "the glory 
 that shall be revealed." But if, through tempta- 
 tions, or infirmities, our worship be still, in these 
 happiest qualities, defective, at least, let its sin- 
 cerity be unquestionable, as the great pre-requi- 
 site to its becoming blissful and perfect hereaf- 
 ter. Let it be solemnly remembered, that though 
 we cannot now emulate the adoration of the 
 heavenly world, yet " the hour now is, when 
 the true worshippers shall worship the Father 
 in spirit and in truth ;" that is, with the unre- 
 served, undissembled homage of the soul. Ex- 
 cept there be in the heart a germ of real piety 
 
268 WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. 
 
 — except it be, though weak and imperfect, yet 
 genuine and incorrupt, rooted and growing, it 
 were vain to hope that even the climate of hea- 
 ven could expand that which is lifeless, or invest 
 that which has no principle of growth, with 
 beauty and fragrance. 
 
 THE END.