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JACOB ABBOTT'S 
 
 YOUIG CHEISTIAN SEEIES. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 ^Tv^ 
 
 
 I. THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN < 
 11. THE CORNER STONE. "i? 
 
 III. THE WAY TO DO GOOD. 
 
 IV. HOARYHEAD AND M'DONNER. 
 
 VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 
 
 W$W^ numerous IBuflrabftigH. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 1855. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cornerstoneOOabborich 
 
THE 
 
 CORNER STONE 
 
 BY JACOB ABBOTT. 
 
 VERY GREATLY IMPROVED AND ENLARGED. 
 
 CffiCt!) numerous 3Enflrabinfl», 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 329 & 331 PEARL STREET, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 
 1855. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Oflace for the Southern District of New York. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The works comprised in the Young Christian series 
 are the following : 
 
 I. The Young Christian ; or, a Familiar Illustration 
 of the Principles of Christian Duty. 
 
 II. The Corner Stone ; or, a Familiar Illustration of 
 the Principles of Christian Truth. 
 
 III. The Way to do Gtood ; or, the Christian Char- 
 acter Mature. 
 
 IV. HoARYHEAD and M'Donner ; or the Eadical Na- 
 ture of the Change in Spiritual Regeneration. 
 
 The Young Christian, the first volume of the series, 
 is intended as a guide to the young inquirer in first en- 
 tering upon his Christian course. Like the other vol- 
 umes of the series, the work is intended, not for chil- 
 dren, nor exclusively for the young, but for all who are 
 first commencing a religious life, whatever their years 
 may be. Since, however, it proves, in fact, that such 
 beginners are seldom found among those who have 
 passed beyond the early periods of life, the author has 
 kept in mind the wants and the mental characteristics 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 of youth, rather than those of maturity, in the form in 
 which he has presented the truths brought to view, and 
 in the narratives and dialogues with which he has at- 
 tempted to illustrate them. 
 
 In respect to the theology of the work, it takes every 
 where for granted that salvation for the human soul is 
 to be obtained through repentance for past sin, and 
 through faith and trust in the merits and atonement of 
 our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Its main design, 
 however, is to enforce the practice, and not to discuss 
 the theory, of religion. Its object is simply to explain 
 and illustrate Christian duty, exhibiting this duty, how- 
 ever, as based on those great fundamental principles of 
 faith in which all evangelical Christians concur. 
 
 The Corner Stone, the second volume of the series, 
 though intended to explain and illustrate certain great 
 religious truths, is not a work of technical theology. 
 Its aim is simply to present, in a plain and very prac- 
 tical manner, a view of some of the great fundamental 
 truths of revealed religion, on which the superstructure 
 of Christian character necessarily reposes. The char- 
 acter and history of Jesus Christ, considered as the chief 
 Corner Stone of the Christian faith, form the main sub- 
 jects of the volume ; and the principles of faith which 
 are brought to view are presented to the reader, as they 
 are seen in the Scriptures, centrmg in him. 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 The Way to do Gtood, the third volume of the series, 
 is designed to present a practical view of a Ufe of Chris- 
 tian usefulness, and to exhibit in a very plain and sim- 
 ple manner the way in which a sincere and honest fol- 
 lower of Jesus is to honor his sacred profession and ad- 
 vance his Master's cause, by his daily efforts to promote 
 the welfare and happiness of those around him. 
 
 HoARYHEAD and M'DoNNER, the fourth and last vol- 
 ume of the series, consists of two connected tales, de- 
 signed to illustrate the very radical character of the 
 change by which the Christian life is begun. 
 
 In the treatment of the various topics discussed in 
 these volumes, the author has made it his aim to divest 
 the subject of religion of its scholastic garb, and to pre- 
 sent in all plainness and simplicity, and in a manner 
 adapted to the intellectual wants of common readers, 
 the great fundamental principles of truth and duty. It 
 is now many years since the volumes of this series were 
 first issued, and during that time they have been pub- 
 lished, in whole or in part, very extensively through- 
 out the Christian world. Besides the wide circulation 
 which the series has enjoyed in this country, numerous 
 editions, more or less complete, have been issued in En- 
 gland, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, Holland, 
 India, and at various missionary stations throughout 
 
VIU PREFACE. 
 
 the globe. The extended approbation which the Chris- 
 tian community have thus bestowed upon the plan, and 
 the increasing demand for copies of the several volumes, 
 have led to the republication of the series at this time 
 in a new and much improved form. The works have 
 all been carefully revised by the author for this edition, 
 and they are embellished with numerous illustrative 
 engravings, which it is hoped may aid in making them 
 attractive for every class of readers. 
 New York, February, 1856. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Page 
 THE DEITY, 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MAN CHRIST JESUS, ....... 57 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 HUMAN DUTY, 75 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HUMAN NATURE, ......... 102 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PUNISHMENT, 130 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 PARDON, 161 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Page 
 THE LAST SUPPER, 194 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CRUCIFIERS, 232 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PARTING COMMAND, 273 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PARTING PROMISE, 321 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION, ........ 367 
 
ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Page 
 
 JOSEPH AND MARY, 13 
 
 THE WALK IN THE GARDEN, 28 
 
 SUMMER, . 34 
 
 WINTER, 36 
 
 SOLITUDE, . • 64 
 
 THE WINTER NIGHT, *70 
 
 THE LOST CAP, 82 
 
 THE "WALK, . 97 
 
 THE MOTHER, 106 
 
 THE PROSPECT, 123 
 
 THE FORGER, 132 
 
 ALONE, 162 
 
 THE TEMPTATION, ...,..•• 164 
 
 THE FALLEN STUCCO, 164 
 
 THE HOSPITAL, 1*75 
 
 FAITH, 184 
 
 JERUSALEM, 196 
 
 THE DIRECTIONS, 219 
 
 THE PIT, 236 
 
 JUDAS, 247 
 
 THE PALACE, 263 
 
 CRUCIFT HIM, . . . 264 
 
 BEHOLD THE MAN, 266 
 
XU ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 Page 
 
 THE FRIENDS, 288 
 
 THE WIDOW, 301 
 
 THE HARMLESS SERPENT, 306 
 
 THE WITHERED HAND, ^ 326 
 
 THE COLLEGE, 330 
 
 THE INTRUSION, 332 
 
 THE MEETING, 351 
 
 THE SEA-SHORE 367 
 
 THE PLANTING, 374 
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY, 878 
 
THE CORIEE-STONE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DEITY. 
 "The glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." 
 
 Address to the reader. 
 
 " If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doc- 
 trine ;" so said the Savior, and the obvious inference from it 
 is, that we are to act up to the light we have, before we seek 
 for more. Reader, are you doing God's toill ? This book 
 is intended to explain such of the elementary principles of 
 the gospel of Christ, as are necessary to supply the most 
 
14 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Preparation of the heart. The caravan. Night. 
 
 pressing wants of a human soul hungering and thirsting after 
 righteousness ; but this Gospel, the Bible assures us, can not 
 be understood, unless the heart is ready to comply with its 
 claims. If you have not confessed your sins therefore, and 
 asked forgiveness, if you do not habitually strive against 
 temptation, seeking help from above, if you do not aim at 
 doing the will of God in your daily pursuits, I earnestly ad- 
 vise you to go to God before you proceed farther, and implore 
 his forgiveness for the past, and in the most solemn and em- 
 phatic manner, commit yourself to him for the future. 
 Whatever difficulties in your mind hang around the subjects 
 connected with religious truth, you certainly know enough to 
 see that this is a duty, and you can not neglect or postpone 
 obedience to it without doing violence to conscience, and dis- 
 pleasing God. Do it, then, before you proceed any farther. 
 You will then have God's guidance and assistance as you go 
 on. You will be preserved from error and led into the truth. 
 Your heart being opened, the instruction which this volume 
 may present, will enter into it, and contribute to its improve- 
 ment and happiness. But it will do no good to go on heap- 
 ing up the truth before the door of your heart, so long as the 
 door is securely barred against its admission. 
 
 Some centuries ago, a large, a very large company were 
 traveling northwardly in early summer, through a lovely 
 country, whose hills and valleys were clothed with the fig- 
 tree, the olive, and the vine. They journeyed slowly and 
 without anxiety or care, for their route lay through a quiet 
 land, the abode of peace and plenty. Friends and acquaint- 
 ances were mingled together in groups, as accident or inclina- 
 tion might dictate, until the sun went down, and the ap- 
 proach of evening warned them to make preparations for 
 rest. While the various families were drawing off together 
 for this purpose, the attention and the sympathy of the mul- 
 
THE DEITY. 15 
 
 The lost child. An anxious search. Jerusalem at eveniag. 
 
 titude were excited by the anxious looks and eager inquiries 
 of a female, who was passing from group to group, with sor- 
 row and agitation painted on her countenance. It was a 
 mother, who could not find her son. It was her only son, 
 and one to whom, from peculiar circumstances, she was very 
 strongly attached. He had never disobeyed her ; — ^he had 
 never given her unnecessary trouble, and the uncommon 
 maturity of his mental and moral powers had probably led 
 her to trust him much more to himself than in any other 
 case would be justifiable. He was twelve years old, and she 
 supposed that he had been safe in the company, but now 
 night had come, and she could not find him. She went anx- 
 iously and sorrowfully from family to family, and from friend 
 to friend, inquiring with deep solicitude, " Have you seen 
 my son ?" 
 
 He was not to be found. No one had seen him, and the 
 anxious parents left their company, and inquiring carefully 
 by the way, went slowly back to the city whence they had 
 come. 
 
 The city was in the midst of a country of mountains and 
 valleys. Dark groves crowned the sunmiits, and richly culti- 
 vated fields adorned their sides. The road meandered along 
 the glens and vales, sharing the passage with the streams 
 which flowed toward a neighboring sea. The city itself 
 spread its edifices over the broad surface of a hill, one ex- 
 tremity of which was crowned with the spacious walls and 
 colonnades of a temple, rising one above another, the whole 
 pile beaming probably in the setting sun, as these anxious 
 parents approached it, in all the dazzling whiteness of 
 marble and splendor of gold. The parents however could 
 not have thought much of the scene before them. They had 
 lost their son. 
 
 With what anxious and fruitless search they spent the 
 evening and the following morning, we do not know. They 
 
16 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The temple. The boy found. The question and reply. 
 
 at last however ascended to the temple itself. They passed 
 from court to court, now going up the hroad flight of steps 
 which led from one to the other, now walking under a lofty 
 colonnade, and now traversing a paved and ornamented area. 
 At last in a public part of this edifice, they found a group 
 collected around a hoy, and apparently listening to what he 
 was saying ; the feeling must have heen mingled interest, 
 curiosity and surprise. It was their son. His uncommon 
 mental and moral maturity had by some means shown itself 
 to those around him, and they were deeply interested in his 
 questions and replies. 
 
 His mother, for the narrative, true to nature and to fact, 
 makes the mother the foremost parent in every thing con- 
 nected with the search for their son, does not reproach him. 
 She asked him why he had stayed behind, and gently reminded 
 him of the sorrow and suffering he had caused them. He 
 gave them a reply which she could not fully understand, and 
 the feelings with which twelve years of intercourse, such as 
 no mother ever before had with a son, had inspired her for 
 him, forbade her pressing him for an explanation. " She 
 laid his words up in her hearth 
 
 With what a strange mixture of affection and wonder, 
 and ardent but respectful regard, must the mother of Jesus 
 have habitually looked upon her son. A boy who had never 
 spoken an impatient or disrespectful word, who had never 
 manifested an unkind or a selfish feeling, who had never dis- 
 obeyed, never failed in his duty, but had, for twelve long 
 years, never given father or mother an unnecessary step, or 
 a moment's uneasiness, or neglected any thing which could 
 give them pleasure. My reader, are you still under your 
 father's roof ? If so, try the experiment of doing in every 
 respect for a single week, your duty to father and mother ; 
 fill your heart with kindness and love to them, and let your 
 words and your actions be in all respects controlled by these 
 
THE DEITY. 17 
 
 Mary's feelings toward her son. His appearance and character. 
 
 feelings ; — ^be the disinterested and untiring friend and helper 
 of your Httle brothers and sisters ; — in a word, do your whole 
 duty, in the family of which you form a part, making filial 
 affection and respect the evident spring, and you will fill a 
 mother's heart with gladness at the change. You can then 
 a little understand the deep tide of enjoyment, which must 
 have filled Mary's heart, during the childhood of her spotless 
 son. 
 
 What, too, must have been the progress of this child's 
 mind, in knowledge and wisdom. A mind, never allured 
 away by folly, or impeded by idleness, or deranged by pas- 
 sion. Conceive of a frame too, which no guilty indulgence 
 of appetite or propensity had impaired, and a countenance 
 which was bright with its expression of intelligence and 
 energy, and yet beaming with kindness and love. It was 
 the perfection of human nature, the carrying out to its limit, 
 of all which God originally intended in the creation of man. 
 And why was it so ? How has it happened, that among the 
 millions upon millions of children who have by disobedience, 
 ingratitude and sin, planted thorns in the parental pillow, 
 and often thrown sadness about the circle in which they 
 moved, this boy had been the only spotless one ? How is it, 
 that he alone had walked in purity, — ^that he alone had 
 never sinned, never sought selfishly his own, never given a 
 parent pain, never injured a playmate, or returned an impa- 
 tient word, or struck a blow in anger, or harbored a feeling 
 of revenge ? He stands a glorious monument of perfect filial 
 virtue, the more glorious because it is solitary. No other 
 nation or kindred or people or clime, ever furnished such a 
 case, or pretended to furnish one. It is remarkable that 
 among all the endless fables and pretensions of ancient times, 
 no historian or mythologist, no priest or prophet or philoso- 
 pher, has ever pretended to have found a spotless man. The 
 whole world withdraws its pretensions. Every system of re- 
 
18 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The Deity. Survey of the universe. 
 
 ligion, and every school of philosophy stand back from this 
 field, and leave Jesus Christ alone, the solitary example of 
 perfect moral purity, in the midst of a world lying in sin. 
 The motto of our chapter contains the only explanation. 
 The moral glory which beams upon us in this great example 
 
 is " THE GLORY OF GoD IN THE FACE OF JeSLS ChRIST.' 
 
 Almost all young persons are lost and confounded in a - 
 tempting to obtain any clear conceptions of the Deity, or 
 rather I should say, they are embarrassed and perplexed by 
 many false and absurd impressions, which come up with 
 them from childhood, and which cling to them very obsti- 
 nately in riper years. Let us turn away, then, a short time 
 from the history of the child Jesus, that we may look a little 
 into this subject. It is not an easy one. It will require pa- 
 tient thought and close attention. You ought to pause, from 
 time to time, as you read the following paragraphs, to look 
 within and around you, and to send forth your conceptions far 
 away in the regions into which I shall attempt to guide them. 
 And above all, remember that if ever you need divine assist- 
 ance, it is when you attempt to look into the nature and 
 character of that Power which is the origin and the support 
 of all other existence. 
 
 In the first place, let us take a survey of the visible uni- 
 verse, that we may see what manifestations of God appear in 
 it. Let us imagine that we can see with the naked eye all 
 that the telescope can show us, and then in order that we 
 may obtain an uninterrupted view, let us leave this earth, and 
 ascending from its surface, take a station where we can look, 
 without obstruction, upon all around. As we rise above the 
 summits of the loftiest mountains, the bright and verdant re- 
 gions of the earth begin to grow dim. City after city, and 
 stream after stream fade away from view, and at length we 
 see the whole earth itself rolling away on its course, and re- 
 flecting from its surface a uniform and silvery light. As the 
 
THE DEITY. 19 
 
 The sun. The moon. 
 
 last breath of its atmosphere draws off from us, it leaves us 
 in the midst of universal night, with a sky extending without 
 interruption all around us, and bringing out to our view in 
 every possible direction, innumerable and interminable vistas 
 of stars. They grow fainter i and fainter in the distance, till 
 they are lost in measureless regions, too remote to be seen, 
 but which are still as full and as brilliant as those which are 
 near. In one quarter of the heavens, we do indeed see 
 the sun, shining in all its splendor, but as there is now no 
 atmosphere around us to reflect its rays, they produce no 
 general illumination, and the dazzling splendor of his disk 
 beams out from a dark nocturnal sky. The stars beyond 
 him, bright or faint, as they are nearer or more distant, 
 send to us their beams entirely unobstructed by his rays. 
 We have thus the whole visible universe open to our view, 
 so far as telescopic vision will carry us into its remoter re- 
 gions. Let us look at it in detail. 
 
 Do you see yon moon-like looking planet, gliding almost 
 imperceptibly toward us on its way ? From that portion of 
 its surface which is turned toward the sun, it reflects to us a 
 silvery light, while the rest of its form is in shadow and un- 
 seen. As it approaches us it enlarges and swells until it fills 
 the whole quarter of the sky whence it comes. Its illumin- 
 ated surface is turned more and more from us as it passes 
 between us and the sun, and as it wheels majestically by us, 
 we see, dimly indeed, for we look upon its shaded side, broadly 
 extended regions crowded with life and vegetation. The 
 mighty mass however passes on ; a bright line of light be- 
 gins to creep in upon its western limb. The darkened sur- 
 face gradually fades from our view, and we soon see nothing 
 but the shining crescent, which dwindles to a point, as this 
 mighty world of life, covered with verdure and thronged 
 with population, wheels away and takes its place among 
 the stars of the evening sky, itself soon the faintest star of all. 
 
20 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Jupiter ; his satellites. Distance. Exact regularity. 
 
 In another quarter of the heavens, we see a larger planet^ 
 whose surface it would take the swiftest human travelei 
 hundreds of years merely to explore ; but it beams mildly 
 upon us from its distant orbit, a little gilded ball. 
 
 There are four bright points in the sky near it ; two on 
 each side, so minute as to be almost invisible, and yet shin- 
 ing with a clear and steady light, except when in their reg- 
 ular revolution round their parent orb, they disappear behind 
 him, or are lost in his shadow. The whole group, the moons 
 and the mighty mass around which they revolve, sweep on 
 in their annual circuit with a velocity almost inconceivable, 
 but in their measureless distance, their motion is to us so 
 nearly imperceptible, that we must watch them days or 
 weeks to be satisfied that they move at all. 
 
 Measureless distance, did I say ? No. The Creator of 
 this moving world has framed an intellect which has exactly 
 surveyed the bounds of this mighty orbit. The distance of 
 this planet is measured, and its mighty mass is weighed, as 
 accurately as any distance, or any weight, can be ascertained ; 
 and human calculation will tell precisely what situation, at 
 any instant, hundreds of years hence, the planet itself and 
 every one of its satellites will have assumed. The maker of 
 this machinery set it in motion at least six thousand years 
 ago, and yet so precise, so unaltered, and unalterable is the 
 regularity with which it goes on, that its revolutions constitute 
 now the very standard of exactness among men. By these 
 revolutions, an observer in the remotest lands finds what is 
 the exact time at his distant home, and learns the very dis- 
 tance which separates him from it. Jupiter and his satellites 
 constitute in fact an illuminated clock, which God has placed 
 in the heavens, and whose motions he regulates so as to make 
 it an unerring guide to man. 
 
 Turn now to another quarter, and you see far, far beyond 
 all that we have yet observed, a brilliant star, the brightest 
 
THE DEITY. 21 
 
 Sirius. The panorama of the universe. Childish illusion. 
 
 among all the constellations around. It is Sirius ; the fixed 
 unaltered Sirius. He has been watched for ages, and gazed 
 upon by ten thousand eyes, but no one has discovered in him 
 the slightest motion or change. He keeps his precise place 
 among the feebler companions around him. His luster never 
 waxes nor wanes. No telescope will enlarge or alter him, 
 or bring him nearer, and from two stations a hundred and 
 ninety millions of miles apart, he appears in the same place, 
 and shines with the same brightness, and his unalterable 
 beam comes apparently from the same direction. 
 
 But inconceivably remote as this star is from us, we can 
 see far, very far beyond him. The eye penetrates between 
 him and those around, away into boundless regions, where 
 the vista stretches on from star to star, and from cluster to 
 cluster, in endless perspective. The faint nebula is perhaps 
 the most remote of all, whose dim and delicately-penciled 
 light, in the very remotest sky, is, every ray of it, the con- 
 centrated effulgence of a blazing sun, so inconceivably dis- 
 tant however, that the united power of all can produce only 
 the vision of a little faint cloud, apparently just ready to melt 
 away and disappear. 
 
 Such is the scene as it would present itself to an observer, 
 who could escape for an hour from the obstructions to the 
 view at the surface of the earth, and from the dimness and 
 the reflections of our atmosphere. Our globe itself cuts off 
 one half of the visible universe at all times, and the air 
 spreads over us a deep canopy of blue, which, during the 
 day, shuts out entirely the other half But were the field 
 open, we should see in every direction the endless perspective 
 of suns and stars as I have described them. And this, too, 
 all around us, — above and below, to the east and to the 
 west, to the north and to the south. The conception of 
 childhood, — and it is one^ which clings to us in maturer 
 years, — ^that above the blue sky there is a heaven concealed, 
 
22 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 No visible Deity. 
 
 where the Deity sits enthroned, is a delusive one. God is 
 everywhere. He has formed these worlds, these countless 
 suns, and where we see his works, there we see his presence 
 and agency. But the beautiful canopy above us does not 
 conceal from us a material heaven beyond. The Deity is 
 the ALL-PERVADING POWER, which lives and acts throughout 
 the whole. He is not a separate existence having a special 
 habitation in a part of it. If we look in every direction 
 through this magnificent scene, we behold proofs of the 
 active presence of the Deity in it all, but there is no mate- 
 rial temple, no throne, no monarch with visible tokens of 
 majesty. In fact if there was any quarter of the universe 
 more magnificent than the rest, with a visible potentate 
 seated there wielding his scepter, that visible potentate 
 would not, could not he God. It must be a creation, not 
 the universal, uncaused Creator. It might be a manifestation 
 of the supreme power, but it would not be, and could not be 
 that power itself, which from its very nature is universal in 
 its presence, and which consequently no limits and no place 
 can confine. 
 
 It will be observed by the reader, that I am speaking here 
 of a heaven considered as the seat of government occupied 
 by a visible Deity on a throne. That the future residence 
 of the happy, will be a definite place, where extraordinary 
 tokens of God's presence, and extraordinary manifestations 
 of his power and glory will be seen, is highly probable. 
 I am speaking only of conceptions which make the Deity 
 himself corporeal, not spiritual, and assign him a special 
 place, instead of regarding him as the great invisible spirit, 
 every part of the wide imiverse being equally his home. 
 
 Banish then, for this is the object to which I have been in 
 these paragraphs aiming, all material ideas of a Deity, and do 
 not let your imagination struggle to find its way upward to 
 some material heaven, with indefinite and idle conceptions 
 
THE DEITY. 23 
 
 The spirit ; seen only in his works. Various manifestations. 
 
 of a monarch seated on a throne. The striking and beauti- 
 ful metaphors of the Bible never were intended to give us 
 this idea. God is a Spirit, it says in its most emphatic tone. 
 A spirit; that is, he has no form, no place, no throne. 
 Where he acts, there only can we see him. He is the wide- 
 spread omnipresent ^ot^er, which is everywhere employed, — 
 but which we can neither see, nor know, except so far as he 
 shall manifest himself by his doings. 
 
 If we thus succeed in obtaining just conceptions of the 
 Deity as the invisible and universal poweVy pervading all 
 space, and existing in all time, we shall at once perceive 
 that the only way by which he can make himself known 
 to his creatures, is by acting himself out, as it were, in his 
 works ; and of course the nature of the manifestation which 
 is made will depend upon the nature of the works. In the 
 structure of a solar system, with its blazing center and re- 
 volving worlds, the Deity, invisible itself, acts out its mighty 
 power, and the unerring perfection of its intellectual skill. 
 At the same time, while it is carrying on these mighty move- 
 ments, it is exercising in a very different scene, an untiring 
 industry, and unrivaled taste, in clothing a mighty forest 
 with verdure, bringing out in beauty its millions of opening 
 buds, and painting, by slow and cautious steps, the petal of 
 every flower, and every insect's wing. And so everywhere 
 this unseen and universal Essence, acts out its various attri- 
 butes, by its different works. We can learn its nature only 
 by the character of the effects which spring from it. 
 
 But I hear my reader say, " I can not dispel the idea that 
 there is above me, somewhere in the lofty sky, the peculiar 
 residence of Jehovah, from which he puts forth, as it were, 
 his arm, and produces all these effects in the more distant 
 regions of his creation ; and I can not but hope that one day 
 I shall see him there." 
 
 Now doubtless you may reasonably hope to enjoy at some 
 
24 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Unworthy conceptions of God. 
 
 future day spiritual realizations of the existence and power 
 and presence of the Deity, far more intimate and vivid than 
 you now even conceive of : but these realizations can not be 
 by means of any thing like bodily vision. Nothing can be 
 seen by the eye but form and color, and form and color are 
 not attributes of God. We must dispel all such unworthy 
 conceptions of the supreme. Go out in the evening, and 
 gaze up into the clear sky, till you realize that you can see 
 away into those distant regions, far beyond the sphere which 
 your childish imagination has assigned as the residence of 
 God. Then reflect that the whole scene which you thus 
 gaze into, will, in a few hours, be beneath your feet. Try 
 to dispel the illusion, and thoroughly fix in your mind, so 
 that it shall never leave you, the conception that the Deity 
 is the all-pervading, universal and invisible power. He is 
 below, as much as he is above ; for if we could perforate 
 the earth, and look through to what is beneath our feet, we 
 should find there as many worlds, as many blazing suns and 
 shining stars, and as endless perspectives of brightness and 
 beauty, all marking the presence and the agency of God, as 
 we ever see above. 
 
 This universal essence, then, must display to us its nature, 
 by acting itself out in a thousand places, by such manifesta- 
 tions of itself, as it wishes us to understand. Does God de- 
 sire to impress us with the idea of his power ? He darts 
 the lightning from cloud to cloud, — or rolls the thunder, — 
 or shakes continents by his unseen hand. Does he wish to 
 beam upon us in love ? What can be more expressive than 
 the sweet summer sunset, and the thousand nameless tints 
 and hues which give its expression of peace and happiness 
 to the landscape, and air, and sky of evening. How can he 
 make us acquainted with his benevolence and skill ? Why 
 by acting them out in some mechanism which exhibits them. 
 He may construct an eye, or a hand for man, filling them 
 
THE DEITY. 26 
 
 Exhibitions of power ; love ; benevolence ; skill. 
 
 with ingenious contrivances for our benefit, so numerous, 
 that the very being who uses them may be centuries in 
 exploring their mysterious wonders and yet not learn them 
 all. How can he give us some conception of his intellectual 
 powers ? He can plan the motions of planets, and so exactly 
 balance their opposing forces, that thousands of years shall 
 not accumulate the slightest error, or disturb the unchanging 
 precision of their way. But the great question, after all, is 
 to come. It is the one to which we have meant that all 
 which we have been saying should ultimately tend. How 
 can such a being exhibit the moral principle by which his 
 mighty energies are all controled ? 
 
 He is an unseen, universal power, utterly invisible to us, 
 and imperceptible, except so far as he shall act out his 
 attributes in what he does. How shall he act out moral 
 principle ? It is easy by his material creations, to make any 
 impression upon us, which material objects can make ; but 
 how shall he exhibit to us the moral beauty of justice, and 
 benevolence, and mercy between man and man ? How shall 
 he exhibit to us clearly his desire that sorrow and suffering 
 on earth should be mitigated, and injuries forgiven, and uni- 
 versal peace and good-will reign among the members of this 
 great family ? Can he do this by the thunder, the lightning 
 or the earthquake ? Can he do it by the loveliness of the 
 evening landscape, or the magnificence and splendor of the 
 countless suns and stars ? No. He might declare his moral 
 attributes as he might have declared his power ; but if he 
 would bring home to us the one, as vividly and distinctly as 
 the other, he must act out his moral principles, by a moral 
 manifestation, in a moral scene ; and the great beauty of 
 Christianity is, that it represents him as doing so. He brings 
 out the purity, and spotlessness, and moral glory of the 
 Divinity, through the workings of a human mind, called into 
 existence for this purpose, and stationed in a most conspicuous 
 
 B 
 
26 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral character displayed in Christ Jesus. Studying God's character. 
 
 attitude among men. In the movements of a planet we see 
 the energy of the Deity in constant occupation, showing us 
 such powers and principles as majestic motion can show; 
 and in the moral movements of a mind, in which the energies 
 of a Deity equally mingle, and which they equally guide, we 
 have the far more important manifestation which the move- 
 ments of thought and feeling can show. Without some 
 direct manifestation of the Deity in the spiritual world, the 
 display of his character would be fatally incomplete, and it 
 is a beautiful illustration of the more than harmony which 
 exists between nature and revelation, that the latter does thus, 
 in precise analogy, exactly complete what the former had 
 begun. Thus the moral perfections of the divinity show 
 themselves to us in the only way by which, so far as we can 
 see, it is possible directly to show them, by coming out in 
 action, in the very field of human duty, through a mysterious 
 union with a human intellect and human powers. It is 
 God manifest in the flesh ; the visible moral image of an 
 all-pervading moral Deity, himself forever invisible. 
 
 My object in this chapter, thus far, has been to show my 
 readers, in what way, and on what principles they are to 
 study the character of God. The substance of the view, 
 which I have been wishing to impress upon your minds, is, 
 that we are to expect to see him solely through the mani- 
 festations which he makes of himself in his works. We have 
 seen in what way some of the traits of his character are dis- 
 played in the visible creation, and how at last he determined 
 to manifest his moral character, by bringing it into action 
 through the medium of a human soul. The plan was carried 
 into effect, and the mysterious person thus formed appears for 
 the first time to our view, in the extraordinary boy whom we 
 left sitting in the temple, an object of wonder, which must have 
 been almost boundless, since the power which was manifest- 
 
THE DEITY. 27 
 
 His works examined. An experiment. 
 
 ing itself in him was unknown. We have now in the suc- 
 ceeding chapters of this book, to follow the circumstances 
 and events of his remarkable history. 
 
 Before we proceed, however, we have a few things of 
 a practical character to say, which are suggested by this 
 subject. 
 
 1. A young Christian may derive great advantage, and 
 enjoy much pleasure in studying the character of God on the 
 principles of this chapter. I do not mean by reading books 
 on the subject, but by making your own observations and 
 reflections upon the scene and the objects around you. 
 There are certain highly wrought contrivances, such as the 
 eye, and the hand, which were long since exhibited as proofs 
 of divine wisdom, and they have been so exclusively dwelt 
 upon by writers since, as almost to produce the impression 
 upon those who read passively, that these are all, or certainly 
 the chief indications of divine wisdom. Whereas you can 
 not take a walk, or sit at an open window, without finding 
 innumerable examples as unequivocal as these. 
 
 A young lady of active mind, who was out of health, and 
 forbidden by her physician to read or study, and who com- 
 plained that she did not know how to employ her thoughts, 
 was advised by a friend to take a walk, and see how many 
 proofs of divine contrivance she could find. Such an experi- 
 ment, I would advise all my readers to try. With a very little 
 ingenuity, they will succeed much better than they would 
 imagine. Should any make the attempt, and reduce to 
 writing the result of the observations made, the report might 
 be perhaps somewhat as follows : 
 
 " From the yard of my father's house I passed through a 
 gate into the garden, intending to cross it and seek for my 
 proofs of design, in the fields and wood beyond. As I passed 
 along the walk, however, I observed several apples lying on 
 
28 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The ripe apple's stem. 
 
 the ground, under a tree. I took up one and found that it 
 was ripe. 
 
 THE WALK IN THE GARDEN 
 
 " I began to consider whether there was not design in the 
 smooth tight skin by which the apple was covered, protect- 
 ing it so fully from the rain ; and thought that next spring, 
 when the apples were about half formed, I would carefully 
 pare one while it was on the tree, and then leave it, to see 
 what effect the loss of its skin would have on its future growth. 
 
 " None but the ripe apples had fallen to the ground. It 
 seems then that when the fruit has come to its maturity, it 
 is so contrived as to let go its hold, and fall. There appears 
 to be no natural connection between the maturity of the fruit 
 and the weakness of the stem precisely at its junction with 
 the tree, particularly as the rest of the stem continues strong 
 and sound as before. 
 
THE DEITY. 29 
 
 Juices. Cells. The vine and its tendrils. Contraction. 
 
 *' I mellowed one of the apples, as the boys term it, by- 
 striking it rapidly against a smooth post, without however 
 breaking the skin. Before, though it was not very hard, it 
 was firm to the touch, but now it was soft and yielding. 
 What change had I made in its interior ? A ball of wood 
 could not be thus softened by blows. I cut it open. The 
 juice flowed out profusely. If I had cut it open just as it 
 came from the tree, not a drop would have fallen to the 
 ground. I concluded that the sweet liquid had been care- 
 fully put up in little cells, which composed the substance of 
 the fruit, and which had safely retained it until my blows 
 had broken them all away, so as to mingle their contents into 
 one mass. I thought how busily the power of God was em- 
 ployed every summer's day, in ten thousand orchards, carrying 
 these juices into every tree, apportioning its proper share to 
 every apple, and conveying each particle to its own minute, 
 invisible cell. 
 
 " Just then I saw before me, at a little distance, a cucum- 
 ber vine, which had spread itself over the ground, and was 
 clinging to every little sprig and pebble which came in its way. 
 * How can its little tendrils find what they wish to clasp ?* 
 thought I, as I stooped down to look at them. I observed 
 that the. tendrils which did not come into contact with any 
 thing, were nearly or quite straight, though some of them had 
 grown out to a considerable length. Every one however 
 which touched any object, had curled toward it, and some 
 had wound themselves round so many times, that they would 
 break rather than relax their hold. How delicate must be 
 the mechanism of fibers, so contrived that by the mere 
 invitation of a touch, they should curl and grasp the object 
 which is presented. 
 
 " While looking at this, and observing that the origin of 
 the tendril in the stem of the vine, was always at the ex- 
 act place where a support would be most effectual, I no- 
 
30 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The dew-drop. Its supports. Highly finished work. 
 
 ticed a small bright drop, which assumed, as I slightly 
 changed my position, bright hues of orange, green, blue, and 
 violet. It was a drop of dew, which lay in a little inden- 
 tation of the leaf. I was admiring the admirable exactness 
 of its form, and the brilliancy of its polished surface, and 
 wondering at the laws of cohesion and of light, which could 
 thus retain every particle in its precise position, and produce 
 images so perfect, and yet so minute, as I saw reflected there, 
 — ^when I accidentally touched the leaf, and the little world 
 of wonders rolled away. The charm was broken at once ; 
 it vanished upon the wet ground as if it had not been. The 
 spot upon the leaf, where it had been lying for hours, was 
 dry. Thousands of downy fibers, which God had fash- 
 ioned there, had held it up, and similar fibers in countless 
 numbers clothed every leaf, and every stem, and every ten- 
 dril of the whole. I looked over the garden, and was lost in 
 attempting to conceive of the immense number of these deli- 
 cately fashioned fibers, which the all-pervading Deity had 
 been slowly constructing there, during the months that had 
 just gone by. And when I reflected that not only that gar- 
 den, but the gardens and fields of all around me, — the 
 verdure of the whole continent, — of the whole earth, — of 
 unnumbered worlds besides, was all as exquisitely finished 
 as this, the mind shrunk back from the vain effort to follow 
 out the reflection." 
 
 But enough. Such a narrative might be continued indefi- 
 nitely, and the young Christian who will actually go forth 
 to study God's character in garden and forest, and field, will 
 find no end to his discoveries. And the very substances 
 which are most common, and which he has been accustomed 
 to look upon with the slightest interest, he will find teeming 
 with the most abundant proofs of the Creator's benevolence 
 and skill, and of the boundless resources of his power. Take, 
 
THE DEITY. 31 
 
 Water. The fleecy cloud. Snow-storms and snow-flakes. 
 
 for instance, water, which, as it hes before us in a bowl, ap- 
 pears as simple, and as little mechanical in its structure, 
 as any thing can possibly be ; and yet weeks would not be 
 sufficient to describe its wonders. See it now gliding in a 
 smooth and gentle current, on its course, over golden sands, 
 enchaining us for hours upon its banks, to gaze upon its rip- 
 pling surface, and into its clear depths, — and now rolling in 
 the billows of the ocean, which toss, with terrific power, the 
 proudest structures that men can frame, as easily as they do 
 the floating sea-weed. Again, it assumes an invisible form, 
 and the same particles, under a difierent law, float imper- 
 ceptible in the atmosphere, or by their almost resistless re- 
 pulsion, work the mightiest engines which man can construct. 
 The Protean substance again appears to us in the form of 
 a light fleecy cloud, sailing in the clear blue sky. And what 
 is a cloud ? It presents only a surface of whiteness to the 
 eye : but it is composed of countless drops, turned to their 
 true spherical form with mathematical precision, and gently 
 descending through the air, as fast as their superior weight 
 can find its way. Every fleecy cloud is in fact a shower, with 
 drops smaller indeed than those of rain, and descending more 
 slowly, and consumed by the warm air below them, before 
 they reach the earth. If we could see the gradual forma- 
 tion and dissipation of such a drop, as particle after particle 
 comes to increase it, or flies away, we should see the opera- 
 tion of the Deity ; and when we think how many clouds and 
 storms sweep over the sky, every minute globule of which 
 must be formed under the hand of God, we shall see how 
 boundlessly multiplied are the operations of his hands. 
 
 But the half is not yet told. Come out in the snow-storm, 
 and after surveying the vast extent of country buried in its 
 wintry covering, look up into the sky, and estimate, if you 
 can, the millions of descending flakes. Every one of these 
 flakes, countless as they are, is formed and fashioned after its 
 
32 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Perfect workmanship. The bubble. Its structure. 
 
 proper model. It is crystalized in a precise form, every par- 
 ticle takes it precise place, every point of the beautiful star 
 has its proper acuteness, and although in an hour a southern 
 rain is to melt and destroy them all, still not one is neglected, 
 not one is slighted, but every individual flake of all the mil- 
 lions, is fashioned with as much exactness and care as if it 
 was expressly intended for the examination of the chemist or 
 philosopher. Now think of the vast fields of snow which 
 whiten the arctic regions, — think of the eternal storms which 
 sweep the polar skies, and which follow the retreating sun 
 every season, far down toward his own peculiar climes, and 
 conceive, if you can, the extent of the work, which the all- 
 pervading Deity has continually to do. 
 
 There is no end to the forms which this simple substance, 
 water, assumes, in the changes through which the Deity 
 carries it. I will mention one more, because it illustrates 
 peculiarly the idea that the most common objects are the 
 m.ost extraordinary, if we really look at them with an ob- 
 serving eye. It is the bubble ; one of the most surprising 
 things in nature, and yet one at which nobody ever thinks of 
 being surprised. 
 
 In order that we may examine it more conveniently, let us 
 imagine it to be enlarged, for it is plain that its character 
 does not depend at all upon its size. Imagine it then to be 
 enlarged ; suppose one, twenty feet in height, were to stand 
 before you. What a magnificent dome ! Pure, transparent, 
 glistening in the sun, and irised by a thousand hues, which 
 float, and wave, and spread in graceful and ceaseless motion 
 on its surface ! And yet this dome is built, by its architect, 
 of what ? Of marble blocks, fitted into one another with the 
 care which man must exercise to construct his arch or dome ? 
 Of iron bars to strengthen the sides and sustain the summit ? 
 No ; but of fluid particles, which glide and swim among 
 each other, as if they had no connection whatever. They 
 
THE DEITY. 33 
 
 Ita wonderful mechanism. Intellectual and moral exhibitiona. 
 
 are bound together, firmly and exactly balanced, and yet 
 with such admirable skill, that every one is free to float and 
 move where it will. The edifice is so strong, that if a heavy- 
 body falls upon it, it either glides down its side, or cleaves its 
 summit ; and the magic structure safely withstands the shock. 
 It regains in an instant its form, as true, as symmetrical and 
 as perfect as before ; and yet, stable as it thus is, every stone 
 in the edifice is in motion, and glides gracefully, and at per- 
 fect liberty, among the rest. It is indeed a wonder. The 
 laws of reflection and cohesion and equilibrium, which every 
 bubble brings into play, it would require a volume to eluci- 
 date, and yet the mighty operator, seeming to find pleasure 
 in endless occupation, dashes them out in the utmost perfec- 
 tion, under every water-fdl ; by means of them he surmounts 
 every one of the countless waves of ocean with its snowy 
 crest, and whitens a hundred thousand miles of sandy beach 
 and rocky shore, with a perpetual fringe of foam. 
 
 But after all, innumerable and wonderful as are these 
 works of the Deity, these modes of acting out his attributes, 
 there are far more interesting manifestations of his character. 
 For, exciting and animating as are such glimpses as these 
 of the workings of the Almighty, it is only such attributes as 
 skill, power, taste, invention, which are brought into view 
 by them. They are most striking exhibitions it is true, but 
 they are exhibitions of cold intellect only, after all. The 
 splendor of the evening sky, the sublimity of a tempest, the 
 exquisite delicacy of structure which we see in microscopic 
 plants and animals, affect us strongly, but it is little more 
 than a philosophical interest in a power and a skill, so in- 
 finitely varied in its designs, and so admirable in its execu- 
 tion. 
 
 But you can go much farther than this ; you can examine 
 even in nature, the moral exhibitions of God's character, and 
 as we pass from these examples of mere mechanism, to 
 
34 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 An imaginary walk in June. 
 
 God ia love. 
 
 those which exhibit to us the moral feelings of the being 
 who performs these works, our hearts are touched. I will 
 take, to illustrate this, one of the lowest examples of what I 
 mean. 
 
 It is June. We 
 walk out in some re- 
 tired and uninhabited 
 region, in the midst 
 of the forests, and find 
 all nature thronged 
 with active and happy 
 life. Insects unnum- 
 bered sport in the sun, 
 or skip upon the bright 
 surface of the lake. 
 Nimble animals chase 
 one another upon the 
 branches of the trees, 
 or hide in hollow 
 SUMMER. trunks, or gather nuts 
 
 and fruits which fall 
 around them, in inexhaustible profusion. And what is all 
 this for ? Perhaps for hundreds of miles around, there is not 
 a human habitation ; no human eye will witness this scene, 
 and no human want will be supplied by any thing that it 
 produces. What is it for ? What motive induces these 
 efforts ? Why, it is because this mighty architect whose 
 power is so great, and whose field is so boundless, loves to 
 exercise that power in every corner of that wide-spread field, 
 for the purpose of producing enjoyment. No person can look 
 on such a scene, with any thing like proper views of it, with- 
 out feeling a glow of new interest and warmer attachment 
 toward its mighty Author. The mere proofs of power and 
 contrivance and skill, in the specimens of mechanism which 
 
THE DEITY. 35 
 
 The robin and his nest. God's care of him. 
 
 have been noticed, awaken strong intellectual interest ; — but 
 it touches the heart, and awakens a deeper and warmer emo- 
 tion there, when we see this architect, while actually carry- 
 ing on the mighty mechanism of the heavens, still busily en- 
 gaged in this secluded valley, filling thousands and millions 
 of his creatures with enjoyment, as if taking pleasure in wit- 
 nessing the frolics of an insect ; and drawing so copiously 
 upon his stores of skill and power, to make a squirrel or a 
 robin happy. 
 
 The robin ; just look for a moment at his nest in the midst 
 of this valley of peace. It is fixed securely in a cluster of 
 branches, sheltered just enough by the foliage around, and in 
 it are three or four tender, helpless, unfledged birds lying to- 
 gether. The open air and the broad sky is over their heads ; 
 nothing but the hanging leaf protects them from an enemy. 
 They have no power to fly, no power to resist ; hunger is 
 coming on and they can not provide food ; but they lie alone 
 and helpless and weak, the very picture of defenselessness 
 and exposure. 
 
 But they are safe and happy. God makes them his care. 
 They can not bear cold ; God has guarded them against it, 
 by so poising the ponderous earth, and so carefully regulating 
 its motions, that no nipping frost, and no storm of snow can 
 possibly come to desolate their little dwelling. They can 
 not defend themselves from violence or escape from it. True ; 
 and God has so regulated the instincts and propensities of the 
 millions of living things around them, that they shall be ex- 
 posed to none. They can not provide themselves with food, 
 and it will take but very few hours to bring them to ex- 
 cruciating suffering unless they are supplied. But they will 
 be supplied. God has sent out his messengers to provide for 
 them. One flies from tree to tree in a distant part of the 
 forest, and the other perhaps hops upon the shore of the 
 brook or pond. The trees around them are filled with thou- 
 
36 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The pair. 
 
 The scene changed. 
 
 January. 
 
 sands of other birds, alluring them by their songs, and brighter 
 vales and more shady trees invite them to stay. But no. 
 God has bound them to one another and to their helpless 
 young, by a mechanism, as incomprehensible in its nature as 
 it is beautiful in its results. It allows them to fly freely and 
 unfettered as they choose, but it retains its indissoluble hold 
 upon them wherever they go. No song of a stranger will 
 make them forget their own ; no sunny bank or shady grove 
 will have charms enough to detain them ; but faithful to 
 their trust they toil industriously through the day, and un- 
 less death or violence keep them away, they will be ready 
 with their supply, when at night their helpless young open 
 their mouths and cry for food. We can not comprehend the 
 admirable mechanism by which these results are secured, but 
 we love the character which our Father manifests in securing 
 them. 
 
 But let us change 
 the scene. It is Janu- 
 ary, and we walk out 
 into the same forest, 
 and look upon the 
 same stream which in 
 summer was the scene 
 of so much life and ac- 
 tivity and happiness. 
 How changed ! Where 
 are the insects now, 
 which sported in the 
 sunbeams, on the glassy 
 surface of the water ? 
 That surface is still 
 WINTER. more glassy now, — 
 
 solid and cold, — and 
 over it scud the dry wreaths of snow before the bleak wind. 
 
THE DEITY. 37 
 
 Plans for protection. The winter home. 
 
 Where are now the thousand forms of happy life, which en- 
 livened every bank and fluttered from flower to flower ? 
 Alas ! sunny bank and gay flower, and verdant turf are 
 gone ! The deep snow clothes the whole surface of the 
 ground, covering every smaller plant, and rising around the 
 naked trunks of the tall trees, — hanging in wreaths over the 
 banks, and fast accumulating, as the driving wintry storm 
 brings on fresh supplies from God's inexhaustible treasuries. 
 Where is that happy home among the branches of the tree ? 
 The leaves which sheltered it are gone, a mass of drifting 
 snow marks the spot where the desolate and forsaken habita- 
 tion remains, and the cold dreary wind whistles through the 
 naked branches around. 
 
 We must remember, too, that it is not in this one spot 
 alone, that this change, and this apparent exhaustion of life 
 has taken place. For thousands of miles, in almost every 
 direction, in June, life and activity and enjoyment were as 
 abundant as in this little dell, and now over all this wide ex- 
 tent winter has spread her reign of desolation and death. 
 Has God left, is the very natural inquiry, — has God left all 
 these millions of his creatures to be overwhelmed with de- 
 struction ? 
 
 No ; scarcely one. He has secured and protected them 
 all. Never did the most cautious husbandman lay in his 
 stores, and prepare his clothing, and secure the warmth and 
 tightness of his buildings with half the efficiency of foresight 
 and care which God exhibits every autumn, in shutting up, 
 in places of safety and protection, all the varieties of animal 
 and vegetable life. The storm and the wintry cold are not 
 allowed to come till he has given maturity and strength to 
 the helpless birds, and sent them away to warmer climes. 
 Other animals have, in obedience to an impulse of which 
 they could not know the nature and design, been industriously 
 employed during the summer, in laying in their winter stores ; 
 
38 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The chrysalis. The ant. God a father. 
 
 and are now sheltered in holes, or hollow trunks, sleeping 
 undisturbed in the midst of a plenty which God has provided 
 for them. Even the insect tribes, so delicate and frail, are 
 all safe. By a most admirable arrangement, generation suc- 
 ceeds generation in such a way, that the animal life of a 
 whole species exists in such a form at the approach of win- 
 ter, that ice and cold and snow can produce neither injury 
 nor pain. In these and in other ways, God has secured for 
 all, protection, and exemption from suffering, and when the 
 first wintry midnight storm roars through the forest, it finds 
 every thing prepared for it. Every nest is empty, and its in- 
 mates are safe in another clime. All insect existence is pro- 
 tected, and the field-mouse, and even the little ant, are care- 
 fully housed in their warm and sheltered and plentiful 
 home. 
 
 By such examinations as these, of God's works, we see 
 that he is Love ; that he is not merely a cold contriver, ex- 
 hibiting in his works mechanical skill and power alone, but 
 that he has feelings of affection, that he is susceptible of 
 strong personal interest and attachment. It gives us great 
 intellectual gratification to look at the exhibitions of his mere 
 invention and power, but it touches our hearts, and awakens 
 a deep and warm feeling there, when we see this skill and 
 power brought into requisition to secure the protection and 
 happiness of even the lowest creatures that he has formed. 
 The inference is irresistible, that he who takes so much pains 
 to bring to every unfledged robin or sparrow its daily sup- 
 plies of food, can not be indifferent to our protection and hap- 
 ness. It must be that he considers us of more value than 
 many sparrows. 
 
 In studying the character however of the great unseen 
 Power which pervades the universe, you must not look exclu- 
 sively at those kind and gentle aspects of it, which we have 
 been exhibiting. God is a magistrate as well as a father 
 
THE DEITY. 39 
 
 A magistrate too. System. 
 
 It is the part of the magistrate to act on system, and to he 
 firm and decided in sustaining system and law. Plans must 
 he formed with reference to the general good, and these plans 
 must he steadily pursued, even at the occasional expense of 
 great individual suffering. The wider the field, the more 
 extensive the community, and the more lasting and moment- 
 ous the interests involved, the greater is the necessity of this 
 determined firmness on the part of the magistrate upon 
 whom the responsibility devolves. If now you wish to make 
 out for yourself a Deity such as may suit your own weakness 
 or timidity, you will pass over this part of God's character ; 
 but if you wish for truth, — if you really wish to understand 
 what sort of a Power it is that holds the reins of government 
 over us all, you will not allow this aspect of his character 
 to pass unexamined. 
 
 Wherever we look, then, whether to nature or revelation, 
 or to that more distinct manifestation of his character 
 which the invisible Supreme has made to us in the person 
 of Jesus Christ, we shall find the most overwhelming, and 
 sometimes appalling proofs, that God acts upon system ; — 
 that he has planned a system, both of physical and moral 
 law, with reference to the greatest good of the greatest num- 
 ber, and that this system he will sustain, with the most 
 determined and persevering decision. I shrink from coming 
 to this part of my subject. Many of my readers, without 
 doubt, who have followed me with all their hearts, in the 
 pictures of God's character which have been exhibited so 
 far, will hang back reluctant from what remains. But we 
 must know the whole. We must endeavor to understand 
 fully the character of the great Being with whom we have 
 to do. 
 
 If then we look at the manifestations of Jehovah's char- 
 acter which he has made, and is making, in nature all 
 around us, you will find, as I said above, that he acts upon 
 
40 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Firmness and decision. The suffering child. Ita mother. 
 
 system, and that he will pursue the plan which public good 
 requires, firmly and efficiently, even at the expense of great 
 individual suffering. Let me first illustrate this, in regard 
 to a mere physical law. 
 
 You are studying God's character, I will suppose, in what 
 you see of his works, and as you pass by some usually quiet 
 and happy dwelling, your attention is attracted by piercing 
 cries from within, apparently coming from a child and indi- 
 cating acute suffering. You enter to ascertain the cause, 
 and find that a little infant, just learning to delight its 
 parents' hearts by its opening faculties of speech and reason, 
 has fallen into the fire, and is dreadfully burned. The poor 
 child cries piteously, and extends its arms to its parents for 
 relief. It has never before known a. pain which they could 
 not either relieve or mitigate, and its look of anguish seems 
 to upbraid them for not rescuing it now. Its agonized 
 parents, suffering even more than the child, look this way 
 and that for help, but in vain. The injury is too deep 
 to be repaired. Hour after hour, nay day after day, the 
 intense suffering continues, until fever and delirium close 
 the sad scene. 
 
 Close it, did I say ? No. The child sleeps, but memory 
 does not sleep in the breast of its half-distracted mother. 
 For weeks and months her eyes will fill with tears, and 
 her heart will almost burst, as she looks upon the deserted 
 little cradle, or the now useless toy. Those heart-rending 
 cries and dying struggles are perpetuated in her mind by 
 faculties which God has planted there ; and the recollec- 
 tion will for months and years haunt her by day, and 
 terrify her in midnight dreams. 
 
 All this follows from the accident of a moment, for which 
 no one was to blame. There is but one Power in existence 
 who could arrest these consequences, after the occurrence of 
 the cause. And will he do it? Will he interpose and 
 
THE DEITY, 41 
 
 Physical law sustained. God's determined decision. General laws. 
 
 stop the torture, and heal the wound, and bring relief and 
 happiness once more to the distracted family ? Or will he 
 remain calmly by, leaving the laws of matter and of mind 
 to work out in such a case their awful consequences to 
 the full ? 
 
 The question does not need an answer. He has estab- 
 lished laws in regard to the nature anA effects of fire upon 
 the human frame, and the connection of bodily injury with 
 bodily suffering, and the principles which regulate the move- 
 ments of the human heart, which he sees are best on the 
 whole. These laws he has established. He sees that it is 
 best that they should be liable to no exceptions and no un- 
 certainty in their course, and he accordingly ivill carry them 
 through. Men sometimes exhibit some good degree of firm- 
 ness and decision in carrying out a plan which is on the 
 whole for the best ; but if we will look around us at the 
 works of Providence, that invite our examination on every 
 side, we shall see that God does not hesitate to go, in the 
 execution of his laws, where the firmest and most decided 
 men would shrink from following. 
 
 Perhaps some persons may object to such a view of our 
 Maker's character ; but if they do, it seems impossible to 
 avoid the conclusion that it is the character itself that they 
 object to, and not to any thing peculiar in this mode of 
 presenting it. These are facts which I have been exhibiting, 
 not theories. They are common facts, too, that is, the case 
 which I have chosen as an illustration is one that not un- 
 frequently occurs, exactly as I have described it, and it is 
 moreover a fair specimen of thousands and tens of thou- 
 sands of occurrences which are precisely analogous to it in 
 their nature, and which are constantly taking place in the 
 view of every observer. Nor can there be any doubt of the 
 explanation I have given. That God has ordained these 
 general laws no one can doubt or deny. That he might 
 
42 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral law. The wretched dwelling. The interior. 
 
 arrest or suspend their operation in individual cases if he was 
 inclined to do so, is equally unquestionable ; and his allow- 
 ing them to work their way through so much misery, is 
 proof clear and undeniable as demonstration, that though 
 he loves happiness and is continually forming plans to secure 
 it for milHons and millions of his creatures, he can still 
 firmly and steadily witness individual suffering, when neces- 
 sary, and that he will do it, rather than sacrifice the general 
 good by violating law. 
 
 We shall see this still more clearly and its effects are still 
 more terrible, in regard to the operations of moral law. I 
 mean law relating to the moral conduct of men. If we 
 really wish to know what God's actual character is, as he 
 exhibits it in what he does, we shall take special interest in 
 observing what he does in cases of guilt. 
 
 On the side of a bleak and barren hill half a mile from 
 the village in which you reside, stands a miserable house, 
 or rather hovel, which has often attracted your attention 
 in your walks, by its ruinous and dilapidated condition, and 
 the pale, sickly, wretched children which shiver at the door. 
 Did you ever consider what sort of a scene its interior usually 
 presents, at night ? Come with me and see. 
 
 The inner door hanging by a single hinge opens creak- 
 ingly, and the cold, empty, miserable apartment, presents to 
 you an expression of wretchedness far more gloomy than 
 even the exterior had led you to expect. The sickly, worn- 
 out wife and mother is trying in vain to make out, from 
 former remnants, some food for herself and her half-starved 
 children. They sit around the room, or hover over the 
 embers, in a half stupor. They do not cry. The extreme 
 of misery is silent, and these wretched ones are beyond tears. 
 She is hurrying through her work to get the children away 
 from an approaching danger. What is that danger, which 
 she does not dare that they should meet with her ? Why 
 
THE DEITY. 43 
 
 Misery. The father's return. Unpunished guilt, and suffering innocence. 
 
 tlieir father is coming home. If it was the lightning, or a 
 tornado, or a midnight assassin, she would gather her chil- 
 dren around her, and they would feel safer and happier 
 together. But their father is coming home, and the uncon- 
 trollable passions of an insane husband and father, she 
 chooses to bear alone. She sends her children away. She 
 hides her babe in the most secret place she can find ; — in a 
 comer an emaciated, shivering boy crawls into something 
 like a bed, and spreads over his limbs the thin covering 
 which is all that is left for clothing, and then draws himself 
 up, as if trying to shrink away from the cold ; and per- 
 haps a girl, by a choice of miseries, has pleaded for permis- 
 sion to stay with her mother. 
 
 All this is however the mere prelude, — ^the preparation, 
 anticipating the scene of real misery which the return of the 
 abandoned husband and father is to bring. But here I must 
 stop ; for if I were to describe the scene which ensues, just as 
 it is actually exhibited in thousands and tens of thousands of 
 families all over England and America, every night, my 
 readers would lay down the book, sick at heart, at the con- 
 templation of the guilt and miseries of man. 
 
 But the point that I am wishing to bring to view in all 
 this case, is this. How firmly and steadily will Jehovah go 
 on, night after night, for months and years, and allow the 
 wretched sinner in this case to drink all the bitter dregs of 
 the cup he chooses, and to bring down its dreadful effects 
 upon his helpless wife and children. Nay we may go further 
 back. For all this misery is primarily caused by a poison 
 which another man supplies ; he deals it out — a daily potion 
 of death — and while his own head is sheltered, and his own 
 fireside safe from its effects, he is permitted by Providence to 
 go on for years, sending these streams of misery into many 
 families all around him. Why does not God interpose to 
 arrest this vice and suffering ? Why does he not shelter this 
 
44 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Unpunished guilt. Penalties. Language of the Bible. 
 
 wretched wife, and warm and feed these perishing but inno- 
 cent children ? — ^innocent at least of the causes of their misery. 
 Why does he not by a change in the constitution of nature 
 destroy the possibility of making a poison so excruciating in 
 its effects ? There can be but one answer. He sees that it 
 is on the whole for the best, that man should be left free to 
 sin if he will, and that the nature of sin should be shown by 
 allowing it to work out undisturbed its own awful results to 
 all connected with the sinner. These plans of his govern- 
 ment he has the firmness to carry out, — though every year 
 they cut down thousands of wretched wives and starved chil- 
 dren. The man who chooses to send firebrands, arrows, and 
 death around him, has under the government of God an op- 
 portunity to do so. The door is wide open. And the help- 
 less and innocent wife and children must take the conse- 
 quences. But oh, thou forlorn and broken-hearted mother, 
 be of good courage. Thou art not forgotten, though fixed laws 
 must take their course. Thou shalt have a hearing in due time. 
 
 Such cases as the above, are rather cases of moral arrange- 
 ments carried out firmly to their end, than examples of the 
 execution of the penalties of a moral law. I do not bring 
 forward cases of the latter kind, because they are familiar to 
 every one, and most certainly if God does not shrink from indi- 
 vidual suffering, when it is necessary to sustain the uniform- 
 ity of material processes, or to carry out the moral opera- 
 tions of his general system, who can imagine that he will fail 
 in the energy of his government, in regard to the conse- 
 quences of personal guilt. The Bible speaks on this subject 
 in language so terrible, that men shrink from repeating it ; 
 but nature speaks all around us more emphatically and more 
 terribly still. '^ 
 
 * We must not suppose from these facts, that the Deity is guided, 
 in the government of the world, by general laws, which, though on the 
 
THE DEITY. 45 
 
 Leading traits of the Divine character. 
 
 As I have already remarked, it would not be surprising if 
 some of my readers were to shrink back from these views 
 of the determined decision which God manifests in carrying 
 out to the end, all these arrangements which he has once 
 deliberately adopted for the ultimate good of all. We can 
 not deny, however, that the history of God's dealings with 
 men is full of such examples as we have presented, and that 
 if we really and honestly wish to know what is his char- 
 acter, and what principles do really govern his conduct, 
 such cases deserve a most attentive consideration. He who 
 wishes to frame for himself an imaginary Deity, suited to 
 his own limited views and narrow conceptions, will probably 
 shut his eyes against them. We however wish to know the 
 truth, whatever it may be, and if we attempt to study 
 God's character as it is exhibited in those manifestations 
 of himself, which he makes in his daily providence, we shall 
 find everywhere inscribed in blazing characters. Unbound- 
 ed POWER AND SKILL ; UNIVERSAL AND INEXTINGUISHABLE 
 
 LOVE ; AND Inflexible firmness in the execution op 
 
 LAW. 
 
 We have thus far exhibited the mode by which you are 
 to study the character of our great Magistrate and Father, 
 by his acts ; and this mode of study, you will observe, is 
 essentially the same, whether you read the record of his acts 
 contained in the Bible, or observe them in the histories of 
 nations and individuals, or in the occurrences of common life. 
 All these, however, constitute but one mode by which the 
 Deity manifests himself to men. There are two others 
 
 whole useful and salutary, are, in indiridual cases, mischievous and 
 only to be tolerated because they effect on the -whole, more good than 
 evil. These laws of nature, even in those cases where, to the eye of 
 man, they produce nothing but evil, are in reality as truly intended and 
 calculated to produce good, as in the other cases where the good ia 
 manifest and direct. 
 
46 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Second manifestation. The Holy Spirit. Contrasts of character. 
 
 which I must briefly allude to here, though they will be 
 more fully brought to view in the future chapters of this 
 work. 
 
 The second great manifestation of the Deity which is made 
 to us, is in the exertion of a direct power upon the human 
 heart. In all the ages of the world, there have been remark- 
 able exceptions to the prevailing selfishness and sin which 
 generally reign among mankind. These exceptions occur in 
 the earlier history contained in the Bible ; and were it not 
 for the light which Christianity throws upon the subject, they 
 would be almost unaccountable. Cain and Abel, for ex- 
 ample,, took entirely different courses in reference to their 
 duties toward God. Love, gratitude, and reverence seem to 
 have reigned in the heart of one, while a cold, heartless, and 
 selfish worship was all that the other rendered. Here is an 
 extraordinary difference among beings of the same species 
 possessing the same native powers and propensities, and 
 placed in substantially the same circumstances. 
 
 Noah listened to the warning voice of God, while all the 
 rest of the world gave themselves up to sin. Why should 
 this be so ? Worldly pleasure, we might have suppoosed, 
 would have been as alluring to him as to others, and the dis- 
 position to obey and fear their Maker as strong in others as 
 in him. But it was not so. He stood alone ; and how shall 
 the moral phenomenon of his solitary virtue amid universal 
 degeneracy and vice be explained ? 
 
 So in a multitude of other cases. The narratives with 
 which the Old Testament is filled seem designed to exhibit 
 to us contrasts. A few individuals, with hearts filled with 
 filial affection toward God, form the bright parts of the pic- 
 ture, and the natural character of selfishness and sin, acting 
 in different circumstances, but in all working out the same 
 bitter fruits, exhibit abundantly the darker shades. Why 
 should this be so ? Why should Abraham find in himself a 
 
THE DEITY. 47 
 
 Influences of the Spirit. Testimony of the Bible ; of witnesses. 
 
 willingness to obey God, and to deal kindly and justly with 
 man, while ungodliness, injustice and cruelty reigned almost 
 all around him. Why was Joseph pure and spotless, — con- 
 scientious, just and forgiving ? His brothers were men of 
 violence and blood. Why, in such a family should there be 
 such an exception ? 
 
 Similar examples have been always occurring, and the 
 Bible exhibits them as the effects of a peculiar operation of 
 the Holy Spirit, as it is termed, upon the human heart, — a 
 mysterious operation, powerful in its results, but incompre- 
 hensible in its nature. This you will observe is a manifesta- '?^^ 
 tion of the Divinity entirely different from those to which we 
 have- already alluded. In the works of creation and provi- 
 dence, Jehovah himself acts, and from the nature of his ac- 
 tions we learn his character. In his direct power over moral 
 agents, he mysteriously mingles his influences with their 
 moral powers, so as to lead them to act, and by the charac* ^^i^ 
 ter of the results, we likewise in this case learn his character. 
 They are however two modes of manifesting the powers and 
 character of the Deity, which are very dissimilar. 
 
 This class of moral effects are not only in the Bible ascribed 
 to an influence from above, but they have always been so 
 attributed by the individuals themselves. Good men, in all 
 ages, have always understood, and have been eager to ac- 
 knowledge their dependence upon a higher power, for all 
 that is good in their hearts. They have differed exceedingly 
 in their modes of expressing it, but they have agreed sub- 
 stantially as to the fact. It has always been easy for an an- 
 tagonist to run them into difficulty and perplexity in defend- 
 ing the opinion ; still they have clung unceasingly to it ; or 
 returned to it again and again when torn away ; and go 
 where you will, among mankind, wherever you find holiness 
 of heart, and real moral virtue, you will find their possessor 
 ascribing them to a mysterious but all-powerful influence 
 
48 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 United testimony. The Son. Seeing face to faoe. 
 
 from above. It is so with the refined and cultivated intellect 
 in the most elevated Christian community, and it is so with 
 the humblest, lowest savage that ever bowed before his Maker 
 to confess and to abandon his sins. It was so in former times 
 with David and with Paul, and it is so now with every lonely 
 widow, who, in God finds consolation and even happiness in 
 the midst of her tears ; and with every sick child, who, re- 
 newed by the Holy Spirit, finds such peace with God that he 
 can smile at death, and welcome the grave. 
 
 A more full consideration of this subject we must reserve ; 
 we only allude to it here, in order to bring distinctly forward 
 in its place, the fact that there is this, among the other 
 modes, by which the great unseen power manifests himself to 
 men. 
 
 There is one other ; which we have already alluded to, — 
 that more direct and personal exhibition of himself which 
 God has made in Jesus Christ his son. Here God, for the 
 first time, shows himself to men, openly and without a veil. 
 Here we see the mioral attributes of divinity in living and 
 acting reality. In those other manifestations of himself 
 which he has made, " we see through a glass darkly, but 
 here face to face." When he acts in his providence, or in 
 the mysterious and secret agency of his Spirit in human 
 hearts, we must pause and reflect, in order to come to con- 
 clusions ; we must trace back causes to effects, and infer the 
 principles which must have guided them. But when the 
 great Unseen assumes our own human nature, when he be- 
 comes flesh, and dwells among us, his attributes and perfec- 
 tions come out into open day. 
 
 Such are the three great manifestations of himself to men, 
 which the one unseen all-pervading essence has made, as ex- 
 hibited to us in the Bible, and in our own experience and ob- 
 servation. Though there have been interminable disputes in 
 the Christian church about the language which has been em- 
 
THE DEITY. 49 
 
 Studying God's character. True mode. Approaching the Deity. 
 
 ployed to describe these facts, there has been comparatively 
 little dispute among even nominal Christians about the facts 
 themselves. I have endeavored in describing them to go 
 just as far as the Bible goes, and no farther, and to use as 
 nearly as possible the expressions which are furnished us in 
 that sacred volume. 
 
 These views, my readers will perceive, open a very wide 
 field to be explored in studying the character of God. Many 
 young persons, when they hear of this study, form no idea of 
 any thing more than committing to memory a few passages 
 of Scripture, or learning by rote the summary views of some 
 theological writer. But you see that all nature and all reve- 
 lation, the whole field of observation, and of experience, and 
 all the records of history are full of materials. Go, then, and 
 take no man's opinion upon trust, but study the character of 
 God for yourselves by seeing what he does. 
 
 There is one thing more to be said, before I close this chap- 
 ter. Many persons feel a difiiculty in determining how to 
 ipproach the Deity in prayer. " What conception," you 
 ask, " shall we form, of the Being whom we address ?" 
 
 The unseen Divinity itself, in its purely spiritual form, we 
 can not conceive of ; they who attempt to do it will find on a 
 careful analysis of the mental operation, that it is the visible 
 universe itself, that they picture to their minds, when in 
 prayer they endeavor to form an abstract conception of the 
 Deity which pervades it. Others in imagination look up- 
 ward, and form a confused and an absurd idea of a monarch 
 on a throne of gold, adorned with crown and scepter, and 
 sitting in a fancied region which they call heaven. This is 
 a delusion which we have already endeavored to dispel. 
 Driven from this imagination, the soul roams throughout the 
 universe among suns and stars, or over the busy surface of 
 
 the earth, seeking in vain for some conceivable image of the 
 
 C 
 
50 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Access by Jesus Christ. Conclusion. 
 
 Deity, some form on which the thoughts can rest, and to- 
 ward which the feelings can concentrate. It looks however 
 in vain. God manifests himself indeed in the blazing sun, 
 the fiery comet, — and in the verdure and bloom of the bound- 
 less regions of the earth ; but these are not the avenues 
 through which a soul burdened with its sins, would desire to 
 approach its Maker. The gospel solves the difficulty. " It 
 is by Jesus Christ that we have access to the Father." This 
 vivid exhibition of his character, this personification of his 
 moral attributes opens to us the way. Here we see a mani- 
 festation of divinity, an image of the invisible God which 
 comes as it were down to us ; it meets our feeble faculties 
 with a personification exactly adapted to their wants, so that 
 the soul, when pressed by the trials and difficulties of its con- 
 dition, when overwhelmed with sorrow, or bowed down by 
 remorse, or earnestly longing for holiness, will pass by all the 
 other outward exhibitions of the Deity, and approach the in- 
 visible supreme, through that manifestation of himself which 
 he has made in the person of Jesus Christ, his son, our 
 Savior. 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 51 
 
 The Savior's first words. His last words. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 
 " Leaving us an example that ye should walk in his stepa." 
 
 The very first words of our Savior, which have been pre- 
 served for us, contain an expression of the great leading prin- 
 ciple which regulated his whole life. " I must be about my 
 Father's business.^' His last words, too, show, that thirty 
 years of fatigue, and danger, and suffering, did not extinguish 
 his zeal in this his work. "Go ye into all the world and 
 preach the Gospel to every creature'' He came into the 
 world to do something, not for himself, but for his Father, 
 and he devoted hiraseif to it entirely. He was continually 
 engaged in this work, while he remained here — going from 
 place to place, and encountering continual hardship and dan- 
 ger and suffering ; and all without any reference to his own 
 selfish interests, but regarding solely the work which he had 
 to do for the salvation of men. And at last, when he left the 
 world, his final charge to his disciples was, that they should 
 be faithful and persevering in carrying forward the work 
 which he had thus earnestly begun. 
 
 In fact Jesus Christ was so entirely devoted to his Father's 
 business while he was upon earth, that half the readers of 
 his life do not imagine that he had any personal feelings or 
 desires of his own. But we must not forget, that he was 
 a man, possessed of all the feelings, and exposed to all the 
 temptations of men. He might have formed the scheme of 
 
52 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Perfection. Common illusion. Real claims of Christianity. 
 
 being a Napoleon, if he had chosen to do so. The world was 
 before him. He had the opportunity, and so far as we can 
 understand the mysterious description of his temptation, he 
 was urged to make the attempt. 
 
 It is surprising how much the example of Christ loses its 
 power over us, simply on account of the absolute perfection 
 of it. If he had been partly a lover of pleasure, if he had 
 for instance built himself a splendid mansion, and ornamented 
 his grounds, and devoted some portion of his time to selfish 
 enjoyment there ; or if he had entered into political life, and 
 given a share of his attention to promoting his own honor, 
 we might perhaps have felt that he was more like one of us : 
 and if then he had torn himself away from these temptations, 
 so as finally to have devoted his chief time and attention to 
 the glory of God and the good of men, the example which he 
 would thus have set for us, would have seemed perhaps more 
 within our reach. The selfish and worldly spirit, which he 
 would have exhibited, would, as it were, have made his case 
 come home to us, and then whatever fidelity and zeal he 
 might have shown in his Father's work, would have allured 
 us to an imitation of it. But as it is, since he gave himself 
 up wholly to his duty, since he relinquished the world alto- 
 gether, Christians seem to think, that his bright example is 
 only to a very limited extent an example for them. But we 
 must remember, as I said before, that Jesus Christ was a 
 man. His powers were human powers. His feelings were 
 human feelings, and his example is strictly and exactly an 
 example for all the world. Yet how few consider it in this 
 light. Christians admit indeed that the general principles 
 which regulate his conduct ought to regulate theirs ; but 
 then the most that they generally think of attempting is to 
 follow in his steps slowly and hesitatingly, and at a great 
 distance behind. 
 
 And there is nothing in which the example of Christ takes 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 53 
 
 Mohammedanism. Paganism. The worldly man. 
 
 less hold of men, than in this leading principle of his conduct, 
 — devotedness to his Father's business. How perfectly evi- 
 dent it is, that a very large proportion of professing Christians 
 are doing their own business in this world, and not their 
 Father's, In fact so universal is this sin, that there are great 
 numbers of nominal Christians who have no idea, no concep- 
 tion whatever, of the ground which Christianity takes in 
 regard to a man's duty. Christianity stands in fact, in 
 this respect, strikingly distinct from every other religion. 
 Mohammedanism leaves men to pursue their own objects, — 
 to live for themselves, — only it prescribes some rules regu- 
 lating the modes by which these aims shall be pursued. 
 So does paganism, — so did ancient philosophy, — so does 
 modern infidelity. Whatever moral rules all these systems 
 prescribe, are rules to regulate our pursuits, while the nature 
 and objects of them remain unchanged. But Christianity 
 does no such thing. It comes with far higher claims, — it is 
 no mere regulator of the machinery of human life. It comes 
 to change the plan and objects of that machinery alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Look at the history of a man engrossed in the world. 
 He saw when he was young, that wealth gave consideration 
 and influence to its possessor, and he felt a feverish sort of 
 pleasure when he received the first hundred dollars which he 
 earned. He resolved to become rich, and in his eagerness to 
 go on, he gradually became less and less scrupulous about the 
 means of advancing. He violated no laws ; he exposed him- 
 self to no pubUc disgrace, but he resorted to those means so 
 well known to men of the world, by which he could increase 
 his own stores at the expense of the rights or the happiness of 
 others ; and by these means he has at length acquired a for- 
 tune. He usually attends public worship on the Sabbath. 
 It would be disreputable not to do so. But in the morning 
 and evening, at his own private apartment, he will post his 
 
d4 the corner-stone. 
 
 His character and habits. Seriousness. He is changed. 
 
 books, or look over his accounts, or plan his voyages. There 
 is nothing publicly disreputable in this. 
 
 He is not a profane man ; — not at all, in his own opinion. 
 It is true that sometimes, when excited, he will make use of 
 what he acknowledges to be an improper expression, but men 
 will make allowances for this. He does not do it to such an 
 extent as to injure his character. 
 
 He does not worship God in his family. He has no 
 objection to religious observances, but he has no taste for 
 them ; and then, besides, he has not time. In order to carry 
 on his plans, it is necessary for him to go early to his count- 
 ing-room, and at night he is fatigued and exhausted, and 
 wishes for rest. As to the answer which he shall make, 
 when, at last, God shall summon him to account for the im- 
 mortal soul intrusted to his care, he never thinks of it. No. 
 He plans however very wisely for the design which he has in 
 view. His object is to make a fortune, and he is taking a 
 most judicious and successful course to accomplish it. It is 
 no part of his design to please God, or to do good to men ; — 
 to save his own soul, or to prepare for a happy meeting with 
 his children in heaven. This is not his business, and of 
 course he does not attend to it. 
 
 As, however, he advances in life, he begins to think some- 
 times more seriously. His minister brings to his view an 
 approaching judgment, and explains the strictness of God's 
 law, so that his conscience begins to trouble him. He 
 perceives that though his mode of life has been perfectly 
 reputable among men, still it must be considered somewhat 
 irregular when tested by the requirements of the law of 
 God. His children begin to be ungovernable and dissipated 
 as they grow up, and one of them comes, under very melan- 
 choly circumstances, to an untimely end. He is troubled. 
 In short he resolves to reform. He banishes all business 
 firom the Sabbath except that when the sermon does not 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 55 
 
 His great business. His final account. Consequences. 
 
 particularly interest him he can not help sometimes thinking 
 a little of his voyages or his sales. He becomes more scrupu- 
 lous about infringing upon his neighbor's rights, or taking an 
 unfair advantage of their necessities. He establishes morning 
 and evening prayers in his family, and though he does not 
 always think of the Being whom he is addressing, he always 
 regularly addresses him, in words, and there is generally in 
 his mind at the time a feeling of reverence and awe, and a 
 sort of vague impression that he is really speaking to the 
 Supreme. He becomes a benevolent man too. That is, 
 when an application is made for charity, he gives as much 
 as he thinks will be expected of him. 
 
 In a word, there is a great change in his character. It is 
 true he is still pursuing the same great objects as before, but 
 then Christianity has come in to regulate the mode of his 
 pursuing them. And he goes on for the rest of his days, 
 making his fortune on much better principles, and in much 
 better ways, than in the early part of his life. Still, making 
 his fortune is his business. The ultimate object for which 
 he lives and acts is to get money into his possession. Every 
 thousand dollars that he obtains, he invests in the most safe 
 and profitable mode which he can command, and looks upon 
 it as so much done, — accomplished. And when at last he 
 comes to die, and on his death-bed looks over his past life, 
 all the satisfaction that he can have will be, in reflecting, 
 that though making his fortune has been the object of his 
 life, he has neverthless made the last half of it in the most 
 unexceptionable manner. 
 
 Now is such a man a follower of Jesus Christ ? Is mak- 
 ing a fortune for himself his Father's business ? No ; when 
 he appears before God in judgment, he must expect to be 
 addressed thus, " Did you not know that you were stationed 
 on earth to do good ; to turn men to God, to set an example 
 of devoted attachment to his cause ; to relieve suffering and 
 
56 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Samuel's business. How a child may imitate tho Savior. 
 
 promote human happiness, as the great objects of your life ? 
 All this was distinctly explained to you, and that you might 
 perfectly understand it, you had the example of Jesus Christ, 
 your Savior, who spent a life on earth in the most trying 
 circumstances, for the very purpose of showing how much is 
 meant by the command that men should serve God while 
 they live, and not themselves. You were distinctly and 
 emphatically told, that you were not your own, that you 
 had been bought with a price, and were bound to live and 
 act as a steward, an agent, a servant. But you have not 
 done so. Instead of it, you have taken possession, in your 
 own name, of the means of influence and of usefulness, all of 
 which were put into your hands to be used for God. You 
 have had your trial, and it has resulted in your deliberate 
 and final choice to act for yourself, and not for your Maker. 
 
 Let us look at another case. Samuel is a little boy, eight 
 years old. He has really become a Christian, and desires 
 accordingly to do his duty, and his whole duty. Do you 
 wish to know Samuel what it is ? If you look into the Bible, 
 to your Savior, for an example, you will see that the first 
 principle of action which he announced was, that he was 
 doing his Father's business. But you say perhaps that he 
 was sent from heaven to do a great work here, which you 
 can not do. " I can not go," you say, " from place to place, 
 preaching the gospel and working miracles, and giving sight 
 to the blind and healing the sick. I would do it if I could." 
 
 It is true you can not do that. That is, you can not do 
 your Father's business in the same way precisely, that Christ 
 did it. Or, to explain it more fully, God has a great deal 
 of business to be done in this world, and it is of various kinds, 
 and the particular portion allotted to each person depends 
 upon the circumstances in which each one is placed. You 
 can not do exactly what Christ did while he was here, but 
 you can do what he would have done had he been in your 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 57 
 
 The glory of God. Acting as a steward. 
 
 place. You can not make a blind man happy by restoring 
 his sight, but you can make your little sister happy by help- 
 ing her up kindly when she has fallen down ; and that last 
 is your Father's business as much as the other. His business 
 here is to make every one happy, and to relieve every one's 
 suffering. You can not persuade great multitudes of men 
 to love and obey God, as Christ endeavored to do, but you 
 may lead your brothers and sisters to him, by your silent 
 influence and happy example. So you can bear sufferings 
 patiently, and take injuries meekly, and thus exhibit the 
 character which God desires that men should everywhere 
 see. The light which you thus let shine may be a feeble 
 light, and it may illuminate only a narrow circle around you ; 
 but if it is the light of genuine piety, it will be in fact the 
 glory of God ; and if it is your great object to let this light 
 shine, you are about your Father's business as truly as Jesus 
 was, when he preached to the thronging multitude, or 
 brought Lazarus from the tomb. Yes ; if a little child is 
 making it his great aim to do good, by making his parents, 
 his brothers and sisters, and his playmates happy, for the 
 sake of co-operating with God, he is following the example 
 of Christ. 
 
 It is very difficult for an observer to know whether an 
 individual is acting for God or for himself A Christian 
 merchant, for instance, who feels that he holds a stewardship, 
 will be as industrious, as enterprising, and as persevering 
 in his plans as any other merchant. Only he acts as agent, 
 while the other acts as principal. So a boy may be amiable and 
 gentle and kind without any regard to God, or any desire to carry 
 on his plans. But God sees very clearly who is working for 
 hiTU, and who is not ; and there is not one, and there never has 
 been one, in any age, who, if he had been inclined to enter 
 God's service, would not have found enough to do for him, 
 had he been disposed to do it. The example of Jesus Christ 
 
58 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Worldliness. Love of furniture. Dress. 
 
 in this respect is an example for all mankind. It is intended 
 for universal imitation, and they who pass through life with- 
 out imitating it, must find themselves condemned when they 
 come to their account. 
 
 And how strange it is, that there should be found so very 
 few willing to do the work of God in this world. Even of 
 those few, most, instead of entering into it heart and soul, 
 do just enough to satisfy what they suppose to be the expec- 
 tations of their Christian brethren. A lady will spend her 
 life, engrossed with such objects of interest as new furniture, 
 and fashionable dress, and the means of securmg the admi- 
 ration of others, for herself or her children. She thinks for 
 days and weeks of procuring some new article of furniture, 
 not for comfort or convenience, but for show ; and when at 
 last the long-expected acquisition is made, she is pleased and 
 delighted, as if one of the great objects of her existence had 
 been accomplished. She spends hours in deciding upon the 
 color or texture of a ribbon, which as soon as it is chosen 
 will begin to fade, and after a very brief period fall into 
 contempt and be rejected ; or she pursues, month after 
 month, and year after year, what she calls the pleasures of 
 society, which pleasures are often a compound of pride, 
 vanity, envy, jealousy, and ill-will. Her husband, perhaps, 
 in the mean- time devotes himself to pursuits equally un- 
 worthy an immortal mind. They do good occasionally, as 
 opportunities occur, and call themselves Christians ; but they 
 seem to have no idea, that God has any great work in life 
 for them to do. 
 
 Has he work for them to do ? Yes ; there is a world to 
 be restored to holiness and happiness, and he asks their help 
 in doing it. He has put their children almost completely in 
 their power, so that the eternal happiness of these children 
 might be almost certainly secured, and has given them con- 
 nections with society, of which they might avail themselves 
 
THE AfAN CHRIST JESUS. 59 
 
 rhe work of God. • Low pursuita. 
 
 in working most efficiently for him. If they would take hold 
 of this enterprise, they would have some elevated and enno- 
 bling object before them. They would see, one after another, 
 those connected with them, returning to God. They would 
 see their children growing up in piety. Every night, they 
 would feel that they had been living during the day for God ; 
 and whatever might be their difficulties and trials, they 
 would be relieved from all sense of responsibility and care. 
 Instead of feeling gloomy and sad, as their children were 
 gradually separated from them, or were one by one removed 
 by death, and as they themselves were gradually drawing 
 toward the close of life, they would find their interest in their 
 great business growing stronger and stronger as they ap- 
 proached the change which would bring them more directly 
 into connection with their Father. 
 
 The offer, on the part of our Maker, to take us into his 
 service, in this world, is in fact the only plan which can give 
 human life any real dignity, or substantial value. Without 
 it all human employments are insignificant, all pleasure is 
 insipid, and life is a sterile waste, void of verdure or bloom. 
 Without this, there is an entire disproportion between the 
 lofty powers and capacities of human nature, and the low 
 pursuits and worthless objects which are before it in its pres- 
 ent home. An immortal spirit, capable of thoughts which 
 explore the universe, and of feelings and desires reaching 
 forward to eternity, spending life in seeing how many pieces 
 of stamped metal it can get together ! a mind made in the 
 image of God, and destined to live as long as he, buried for 
 years in thoughts abont the size and beauty of a dwelling 
 which is all the time going to decay, or about the color and 
 fashion of dress, or the hues and carvings of rose-wood or 
 mahogany ! 
 
 But let no one understand me to condemn the enjoyments, 
 which come to us through the arts and refinements of life, 
 
60 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The arts and refinements of life. The Savior's character. 
 
 It is making these things the great object of existence, — it is 
 the eager pursuit of them, as the chief business of life, which 
 the example of our Savior and the principles of the gospel 
 condemn. These arts and refinements are intended to add 
 to human happiness. They will make the most rapid pro- 
 gress in those countries where Christianity most perfectly 
 prevails. Jesus Christ had a love for beauty, both of nature 
 and art ; he admired the magnificent architecture of the 
 temple, and deeply lamented the necessity -of its overthrow, 
 and his diess was at least of such a character, that the dis- 
 posal of it was a subject of importance to the well-paid sol- 
 diers who crucified him. Yes, the universal reign of Chris- 
 tianity will be the reign of taste, and refinement, and the 
 arts ; but while the enjoyments of men will be increased in 
 a tenfold degree from these and other sources, their hearts 
 will be set far less on them, than they are now. These en- 
 joyments will be recreations by the way, to cheer and refresh 
 those whose hearts are mainly bent on accomplishing the ob- 
 jects of their Father in Heaven. 
 
 I have dwelt longer, perhaps, on this subject than I ought 
 to have done. This book, though its subject is Christian 
 truth, is intended to throw as strong a light as possible on 
 Christian duty, and in considering this, the first great trait of 
 our Savior's character which presents itself to view, I could 
 not avoid asking my reader to pause a moment to consider 
 what he himself is really living for. 
 
 But let us return to the example of our Savior. 
 
 Jesus Christ was in some respects the most bold, energetic, 
 decided, and courageous man that ever lived ; but in others, 
 he was the most flexible, submissive, and yielding ; and in 
 the conceptions which many persons form of his character, 
 there is a degree of indistinctness and confusion, from want 
 of clear ideas of the mode in which these seemingly opposite 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 6l 
 
 Energy. Mildness and forbearance. 
 
 qualities come together. The explanation is this. The 
 question, which of these two classes of qualities he would ex- 
 hibit, depended entirely upon the question, whether it was his 
 own personal welfare or his Father's business, which was at 
 stake. If it was the latter, he feared no danger, he shrunk 
 from no opposition, and no obstacle or difficulty would turn 
 him from his course. If it was the former, his own personal 
 welfare, he was exactly the reverse, — mild, gentle, and yield- 
 ing, to the last degree. There never was a mission or enter- 
 prise of any kind conducted with a more bold, energetic, 
 and fearless spirit, than the Savior's mission ; and on the 
 other hand, there never was a case where personal sacrifices 
 and injuries were borne with so much indifference and un- 
 concern. Observe how he reproved the insincere and dis- 
 honest pretenders to religion, which filled Judea in those 
 days. He followed them into crowds, he met them face to 
 face, and in the most direct and personal manner spread out 
 their insincerity and hypocrisy before them. In the midst 
 of Jerusalem, the very heart and center of their influence, he 
 brought forward his accusations against them, with a power 
 and severity which human eloquence has very seldom equaled 
 This was in the cause of his Father. But when ends merely 
 personal to himself were concerned, how changed. Peter's 
 most unmanly and ungrateful denial was reproved by a look I 
 And Judas, coming at midnight with armed men, to seize 
 him by the basest treachery, was called to a sense of his 
 guilt by the mildest, the very gentlest reproof which lan- 
 guage could frame. So when the profanation of his Father's 
 temple was to be stopped, Jesus Christ could use a scourge, 
 and effect a forcible ejectment with almost military authority ; 
 and yet when, as was shown afterward in the judgment hall, 
 there was nothing to excite him but his own personal in- 
 juries, he was meek and gentle as a lamb. He was equally 
 
62 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 His story of the Samaritan. His rejection at Samaria. Plans. 
 
 ready to use the scourge, in the cause of God, and to submit 
 to it in his own. 
 
 And this principle is the key to his whole conduct. Many 
 anecdotes might be given to illustrate it. One day, for ex- 
 ample, when speaking in the midst of Priests and Levites, in 
 the very seat of their power, he related to them the story of 
 the good Samaritan. Nothing could be more keenly cutting 
 or more bold than this. They hated the Samaritans, because 
 they would not come to Jerusalem to worship, and they 
 were proud of their own piety, because their worship was of- 
 fered in the right place ! Jesus did not enter into any labored 
 argument with them, to show that piety was a feeling of the 
 heart, and not a business of geographical location ; he simply 
 related the story — cutting as it did, exactly across their bit- 
 terest prejudices, — ^they would not even have any dealings 
 with the Samaritans ! 
 
 Some time afterward, he came in contact with the same 
 feeling, that is, the religious rivalry between the Jews and 
 the Samaritans, again, though in a different way. He was 
 traveling with his disciples, and on arriving at Samaria, 
 they would not receive him because he was going to Jeru- 
 salem. Here the prejudice between the rival sects only in- 
 jured him, personally ; and he thought nothing about it. 
 His disciples were angry, but he quieted them at once, and 
 went on. Thus it always was with him. Yielding, submis- 
 sive, and patient in regard to his own personal injuries and 
 sufferings, but firm, inflexible, and courageous in the ex- 
 treme, in resisting every injury to the cause committed to 
 his care. 
 
 There is something very bold and energetic in the meas- 
 ures which he adopted in accomplishing his work. The 
 great business which it was necessary for him to effect before 
 his crucifixion, was, to publish effectually throughout Judea, 
 his coming, and the principles of his gospel, — and to exhibit. 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 63 
 
 Bold and systematic action. His personal boldness. 
 
 as publicly as possible, the miraculous evidences of his mis- 
 sion. He accomplished these objects in the most effectual 
 manner, in about three years. In fact, there perhaps never 
 was a case in which so great a moral effect was produced in 
 three years, on any so extensive a community, if we consider 
 at all the disadvantages incident to the customs of those days. 
 There was no press ; there were no modes of extensive writ- 
 ten communication, no regularly organized channels of inter- 
 course whatever, between the different portions of the com- 
 munity. Jesus Christ acted under every disadvantage, and 
 he availed himself of no miraculous modes of disseminating 
 his principles ; but yet, so skillfully did he plan, and with 
 such promptness and energy did he execute, that in a very 
 short period the work was done. 
 
 What were these plans ? In the first place he went him- 
 self, directly and boldly, into every center of influence and 
 population that he could find, to proclaim his new princi- 
 ples of religious truth and duty. When Jerusalem was 
 crowded with the multitudes which came together at the 
 Passover, he was always there, in public and conspicuous 
 places, exposing in the most explicit and direct manner, the 
 sins of the times, and exhibiting the principles of true religion, 
 with a distinctness, and vividness, and beauty, which have 
 never been equalled. At other times, he was traveling from 
 place to place, through fertile and populous provinces, visit- 
 ing the larger villages and towns, and gathering great multi- 
 tudes around him in the open country. And yet though he 
 was, in his business, thus bold and enterprising, he was in feel- 
 ing, as we shall see more distinctly in the sequel, of a quiet and 
 retiring spirit. He always withdrew at once from the crowd 
 when his work was done. He sought solitude, he shrunk 
 from observation ; in fact almost the only enjoyment which 
 he seemed really to love, was his lonely ramble at midnight,for 
 rest and prayer. He spent whole nights thus, we are told. It 
 
64 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Nights of prayer. 
 
 Style of speaking. 
 
 SOLITUDE. 
 
 is not surprising, that 
 after the heated crowds 
 and exhausting labors 
 of the day, he should 
 love to retire to silence 
 and seclusion, to enjoy 
 the cool and balmy air, 
 the refreshing stillness, 
 and all the beauties 
 and glories of mid- 
 night, among the soli- 
 tudes of the Galilean 
 hills — to find there 
 happy communion with 
 his Father, and to ga- 
 ther fresh strength for 
 the labors and trials 
 that yet remained. 
 
 Another thing which exhibits the boldness and enterprise, 
 that characterized his plans for making an impression on the 
 community, was the peculiarly new and original style of 
 public speaking that he adopted. It was sententious, brief, 
 antithetic. Every sentence was loaded with meaning, and 
 was yet so concisely and energetically expressed, that the 
 sentiment could neither be misunderstood nor forgotten. "If 
 worldly pleasure allures you away from duty," a more timid 
 and cautious speaker would have said, " you must relinquish 
 it. Think how much more important your salvation is than 
 any temporal gratification." " If your right hand ofiend 
 you," says Christ, " cut it off. If your right eye offend 
 you, PLUCK IT OUT. It will be better for you to enter into 
 life with one eye, than to be cast into hell-fire with two." 
 
 The delivery of the sermon on the mount is, probably, the 
 most striking example of moral courage which the world has 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 65 
 
 Sermon on the mount. The assembly. 
 
 ever seen. There are two circumstances, which render the 
 occasion on which it was dehvered, extraordinary. First, it 
 was a very public occasion. A vast multitude from almost 
 every part of the country were assembled. Judea, the 
 southern province, and Galilee, the northern, were repre- 
 sented ; so were the eastern and western shores of the river 
 Jordan, and many distant cities and towns. From all this 
 wide extent of country, a vast multitude, attracted by the 
 fame of the Savior's miracles, had assembled to hear what 
 this professed messenger from heaven had to say. Again, it 
 was probably, though not certainly, a very early occasion. 
 Perhaps the first on which the great principles of the gospel 
 were to be announced to men. By this discourse, contain- 
 ing, as it does, so plain and specific an exposition of the false 
 notions of religion then prevailing, the Savior must have 
 known that he was laying the foundation of that enmity to 
 him which would end in h^s destruction. But he did not 
 shrink from his duty, or conceal or cover over one single ob- 
 noxious feature of the truth. He knew that the report of 
 that meeting must be spread to every part of the country. 
 As he looked around upon his auditory, he must have seen, 
 here, one from a Galilean village, there, another from be- 
 yond the Jordan, and again a third who would carry his re- 
 port to distant Jerusalem ; and yet, though he was thus com- 
 pletely exposed, instead of attempting to soften or conceal 
 what might be expected to be displeasing to his auditors, he 
 brought out all the distinctive features of prevailing error in 
 the most open manner, and contrasted them with the pure 
 principles of his spiritual religion, with a plainness and a 
 point, which was exactly calculated to fix them in memory, 
 and to circulate them most widely throughout the land. 
 
 It was always so. The plainness, the point, the undaunted 
 boldness, with which he exposed hypocrisy and sin, and the 
 clear simplicity with which he held up to view the principles 
 
66 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 His missionaries. Results. Key to his character. 
 
 of real piety, have no parallel. And yet he knew perfectly 
 well, that in direct consequence of these things, a dark storm 
 was gathering, which must in the end hurst in all its fury 
 upon his unsheltered head. 
 
 The enterprising and determined spirit, with which Christ 
 entered into his work, was not satisfied with his own personal 
 exertions. He formed the extraordinary plan of sending out 
 simultaneously a numher of his most cordial friends and fol- 
 lowers, to assist in making the most extensive and powerful 
 impression possihle upon the community. At first he sent 
 twelve, then seventy, who went everywhere, presenting to 
 men the simple duties of repentance for the past, and of pure 
 and holy living for the future. There could not have heen 
 measures more admirably adapted to accomplish the work 
 which he had to do of promulgating everywhere throughout 
 Judea the gospel which he came to announce to men. These 
 measures succeeded. In two or three years the work was 
 done. And every Christian, who has to work for his Master 
 here, should learn a lesson from the enterprise, the system, 
 and the energy, which Jesus Christ exhibited in doing 
 his. 
 
 This then is the key to the character of Jesus Christ in re- 
 spect to spirit and decision. These qualities shine out in him 
 with unequaled luster, whenever there was any duty to be 
 done ; but the most mild and patient and humble subiAission 
 take their place, when there is personal injury and suffering 
 to be endured. In the streets of Jerusalem, and on any ques- 
 tions which concerned the character of God, or the duty of 
 man, we find him with all his faculties aroused, silencing 
 every opponent by his unanswerable arguments, or by appeals 
 of irresistible eloquence and power. But when the^e subjects 
 fail, all the energy of attack or defense on his part gives way 
 with them, and before his personal enemies, planning only 
 personal injury to him, he stands silent, patient, and submis- 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 67 
 
 The night in the garden. SuflFerlng. 
 
 sive, leaving the whole torrrent of injury to take its course, 
 meeting it with no resistance and returning no reply. 
 
 The histoiy of the world can scarcely exhibit an act of 
 higher, nobler courage, than our Savior performed, in coming 
 down to meet Judas and the armed band, the night before 
 he was crucified. Just imagine the scene. On the eastern 
 side of Jerusalem, without the walls, there is a sudden de- 
 scent to a stream, which flows through the valley. Across 
 this stream, on the rising ground beyond, was a quiet and 
 solitary place, where Jesus very often went for retirement 
 and prayer. He understood very well his approaching tor- 
 ture and crucifixion ; he had taken, the evening before, his 
 last sad farewell of his disciples, and with the day of agony 
 and death before him on the morrow, he could not sleep. It 
 was a cold night, but a sheltered dwelling in the city was 
 not the place for him. He asked his three dearest friends to 
 go with him, that he might once more cross the valley, and 
 for the last time take his midnight walk upon the Mount of 
 Olives. Oppressed with anxiety and sorrow he fell down 
 there alone before God and prayed that he might be spared 
 what was to come. He had gone on firmly thus far, but 
 now his heart almost failed him. Six long hours of inde- 
 scribable agony seemed too much for the frail human powers 
 which must necessarily bear the whole. He prayed God to 
 spare him if it could he possible. 
 
 But it could not. His strength failed under the exhaus- 
 tion produced by his mental sufferings, and by the more than 
 death-like perspiration, which the night air, so cold at this 
 season that even the hardy soldiers needed fire, could not 
 chill. Mysterious help from heaven restored him a little, 
 but though refreshed by heavenly sympathy, we must re- 
 member that it was human powers alone that had this trial 
 to bear. 
 
 At -last there is heard through the trees, at a distance 
 
68 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Lighta and weapons and armed men. Real courage. 
 
 down the valley, the sound of approaching voices. Lights 
 are seen too ; — and now and then a glittering weapon. 
 They are coming for him. Fly ! innocent sufferer, fly ! 
 Turn to the dark solitudes behind you, and escape for your 
 life ! — No. The struggle is over. The Savior, collected and 
 composed, rises and walks on to meet the very swords and 
 spears sent out against him ! We must remember, that in 
 this gloomy hour there was no one to encourage him, no one 
 to defend him, or to share his fate. It was in the darkness 
 and stillness of night, the very hour of fear and dread ; and 
 the approach of those whose dim forms and suppressed voices 
 arrested his attention, was the signal not of danger, but of 
 death, — nor of death merely, but of protracted and unuttera- 
 ble torture. Still he arose and went forth to meet them. 
 "Whom seek ye?" said he, — "lam he." We have read 
 this story so often, that it has lost its impression upon us ; 
 but could we come to it afresh, and really appreciate the 
 gloomy, dreadful circumstances of the scene, we should feel 
 that the deserted Savior, in coming down under these cir- 
 cumstances, to meet the torches and the weapons, which 
 were to light and guard him back to such enemies and to 
 such a death, exhibits the loftiest example of fortitude which 
 the world has ever seen. There was less noise, less parade, 
 less display than at Thermopylae or Trafalgar ; but for the 
 real sublimity of courage, the spectacle of this solitary and 
 defenseless sufferer, coming at midnight to meet the betrayer 
 and his band, beams with a moral splendor which never 
 shone on earth before, and will probably never shine again. 
 
 We have thus far considered the great leading principles 
 of our Savior's public conduct. As we have presented them 
 they are three. 
 
 1. Entire devotedness to his Father's work. 
 
 2. Energy, system, and undaunted courage, in prosecut- 
 ing it. 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 69 
 
 Three great traits. Love of nature. Kirke White. 
 
 3. The mildest, most unresisting and forgiving spirit in 
 regard to his own personal wrongs. 
 
 We might close our view of his character with these lead- 
 ing principles of it, but there are some other traits of a more 
 private nature, which it is pleasant to notice. We shall 
 mention them as they occur. 
 
 1. Jesus Christ evidently observed and enjoyed nature. 
 There are many allusions in his history to his solitary walks 
 in the fields and on the mountains, and by the sea-side ; but 
 the greatest evidence of his love for nature is to be seen in 
 the manner in which he alludes to its beauties. A speaker's 
 metaphors are drawn from the sources with which he is 
 most familiar, or which interest him most ; so that we can 
 judge very correctly what the habitual thoughts and feelings 
 of a writer are, by observing what images arise to his mind, 
 when he is interested in writing or conversation. We take 
 down a volume of poetry, for an illustration of this remark, 
 and open, almost at random, to the following lines by Henry 
 Kirke White. 
 
 " God keep thee, Traveler, on thy journey far ; 
 
 The wind is bitter keen — the snow o'erlays 
 The hidden pits and dangerous hollow ways, 
 And darkness will involve thee. No kind star 
 To-night will guide thee, Traveler, — and the war 
 
 Of winds and elements on thy head will break, 
 
 And in thy agonizing ear, the shriek 
 Of spirits on their stormy car, 
 Will often ring appalling — I portend 
 
 A dismal night, — and on my wakeful bed, 
 
 Thoughts, Traveler, of thee, will fill my head, 
 And him, who rides where winds and waves contend 
 And strives, rude cradled on the seas, to guide 
 His lonely bark on the tempestuous tide." 
 
70 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The Savior's metaphors. The lily. 
 
 Now such a passage 
 as this admits us very 
 far into the author's 
 habits of thought and 
 feeUng. No man could 
 have written it unless 
 he had often felt the 
 suhlimity of the mid- 
 night storm, and sym- 
 pathized strongly with 
 the anxieties and dan- 
 gers of the lonely trav- 
 eler. He must have 
 been himself a witness 
 of such a scene, and 
 experienced the emo- 
 
 THE WINTER NIGHT. ^ ^ 
 
 tions which it excites, 
 or he could not have painted them so vividly. 
 
 We learn in the same manner how distinct were the im- 
 pressions of beauty or subUmity which the works of nature 
 made upon the Savior by the manner in which he alluded 
 to them. Take for instance, the case where he speaks of the 
 decoration of the lilies. What a conception ! We are so 
 familiar with it, that it loses its impression upon us, but if 
 we could approach it anew we should be astonished at its 
 boldness and beauty. He is endeavoring to persuade his 
 disciples not to be anxious about their food or clothing, for 
 if they will do God's will, he will take care of them. " Look 
 at the lilies of the field," says he, " they toil not, neither do 
 they spin, and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all 
 his glory, was not arrayed Hke one of these." A cold, heart- 
 less man, without taste or sensibility, would not have con- 
 ceived such a thought as that. He could not ; and we may 
 be as sure that Jesus Christ had stopped to examine and 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 71 
 
 Insensibility of men. The garden. Its wonders. 
 
 admire the grace and beauty of the lily, and the exquisitely 
 penciled tints of its petal, as if we had actually seen him 
 bending over it, or pointing it out to the attention of his 
 disciples. 
 
 The mass of mankind never notice the beauties and won- 
 ders that are always around them. Among hundreds walk- 
 ing in a garden, it is only a very few, who would perceive 
 the objects of astonishment and delight which abound there. 
 Here are several shrubs side by side. They grow from the 
 same earth, are warmed by the same sun, and refreshed by 
 the same showers ; and yet the very same juices coming up 
 one stem, arrange themselves into a currant at the top, — 
 coming up another they form themselves into a pear, and in 
 the third case, into a rose. The real lover of nature pauses 
 to reflect, as he sees these various fruits and flowers, how 
 strange it is, that a mechanism so exquisite can be arranged 
 in those stems, so as to bring such astonishing and such 
 different results from one common storehouse of materials. 
 The multitude do not think of it at all. They consider it as 
 a matter of course, that figs should grow upon the fig-trees 
 and grapes upon the vine, and that is all they think about it. 
 
 Here is a little seed too. It seems to the eye, lifeless and 
 inorganic ; indistinguishable from a useless grain of sand. 
 But what a complicated system is safely packed within its 
 covering. Put it into the ground, and in a few months re- 
 turn to the spot, and you find a little tree growing there, 
 covered with leaves and flowers, and giving to many birds? 
 and insects a shelter and a home. » 
 
 Now Jesus Christ noticed these things. He perceived 
 their beauty and enjoyed it. His heart was full of images 
 which such observations must have furnished. He could not 
 otherwise have so beautifully compared the progress of his 
 kingdom to the growth of such a tree. He could not have 
 related the parable of the sower, if he had not noticed with 
 
72 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The Savior's mode of addressing men. Moral sympathy. Reasoning. 
 
 interest the minutest circumstances connected with the cul- 
 ture of the ground. His beautiful allusions to the vine and 
 to the fig-tree, the wheat and the tares, the birds of the air, 
 and the flocks of the field, all prove the same thing. It is 
 not merely that he spoke of those things, but that he alluded 
 to them in a way so beautiful, and touching, and original, 
 as to prove, that he had an observing eye and a warm heart 
 for the beauties and glories of creation. 
 
 2. There is similar evidence that he noticed, with the 
 same observing eye and intelligent interest, the principles 
 and characteristics of human nature. Take for example, 
 his story of the father's welcoming his returning prodigal, — 
 the woman seeking the lost money, — ^the steward making 
 friends with his master's debtors, and the pardoned sinner 
 loving much because much had been forgiven. He observed 
 every thing ; and his imagination was stored with an inex- 
 haustible supply of images, drawn from every source ; and 
 with these he illustrated and enforced his principles in a 
 manner altogether unparalleled by any other writings, sacred 
 or profane. 
 
 3. In exerting an influence over man, he endeavored to 
 awaken the moral sympathies, rather than produce cold con- 
 viction through the intellect. In regard to almost all impor- 
 tant moral and religious truth, there is a witness within 
 every man's heart, and it was the aim of our Savior to 
 awaken this witness and to encourage it to speak. Other 
 men attempt to do every thing by reasoning, — cold, naked 
 reasoning ; which, after all, it may be almost said, is the 
 most absolutely inefficient means which can be applied, for 
 the production of any moral effects upon men. 
 
 Christ very seldom attempted to prove what he said. He 
 expressed and illustrated truth, and then left it to work its 
 own way. Sometimes he argued, but then it was almost 
 always in self-defense. When at liberty to choose his own 
 
THE MAN CHRIST JESUS. 73 
 
 He loved his friends. He loved hia mother. 
 
 mode, as for example in the sermon on the mount, he said 
 such things as commended themselves to every man's con- 
 science, and their power consisted in the clearness and em- 
 phasis with which he said them. If he reasoned at all, the 
 distance was very short between his premises and his con- 
 clusion, and his steps very simple and few. 
 
 4. Jesus loved his friends. The duty of universal benevo- 
 lence, which he so strongly enforced, he never meant should 
 supersede the claims of private, personal friendship, or inter- 
 fere with its enjoyments. He himself, while he was ready 
 to die for thousands, preferred to take his walks, and share 
 his griefs, with Peter, James, and John. There is nothing 
 more touching, in regard to this subject, than the manner in 
 which he made a private intimation at the last supper, to his 
 dearest personal friend, of the fact that it was Judas who 
 was to betray him. He understood and felt the happiness of 
 communion and confidence between kindred spirits, and by 
 his example has authorized us to link ourselves to one an- 
 other by the ties of friendship and affection, as strongly as 
 we please. Christianity, in expanding the affections of the 
 individual till they reach every brother and sister on the 
 globe, does not weaken or endanger a single private or do- 
 mestic tie. While it draws the whole human family to- 
 gether, it links, by a still closer union than before, the hus- 
 band with the wife, and the parent with the child, — sister 
 to sister, and friend to friend. 
 
 5. The last thing that I have to say about the character 
 of Jesus Christ is, he loved his mother. Perhaps I have 
 some young readers, who can remember that at some recent 
 period, when they have been sick or suffering from any 
 cause, they have, by their fretfulness or discontent, brought 
 trouble and care to their parents, and have considered them- 
 selves excused for it by the circumstances in which they 
 have been placed. To them I have one thing to say. Your 
 
 D 
 
74 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Proof. Filial affection. 
 
 Savior was nailed to the cross. The whole weight of his 
 body was suspended from his lacerated limbs, and here he 
 had to hang hour after hour till life actually sunk under the 
 power of suffering. But even here he did not forget his 
 mother. He gave, in the most touching manner possible, his 
 dearest friend a charge to be kind to her, to protect her, to 
 take care of her as long as she should live. He did this, 
 however, almost by a word, for under such circumstances it 
 was torture to speak. He called the disciple to him, and 
 pointing to Mary, he said, " Behold thy mother." That 
 was all ; but it was enough. The disciple took the bereaved 
 mother, thus committed to his care, to his own home. Now 
 let me say to each one of my readers, whether old or young, 
 who has a mother still in life, as you shut this book at the 
 close of this chapter, go and devise some act of kindness and 
 affection for her, in imitation of the dying example which 
 the Savior set us. Do something to cheer and comfort her ; 
 even if it is no very substantial act of kindness, it will bring 
 gladness to her heart, as a memorial of your remembrance 
 and affection. Mary must have felt the proof of love which 
 Jesus evinced for her upon the cross, most deeply. They 
 told the Savior, long before, that his mother was to be en- 
 vied. She must have endured a great deal of solicitude and 
 a great deal of suffering, during her life ; but it must have 
 gone far toward counterbalancing it all, to be remembered 
 thus, under such circumstances, by such a son. 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 75 
 
 A diflference between the gospels and the epistles. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HUMAN DUTY, OR THE SAVIOR's MESSAGE TO MANKIND. 
 " And they went out and preached that men should repent." 
 
 It is a remarkable fact, and one which has often surprised 
 careful readers of the Bible, that scarcely any thing is said 
 by our Savior himself, in regard to his own sufferings, as the 
 ground of human salvation, while the writings and addresses 
 of the apostles are full of this theme. There is a most ex- 
 traordinary contrast, in this respect, between the gospels and 
 the epistles. In the former, Christ's sufferings and death 
 are scarcely ever spoken of, in the latter, nothing is spoken 
 of so much. This state of the case has, on the one hand, 
 led many persons to underrate the influence and importance 
 of our Savior's sufferings and death, and they defend their 
 views by referring to the nature of our Savior's instructions. 
 Others err on the other side, by taking the epistles as their 
 only model, — ^not sufficiently considering the character of 
 Christ's instructions. Others are embarrassed when they 
 think on this subject ; they do not know how to reconcile 
 the seeming inconsistency, though they endeavor to diminish 
 it, as far as possible, by exaggerating and emphasizing the 
 little which Jesus Christ did say, in regard to his sufferings 
 and death. We ought always to suspect ourselves when we 
 are attempting to get out of Scriptural difficulties in this 
 way ; — ^by loading passages of Scripture with more meaning 
 than they will naturally bear ; a process very common among 
 
76 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Wrong way to read the Bible. Right way. The school-house. 
 
 theological writers. The best way is to allow the Bible to 
 speak for itself. We must not attempt to improve it, but 
 just let it tell its own story, in its own way. The man who, 
 when he reads some of the strong, decided passages in the 
 Epistles, ascribing all hope of human salvation to the atoning 
 sacrifice of the Son of God, finds himself holding back from 
 the writer's view, endeavoring to qualify the language or to 
 explain it away, is not studying the Bible in the right spirit. 
 On the other hand, he who can not take the directions which 
 Christ or John gave, for beginning a life of piety by simple 
 repentance for the past, without adding something from his 
 own theological stores, or forcing the language to express 
 what never could have been understood by those who origin- 
 ally heard it, — ^he can not be studying this book with the right 
 spirit. We must take the Bible as it is ; and there certainly 
 is a very striking and extraordinary difference, between the 
 public instructions of our Savior himself, and those of his 
 apostles, in respect to the prominence given to the efficacy of 
 his sufferings in preparing the way for the salvation of men. 
 Let us look into this. 
 
 Whenever, under any government, a wrong is done, there 
 is, as any one will see, a broad distinction to be observed be- 
 tween the measures which the government must adopt, in 
 order to render it safe to pardon the perpetrator of it, and the 
 conditions with which the guilty individual is required to 
 comply, in order to avail himself of the offer. To make this 
 plain, even to my younger readers, I will describe a case. It 
 illustrates the principle, I admit, on a very small scale. 
 
 In a remote and newly-settled town in New England, on 
 the shore of a beautiful pond, under a hill covered and sur- 
 rounded with forests, was a small school-house, to which, 
 during the leisure months of the winter, thirty or forty boys 
 and girls gathered, day after day, from the small farm-houses, 
 which were scattered over the valleys around. One evening 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 77 
 
 A atormy night. Trouble. The lost cap. 
 
 a sort of exhibition was held there. Before the time had 
 arrived, there had been indications of an approaching snow- 
 storm. These indications increased during the evening ; and 
 when, at the close of the evening, the assembly began to dis- 
 perse, they found that the storm had fairly set in. 
 
 The master was sitting at his desk, putting away his 
 papers, and preparing to go home. The snow was beating 
 against the windows, and the aspect of the cold and stormy 
 weather without made many of the scholars reluctant to 
 leave the warm and bright fire, which was still burning on 
 the spacious hearth. For many of them sleighs were to be 
 sent by their friends ; others, who were prepared themselves 
 to go forth, were waiting for their companions to get ready ; 
 and every minute or two the door would open and admit a 
 boy shivering with cold, and white with snow. 
 
 Presently the master heard some voices at the door, in 
 which he could distinguish tones of complaint and suffering. 
 Several of the boys seemed to be talking together, apparently 
 about some act of injustice which had occurred, and after 
 waiting a few minutes, the master sent for all the boys who 
 were standing at the door, to come to him. 
 
 Half a dozen boys immediately walked eagerly in, and 
 behind them followed one, more reluctantly ; his head was 
 bare, and he had evidently been in tears. As this company 
 entered the room, the conversation among the other children 
 was hushed, and all their preparations were suspended, and 
 every face was turned with an expression of eager interest 
 toward the master, as the group approached him. 
 
 "William," said the master to one of the foremost boys, 
 " there seems to have been some trouble ; will you tell me 
 what it is ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir : Joe Symmes threw his cap," — ^pointing to the 
 sorrowful-looking boy in the rear, — "off upon the pond, and 
 it has blown away and he can not find it." 
 
78 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 CJonversation. The teacher's perplexity. 
 
 •' Joseph," said the master, " is it so ?" 
 
 Joseph acknowledged the fact. It appeared, on more 
 careful inquiry, that there had been some angry collision 
 between the boys, in which Joseph had been almost entirely 
 to blame ; and it was a case of that kind of tyranny of the 
 stronger, which is so common among school-boys. In the 
 end, he had seized his schoolmate's cap, and thrown it off 
 upon the icy surface of the pond, over which it had glided 
 away with the driving wind and snow, and was soon lost 
 from view. Joseph said he knew that it was wrong, and he 
 was sorry. He said he ran after the cap as soon as it was 
 gone, but he lost sight of it, and that now he did not know 
 what he could do to get it again. 
 
 The master told the boys that they might go to the fire, 
 while he considered for a few minutes what he ought to do. 
 
 When left alone, the teacher reflected that there were 
 two separate subjects of consideration for him. First there 
 was an individual who had been guilty of an act of injustice. 
 Next there was a little community, who had been witnesses 
 of that injustice, and were all in suspense, waiting to know 
 what would follow. 
 
 *' I am unwilling to punish Joseph," thought he, " for he 
 seems to be sorry for what he has done, and I think it highly 
 probable that he will not repeat the wrong ; but if I allow 
 such a case to pass with a mere reproof, I fear it will do in- 
 jury to the school. The boys will have less abhorrence in 
 future for acts of injustice and oppression by the stronger, 
 than they have had. Just in proportion as they see sin, 
 without seeing sad results coming from it to the sinner, they 
 will lose their sensitiveness to its guilt. I must not allow 
 this case to pass without something to make the right moral 
 impression upon those who have witnessed it. I wish that I 
 could do this without bringing suffering upon Joseph, but I 
 do not see how I can." 
 
 I 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 79 
 
 llie plan formed. Penitence necessary before forgiveness. 
 
 " Ah ! I see what I can do," thought he ; "I will take the 
 suffering myself. ' Yes ; I will forgive Joseph at once, and 
 then I will go out myself and find the cap, or help them 
 find it, and when the scholars see, that the consequences of 
 this offense comes upon Tuy head, bringing me inconvenience 
 and even suffering, especially if they see me bear it with 
 a kind and forgiving spirit, perhaps it will do as much good 
 as punishing Joseph would do. Yes ; I know that all my 
 pupils, and Joseph among the rest, are strongly attached to 
 me, and I am sure that when they see me going out into the 
 cold storm, over the ice, and through the snow, to repair the 
 injury which he has done, it will make a strong impression. 
 In fact it will, I am sure, touch them more effectually, and 
 produce a much stronger dislike to such a spirit, than four 
 times as much inconvenience and suffering inflicted as a 
 punishment upon Joseph himself." 
 
 It is evident now that such a plan would be safe and 
 proper only on supposition that Joseph is really sorry for 
 what he has done. The course proposed would be altogether 
 inadmissible, if the offender, instead of being humble and 
 penitent, should appear angry and stubborn. 
 
 On the other hand, if the master's plan was a wise one, 
 although real penitence on the part of Joseph would be 
 absolutely necessary, nothing else would be necessary. He 
 need not know any thing about the plan on which the 
 master relies, for producing the right moral impression on 
 the little community. 
 
 Now the whole object of this illustration, is to bring clearly 
 forward the distinction, between what is necessary as a 
 measure of government — in order to prepare the way to offer 
 pardon, and what is necessary as an act of the criminal, in 
 order to enable him to receive it. 
 
 It is very evident, in this case, that these two things are 
 entirely distinct and disconnected, and that it is not at all 
 
80 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 A dialogue. Forgiveness of Joseph. 
 
 necessary that Joseph should know the ground on which the 
 teacher concluded it safe for him to be forgiven. The 
 master's suffering the inconvenience and trouble is an 
 essential thing to he done, in order to render it safe to 
 forgive ; but it is not an essential thing to be known, at the 
 time forgiveness is declared. In fact, the most delicate and 
 most successful mode of managing the affair, would be for 
 the master to say nothing about the philosophy of his course 
 of action, but simply to adopt his course, and leave it to pro- 
 duce its own natural and proper effects. 
 
 Accordingly the master, in this case, after a few minutes 
 of reflection, called the boys to him again. 
 
 ** Joseph," said he, " you have done wrong, in oppress- 
 ing one younger and weaker than yourself, and I might 
 justly punish you. I have concluded however to forgive 
 you ; — ^that is if you are sorry for the wrong. Are you 
 sorry?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am," replied the boy distinctly. 
 
 " Are you willing to make proper reparation, if I will tell 
 you what to do ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " James," continued the master, " are you willing that he 
 should be forgiven ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am willing he should be forgiven ; but how 
 shall I get my cap ?" 
 
 " I will talk with you about that, presently. You see that 
 is another part of the subject ; the question now is, what is 
 to be done with Joseph ? He has done wrong, and might 
 justly be punished, but he is sorry for it, and in this case, I 
 conclude not to punish him." 
 
 If the whole subject were to be left here, the reader will 
 perceive how incomplete and unfinished the transaction 
 would be considered, in respect to its effects on those who 
 witnessed it. It would, if left here, bring down the standard 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 81 
 
 The teacher's walk. Effect on the boys. His return. 
 
 of justice and kindness among the "boys. And if the pupils 
 had been accustomed to an efficient government, they would 
 he surprised at such a result. 
 
 But still, though the teacher had something in reserve to 
 prevent such an injury, it was not, as I have said before, at 
 all necessary, nay, it was not expedient, that he should say 
 any thing about it, thus far. Joseph's penitence was essen- 
 tial to render his pardon proper. This it was indeed neces- 
 sary for him to understand. The measure to be adopted 
 was essential to render that pardon safe. This it was essen- 
 tial for no one but the master to understand. It was neces- 
 sary that the moral effect should be produced on all, but the 
 measure which the master had in view for producing it, might 
 safely remain unexplained, till the time came for putting it 
 into execution. 
 
 After all was thus settled with the boys, the master took 
 down his cloak, and said that he would go out and see if he 
 could find the cap. Joseph wished to go with him, but his 
 teacher replied, that it would do no good for him to go out 
 in the cold too ; — it might be necessary to go quite across the 
 pond. He however asked Joseph to show him exactly where 
 he had thrown the cap, and then, noticing the direction of 
 the wind, the master walked on in pursuit. 
 
 A cluster of boys stood at the door, and the girls crowded 
 at the windows to see their teacher work his way over the 
 slippery surface, stopping to examine every dark object, 
 and exploring with his feet every little drift of snow. They 
 said nothing about the philosophy of the transaction ; in fact, 
 they did not understand it. The theory of moral government 
 was a science unknown to them ; but every heart was warm 
 with gratitude to their teacher, and alive to a vivid sense of 
 the criminality of such conduct as had resulted thus. And 
 when, after a time, they saw him returning with the cap in 
 his hand, which he had found half buried in the snow, under 
 
82 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Mopal effect of Cbrist's sufferings. 
 
 THE LOST CAP 
 
 a bank on the opposite shore, there was not one whose heart 
 was not full of affection and gratitude toward the teacher, 
 and of displeasure at the sin. And the teacher himself, 
 though he said not a word in explanation, felt that by that 
 occurrence, a more effectual blow had been struck at every 
 thing like unkindness and ill-will among his pupils, than 
 would have been secured by any reproofs he could have admin- 
 istered, or by any plan of punishment, however just and severe. 
 Such a case is analogous, in many respects, to the meas- 
 ures which God has adopted to make the forgiveness of hu- 
 man guilt safe. It is only one point, however, of the analogy, 
 which I wish the reader to observe here, namely, that though 
 the measure in question was a thing essential for the master 
 to do, it was not essential for the criminal to understand, at 
 the time he was forgiven. 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 83 
 
 The penitent child. 
 
 So in regard to the moral effect of God's government, pro- 
 duced by the sufferings of Jesus Christ, in preparing the way 
 for the forgiveness of sin. The measure itself was necessary 
 to render free forgiveness safe, hut a clear understanding of 
 its nature and of its moral effect, is not always necessary to 
 enable the individual sinner to avail himself of it. 
 
 In the early ages of the world, it was obscurely intimated 
 to men, that, through some future descendant of Abraham, 
 measures were to be adopted, which would open the way for 
 the expiation of human guilt. What these measures were, 
 few, if any, understood. Men were, in many cases, anxiously 
 waiting for a development of them, but, in the mean time, it 
 was universally understood, that if any man would forsake 
 his sins and serve Jehovah, he would be forgiven. The sim- 
 ple proclamation, " Repent and be forgiven," went every- 
 where. The ground, on which such a proclamation could 
 be safe and wise, it was for God alone to consider, and to 
 reveal to men, just as soon, and just as extensively, as he 
 might see fit. 
 
 Let it be understood, that I am speaking of what is essen- 
 tial, not what is desirable. The knowledge of our Savior's 
 sufferings and death, and clear ideas of the grounds of them, 
 have been in every age, the most powerful of all possible 
 means of impressing the heart, and leading men to God. 
 Still they are not the only means. Man could not have been 
 forgiven if Christ did not die, but he may be forgiven, and 
 yet not know that Christ died, till he actually meets him in 
 heaven. 
 
 The moment a little child, for instance, is capable of know- 
 ing that it has a Maker, and of discerning between right and 
 wrong, it is capable of loving God, and feeling penitence for 
 sin ; and the mysterious influences of the Spirit may as 
 easily awaken these feelings at this age, as at any other. It 
 can be forgiven, however, only through the sufferings of its 
 
84 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The shipwrecked minister. The savages. 
 
 Savior, and yet months must elapse, before it can know any 
 thing about these sufferings ; and years, before it can look 
 into the principles of government enough, to see why they 
 were necessary, or to appreciate at all the moral impression 
 which they produce. 
 
 Suppose a Christian minister is thrown by shipwreck upon 
 a savage island, and in a state of sickness and exhaustion so 
 great, that he feels that he must sink in a few days to the 
 grave. He knows nothing of the language of the islanders, 
 but he soon succeeds, by careful attention, in obtaining 
 phrases enough to preach the simple duty of repentance. 
 
 *' There is a God," he says to those around him in his dy- 
 ing hour. " He will punish the wicked. Become good and 
 you will please him." 
 
 " Ah !" reply the savages, " we have all been wicked al- 
 ready, — ^very wicked." 
 
 *' Think not about the past," he replies. " It will be for- 
 given : — ^there is a way — I can not explain it. Leave your 
 wickedness and do right, and God will save you." 
 
 As he utters these words, his strength fails, and his au- 
 dience can hear no more. But they have heard enough. I 
 do not say enough to induce them to forsake their sins and 
 return to God, but to show them how to do it. And if men, 
 after hearing only such a sermon as that, were to continue 
 their lives of wickedness, and die unchanged, it would still 
 be true, that the opportunity of mercy had been fully before 
 them. 
 
 " We did not know," they might say, when called to ac- 
 count, " that a Savior had died for us, and consequently could 
 not know how we could be forgiven." 
 
 " You are without excuse," the judge might reply. " It 
 was for you to abandon your sins ; — It was for me to consider 
 how you could be forgiven." 
 
 Now every savage that ever lived has had just such a ser- 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 86 
 
 Conscience, the imiversal monitor. John the Baptist. Jonah. 
 
 mon as this preached to him. Not by a Christian minister, 
 indeed, wrecked on the reefs of his island, but by a far more 
 faithful and intelligible preacher than any such would be. 
 Conscience, the universal ambassador from heaven, has been 
 unceasingly faithful, in every age, and in every clime, preach- 
 ing repentance, and opening the door of salvation to every 
 human soul. That our fellow-men do almost invariably, 
 if left to this warning voice alone, disregard it and persist in 
 sin, is indeed true ; but at the day of judgment, it will ap- 
 pear that, of all the countless millions of the human family, 
 though but a very small portion ever heard of a Savior, there 
 never was one, who might not have been saved through his 
 death, if he had done what God, during all his life, was con- 
 tinually calling him to do. 
 
 Though this preaching, that is, the simple call to repent- 
 ance, is generally powerless over unenlightened and pagan 
 minds, it is not always so. In the Jewish nation, there were 
 undoubtedly a great many penitent and pardoned men, though 
 they knew little or nothing of their future Savior. John 
 the Baptist undoubtedly made many true converts ; even 
 Jonah's preaching was successful ; and a hundred and twenty, 
 at least, were found to have received aright the instructions 
 of our Savior, though even his apostles do not appear to have 
 fully understood before his death, that he was to be crucified 
 for them. It is so too in our times. True piety, unquestion- 
 ably, often exists where there is a very imperfect understanding, 
 or at least a very limited appreciation, of the nature of the great 
 sacrifice for sin. This fact is very evident to all, though it 
 often very much embarrasses those who do not properly dis- 
 tinguish between what is necessary for man to do, in order 
 to be saved, and what it is necessary for God to do, in order 
 to render it safe to save him. On this latter point, the hu- 
 man soul may be kept in the dark by a thousand circum- 
 stances, for which it is not responsible : but in regard to the 
 
86 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Voice of conscience. Personal duty plain, though universally neglected. 
 
 former, it can not be kept in ignorance, or led into mistake. 
 Conscience may indeed be perverted ; but still it will some- 
 times speak, — more or less distinctly it is true, — but it will 
 speak : and not a human being can get through his time of 
 trial here, without hearing its warning. God has given it 
 a message to every one, which, if heeded, will secure sal- 
 vation ; and that message it will, in every case, most assur- 
 edly deliver. 
 
 It seems, then, that Jesus Christ very clearly recognized 
 the distinction between the provision which God must make, 
 in order to open the way for human salvation, and the part 
 which man must perform, to avail himself of it ; and it is 
 the last, very evidently, which it is of direct and immediate 
 importance to man to know. It was the last which he 
 accordingly devoted his chief time and attention in urging 
 on man, — ^namely, his own personal, immediate duty. They 
 who heard him were indeed inexcusable before, but the 
 clearness, the distinctness and the emphasis, with which he 
 brought forward the claims of God over human hearts, ren- 
 dered them more inexcusable still. 
 
 And here I must remark, that this mode of attempting to 
 turn men to God, met with only very partial success. Jesus 
 Christ succeeded in persuading very few. It was not till 
 afterward, when the love of Christ in dying for men was 
 loudly and universally proclaimed, that hearts were touched 
 and penitence awakened. But still this preaching of ths 
 sufferings of Christ afterward, was not throwing additional 
 light upon duty, — it was only a new inducement to do it. 
 The great duty, repentance for sin, was the same afterward 
 as before. The only difference was, that men were more 
 easily led to repent after they had learned the greatness of 
 the sacrifice by which alone penitence could be available. 
 They ought, however, to have repented before ; if they had 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 87 
 
 God's design in the creation. 
 
 done so, God would have forgiven them, though they could 
 not have understood how such forgiveness could safely be 
 bestowed. And so it is now. By the sacrifice of the Son of 
 God, the door of salvation on repentance, is opened to 
 every human being on the globe. =^ 
 
 But to return. The great subject of Christ's instructions 
 seems to have been simply, human duty. It was his object 
 to explain, not the great arrangements and measures of God's 
 government, but the duties which each individual sinner had 
 personally to perform. 
 
 In order to exhibit clearly the ground which our Savior 
 occupied in his public ministrations, we must consider the 
 plan which the Creator seems to have formed for the human 
 race, when he determined to call them into being. His de- 
 sign is represented to us to have been to form one great, 
 united and happy family, over which he should himself reign 
 as the beloved and acknowledged sovereign. All the re- 
 sources of his wisdom and power were to be employed to 
 promote the happiness of his creatures, and he designed they 
 should themselves all co-operate with him in these aims, 
 each being interested in the happiness of all the others, and 
 joined together in him. Many a father aims at promoting 
 such a feeling of mutual good-will among his children, and 
 of dependence and attachment toward him as their head, 
 
 * It has often been made a question among religious writers, wheth- 
 er, in point of fact, repentance and salvation ever come to the inhab- 
 itants of those benighted countries, where the Savior has never been 
 known. Into this question we do not now enter ; that is, it is not our 
 design here to inquire whether they ever do repent and forsake their 
 sins, but only to exhibit the sentiment held up by the apostle, in the first 
 chapter to the Romans, that God has not left himself without witness 
 to any son or daughter of Adam. It is certain that if they would listen 
 to this voice, and repent of sin, they would be forgiven. Whether they 
 ever actually do this, or not, is a question which we consider more 
 fully in the following chapter. 
 
88 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The ten commandments. 
 
 while he, nevertheless, steadily refuses to come under the 
 same system in his relation to God, who is the great head 
 of the family to which he himself belongs. The children 
 of such a father, one would suppose, might often see the 
 contrast between the filial and fraternal duty which he is 
 willing to perform himself, and that which he expects of them. 
 Taking this view of the design of God, in regard to the 
 family of man, we shall be surprised to see how admirably 
 adapted to secure it that code of laws is, which he originally 
 gave to men. We have read the ten commandments so 
 many times, nay, they have been so long, and so indelibly 
 impressed on the memory, that it is difficult for us to ap- 
 proach them in such a way, as to get a fresh and vivid 
 conception of their character. To obviate, in some degree, 
 this difficulty, I give the substance of them in other lan- 
 guage, so that the reader may see more clearly, by looking 
 at them, as it were, in a new light, with what admirable 
 skill they are adapted to the object. The wisest assembly 
 of statesmen or legislators which ever convened, if called 
 together to form a code for all the world, — one to apply to 
 every nation, and to operate through all time, could not have 
 made a better selection of points to be brought forward, or 
 arranged them with more scientific and logical precision, or 
 expressed them in clearer terms. And yet the infidel affects 
 to believe that they were the production of the half civilized 
 leader of a wandering horde, — contrived just to assist their 
 author in maintaining an influence over his semi-barbarous 
 followers ! But let us look at this code. 
 
 THE MORAL LAW. 
 
 I. DUTY TO GOD. 
 
 First 1- Your Maker must be the highest object 
 
 Commandment, of your interest and affection. Allow nothing 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 89 
 
 Analysis of the moral law. 
 
 Second 
 
 to take precedence of him ; but make it your 
 first and great desire to please him and to obey 
 his commands. 
 
 2. You are never to speak of him lightly or 
 with irreverence, and you are not to regard any 
 visible object as the representative of him. and Third 
 He is a spirit, invisible from his very nature. Commandments. 
 and you must worship him in spirit and in 
 
 truth. 
 
 3. Consecrate one day in seven to the wor- 
 ship of God, and to your own religious improve- Fourth 
 ment. Entirely suspend, for this purpose, all Commandment, 
 worldly employments, and sacredly devote the 
 
 day to God. 
 
 n. DUTY TO PARENTS. 
 
 You are placed in this world under the care 
 of parents, whom God makes his vicegerents, 
 to provide for your early wants, and to afford Fifth 
 
 you protection. Now you must obey and honor Commandment, 
 them. Do what they command you, comply 
 with their wishes, and always treat them with 
 respect and affection. 
 
 in. DUTY TO MANKIND. 
 
 Keep constantly in view, in all your inter- 
 course with men, their welfare and happiness, 
 as well as your own. Conscientiously respect 
 the rights of others, in regard, 
 
 1 . To the security of life. Commandment. 
 
 2. To the peace and happiness of the family, commmidment. 
 
 3. To property. Commandment. 
 
 4. To reputation. Commandment. 
 
90 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Its character. Effects of obedience to it. 
 
 In keeping these commands, too, you must 
 Tenth regulate your heart as well as your conduct. 
 
 Commandment. Qq^ forbids the unholy desire, as much as he 
 does the unholy action. 
 
 Such is God's moral law. And we may triumphantly ask, 
 where is the statesman or philosopher, who with all the light 
 and the experience of modern times, can improve it. In 
 giving it as above, I have made no change except to alter the 
 language, so as to present it with freshness to the reader, — 
 and to number its sections, so as to bring its admirable ar- 
 rangement more distinctly to view. I have not omitted one 
 of its provisions, or added one not originally there, nor altered 
 the position of a single command. Even the logical precision 
 of arrangement, which is exhibited above, is not the result 
 of any artificial systematizing of mine. The form in which 
 I have presented the code only brings to view the logical 
 perfection which the code itself in its usual form presents, as 
 is evident from the fact that I follow the precise order of the 
 commands, without omitting or changing the position of one 
 of them. 
 
 Look, then, at this law again, and imagine it perfectly 
 obeyed in this world. What a scene of peace and happiness 
 it would insure. And yet this is the law which men will 
 persist in refusing to obey, and the infraction of which con- 
 stitutes the whole controversy pending between God and 
 man. This law the human race will not conform to. They 
 never have conformed to it, and they will not begin. And 
 yet disregarded, violated, trampled upon as it has been by 
 common consent, throughout the whole human family, no 
 man has ever dared to lift up his voice against its justice. 
 From the day when it was first thundered forth on Sinai, it 
 has been loudly proclaiming its commands, conscience, in 
 every bosom, re-echoing its voice ; and the boldest, the wild- 
 
HITMAN DUTY. 91 
 
 Spiritual obedience to it. The Priest and the Levite. 
 
 est, the most daring opposer of God, never had a word to 
 utter against the justice and rightfulness of its claims. 
 
 Now the great design of our Savior's instructions, was to 
 induce men to abandon their sins, and begin at once to keep 
 this law. He explained its spirituality, and brought out to 
 view the two great principles on which all its commands 
 were based ; supreme affection to God, and disinterested be- 
 nevolence toward men. 
 
 It is most interesting to observe, how directly and clearly 
 Jesus Christ always insisted upon spiritual obedience to the 
 law, — I mean by this, obedience of the heart ; — and how 
 constantly he cut off, in the most decided manner, all those 
 hollow acts of mere external conformity, which men were 
 continually substituting in the place of this spiritual obedi- 
 ence. And it is, if possible, still more interesting to observe, 
 how liberal and expanded were his views in regard to the 
 mitward acts by which this heartfelt compliance might be 
 indicated. On the one hand, no act whatever, and no course 
 of life, however seemingly religious, would satisfy him, if 
 there was evidence that the secret feelings of the heart were 
 wrong. On the other hand, no action was too trivial to be a 
 mark of piety, if it only proceeded from the right spirit. For 
 example, here are a priest and a Levite, devoting their lives 
 to their Maker's service. No one doubts their eminent holi- 
 ness. How does the Savior judge ? Why, he leads them 
 along a road which conducts to a spot where a man lies suf- 
 fering. He watches to see what they will do. — They pass 
 by on the other side. Ah, that reveals the secret ! A man 
 may devote his life to the external service of God, without 
 really loving him at all ; but he can not really love him, and 
 yet pass by and neglect a distressed and suffering brother. 
 And so in a thousand other cases. The tests which he ap- 
 plied to the religious professions of those days, and which are 
 equally applicable to the bold, self-sufficient, hollow-hearted 
 
92 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Various ways of beginning to obey. 
 
 zeal, which sometimes displays itself in our times, are char- 
 acterized by a beauty, a clearness, a delicacy, and at the 
 same time by a searching and scrutinizing power, wholly 
 without a parallel. 
 
 And while he could be deceived by no counterfeit, and 
 would take no specious appearance on trust, but cut away, 
 with a most unsparing hand, all false pretenses, and all mere 
 external show, his liberality, in regard to modes by which 
 real, genuine piety should exhibit itself, was unbounded. All 
 that he desired was that the heart should be right. He 
 cared not how its feelings were evinced. He found a man 
 engaged in his ordinary business, and asked him to leave it 
 and follow him ; another wished to know what he should do 
 to inherit eternal life, and he directed him to employ all his 
 property as a means of doing good ; in another case, he pro- 
 nounced an individual forgiven, merely on account of per- 
 sonal kindness shown to himself! Sometimes he called on 
 men to repent ; sometimes to believe on him ; sometimes to 
 obey his precepts. He was satisfied of Mary's piety, by the 
 teachable, docile spirit which she manifested, in listening to 
 his conversation in her house ; he pronounced many persons 
 forgiven, on account of the feeling with which they came to 
 be healed ; and even when the malefactor on the cross asked 
 to be remembered by Jesus in paradise, the Savior considered 
 those words alone, as the external indications of a renewed 
 heart. 
 
 It is very evident that he thought it of comparatively little 
 consequence what men did first, in beginning to serve God. 
 The great point was to induce them to serve him at all. 
 We are very slow to follow his. example in this respect. We 
 are prone to insist upon some precise way in which all men 
 shall repent and be saved. We arrange the steps, and must 
 have them taken in their exact, prescribed order, and if these 
 steps are not followed, we are suspicious and afraid, whatever 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 93 
 
 The absent master. The disobedient boys. Expostulation. How to begin. 
 
 may be the ultimate fruits. We consider the case anoma- 
 lous, if we are compelled to admit it to be genuine. 
 
 A master of a family, we will suppose, goes away from 
 home, leaving his sons in charge of his affairs, and giving 
 them employment, in which he urges them to be diligent 
 and faithful until his return. After he leaves them, how- 
 ever, they all neglect their duty, and live in idleness, or oc- 
 cupy themselves solely with their amusements. A friend 
 comes in, and remonstrates with them. He gives them a 
 labored account of the radical defects in their hearts, the 
 philosophical distinction between dutiful and undutiful sons, 
 and the metaphysical steps of a change from one character 
 to the other. His discourse is all perfectly true, and admira- 
 bly philosophical, but it is sadly impotent, in regard to making 
 any impression on human hearts. 
 
 Another man comes to address them in a different mode. 
 He calls upon them at once to return to their duty. 
 
 " What shall we do first ?" ask the boys. 
 
 " Do first ? do any thing first ; there is the garden to be 
 weeded, and the library to be arranged, and your rooms to be 
 put in order. No matter what you do first. Begin to obey 
 your father ; that is the point." 
 
 As he says this he goes around the premises, and, as he 
 finds one after another, loitering in idleness or mischief, he 
 calls upon them to return to duty. They are awakened ; 
 they see, more distinctly than they had done, their negligence 
 and guilt ; and as they come successively, to know what 
 they shall do, he points out to their attention various tasks, 
 according to the age and situation of each. His object is not 
 merely external, but sincere and heartfelt obedience, but he 
 cares little by what particular act the new course of obedi- 
 ence begins. 
 
 It is just so with the preaching of Jesus Christ. He ex- 
 plained the purity and beauty and perfection of God's holy 
 
94 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Giving cold water. Holiness is submission. 
 
 law, and then called upon men everywhere to begin to live 
 in conformity to it. In obeying this call it is no matter what 
 men do first. No matter with what particular aspect the 
 dawning light of Christianity first shines ; let it enter where 
 it will, it will rise and spread till it illuminates the whole. 
 Nor can any external action, if it comes from the right spirit, 
 be too unimportant to constitute the first step in a Christian 
 course. Jesus Christ acted on this principle most fully. He 
 even said that if a man would give a cup of cold water ^ to a 
 disciple, in the name of Christ, that is, acting himself under 
 the influence of Christian feeling, he should not lose his re- 
 ward ! 
 
 Nor is that remark a mere metaphor, striking and beauti- 
 ful as it is. It is strictly true, that giving a cup of water to 
 a follower of the Savior, may be the first act of a religious 
 life. A man who has been neglecting or opposing religion 
 all his days, may be asked by a Christian, some trifling favor 
 like that, and the opportunity of promoting, even in so slight a 
 degree, the cause which he had been opposing, might so bring 
 to his view the happiness of co-operating with God, in con- 
 trast to the misery and guilt of opposing him, that his heart 
 might melt at once, and he might perform that little deed of 
 kindness, in the exercise of his very first feeling of submission 
 to his Maker. 
 
 The course which our Savior pursued is the most per- 
 fectly philosophical. Holiness is submission to God's law ; 
 and though, in principle and spirit, it is always the same, it 
 assumes in the heart many different forms ; or rather a holy 
 heart, a heart willing to submit, will exist in many different 
 states, according to the objects presented to it. Hold up the 
 kindness and mercy of God to its view, and it feels grateful ; 
 present its past sins, and it mourns : show God's goodness, 
 and the leading principles of his government and character, 
 and it rejoices. Thus holiness looking at sin, is penitence ; 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 95 
 
 VarioTis forms of piety. The conversion of a little child. 
 
 at God, is joy ; at duty, resolution ; at self, humility ; at 
 human woes, compassion. In Abraham, it shone as obe- 
 dience ; in Job, as patience ; in John, as love. And yet in 
 all it is one. If it exist in one form, it will exist in each 
 of the others, when the circumstances call for them. Job 
 would have been obedient if God had commanded him to 
 leave his country, and Abraham would have been patient 
 under suffering, like Job. We hear nothing of Joseph's 
 penitence, nor of Samuel's faith in Christ, nor of Daniel's 
 brotherly love. But it was the same spirit nevertheless, 
 which reigned in all these hearts, appearing by different 
 exhibitions, but in all its hundred forms remaining still the 
 same. It was holiness, — attachment to the cause of God, — 
 desire to keep his pure and perfect law, and submission to his 
 will. This spirit shines in various hues, and with different 
 degrees of luster, according to the varying circumstances and 
 conditions of the hearts in which it bums. But it is the same 
 spirit, whether it guides Abraham across the desert, or in- 
 spires David's songs of praise; whether it leads Peter to 
 penitence, fills Stephen's heart with peace and joy, — or 
 brings thousands in the streets of Jerusalem, to believe in 
 the Savior and forsake their sins. It is not enough, to say 
 that these various Christian graces are all of one family ; 
 they are all in essence one and the same thing : so that if 
 one comes, the others will inevitably, as circumstances call 
 them, all follow in their train. 
 
 This view of the subject is of immense practical impor- 
 tance to all who are endeavoring, at the present day, to 
 promote piety. It shows us how very various, and how 
 entirely different, may be the first steps of the return to God. 
 You have under your care, for instance, a little child. He is 
 too young to know much about religious truth ; — ^the nature 
 of forgiveness, — ^the necessity of punishment, — the love of the 
 Savior, — or a judgment to come. You can tell him of 
 
96 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Spiritual darkness. Way to remove it. 
 
 Grod, however ; his existence, his presence, his holy charac- 
 ter ; and then you can just ask him, some morning, to do 
 right that day for the sake of pleasing God. Perhaps he 
 will not. He may try to do right, for the purpose of receiv- 
 ing your praises or rewards, without feeling, however, any 
 desire to please God. On the other hand, perhaps he will. 
 If he does, it will indeed be through an influence exerted 
 upon his tender affections, in answer to your prayers ; but he 
 may be, and probably in many instances, children have been, 
 under just such circumstances, turned to Grod, and led to be- 
 gin a service which they are still continuing in heaven. Many 
 children have thus been reconciled to God, when they were 
 too young to know any thing about the source of spiritual life 
 within them, or even the existence of that Savior, through 
 whose death alone, they were finally declared justified and 
 forgiven. 
 
 There are many modes by which the human soul may be 
 shut up in darkness, besides through the weakness and im- 
 maturity of infantile powers. There are the inveterate pre- 
 judices of an erroneous education, the influence of mistaken 
 friends, the colored medium through which religious truth is 
 seen, or distortions and interruptions of various kinds in the 
 channels by which it is conveyed to them. If now, in any 
 such case, means can be brought to bear upon the heart, so 
 as by divine assistance to awaken any one Christian grace, — 
 any single truly Christian feeling, — ^the danger is over. A 
 stone is taken out of the firmly-compacted arch of impeni- 
 tence and sin, and the whole structure must crumble down. 
 Listening to arguments for the truth will often confirm men 
 in error, but doing their duty will inevitably break the chain. 
 " If any man will do his will," said Jesus, " he shall know 
 of the doctrine ;" and it would be well if speculating, doubt- 
 ing inquirers everywhere would learn from it, that practical 
 obedience should come before speculations in theology — that 
 
HUMAN DITTY. 
 
 97 
 
 The various ways of turning to Gkxi. 
 
 they had better begin to do Grod's will first, and discuss the 
 principles of his government afterward. 
 
 But we are wandering from our subject, which is the fact 
 that Jesus Christ spent all his strength in inducing men to 
 submit in heart to God, and to keep his holy law, and that 
 if he found them in heart willing to do this, he was but little 
 solicitous about the precise act by which the new life should 
 begin. These acts were various then, and they are various 
 now. A young man, 
 for example, having 
 hesitated between the 
 service of his Maker 
 and the service of sin, 
 walks out alone on a 
 summer's evening up- 
 on the sea-shore, and 
 there, while meditating 
 upon his character and 
 condition, he resolves 
 that he will hesitate 
 no longer, but that he 
 will return to his Ma- 
 ker ; and he utters with 
 honest sincerity, and 
 from his heart, the 
 
 Lord's prayer, — language which he has often uttered, though 
 without feeling, before. His first Christian exercise is prayer. 
 Another, is overwhelmed with conviction of sin ; and suffers 
 hour after hour, or day after day, under its oppressive load. 
 At last his heart suddenly feels, and appreciates, and re- 
 joices in, the goodness and holiness against which he has 
 been contending ; he bursts forth in ascriptions of praise, and 
 all nature seems to become suddenly resplendent with his 
 Maker's glory. His first Christian feeling is joy Another's 
 
 E 
 
 THE WALK. 
 
98 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Forms and ceremonies. Do this. 
 
 heart melts into godly and heartfelt sorrow for its sins ; the 
 first renewed emotion in this case, is penitence. There is no 
 end to the variety of forms which the movements of spiritual 
 life assumes ; and Jesus Christ, while he most vigorously in 
 sisted that there should be real, genuine, heartfelt obedience 
 to The Law, attached no importance to the particular act 
 by which it should first be rendered. 
 
 There is one subject more, which must be considered here. 
 I refer to the view which our Savior took of the forms and 
 ceremonies of religion. His principle was this. He devoted 
 all his strength to secure spiritual principles ; and in regard 
 to all its ceremonial aspects, he left religion to accommodate 
 itself to the varying tastes and habits of mankind, and to the 
 changing customs and states of society, which the progress 
 of time occasions. It is remarkable how little he specified 
 in respect to modes and forms. He did not even arrange 
 any form of church government for his own times, nor give 
 any specific directions in regard to any christian ceremonies ; 
 an example unparalleled, we believe, among the founders 
 of religions. There is something peculiarly striking in this 
 point of view, in his manner of instituting the celebration 
 of the supper. Instead of having a sort of code drawn up, 
 specifying the various parts of the ceremony, the kind of 
 elements to be used, the frequency of the performances, and 
 the various attending circumstances, — he simply says, at the 
 close of his last supper, as they were about to depart, — " Do 
 this in remembrance of me." This. One word contains the 
 whole description. He could not have left it more vaguely 
 and indefinitely expressed ; and they who press the forms of 
 Christianity, while they forget its spirit, can not be more 
 pointedly reproved than by asking them to contrast the 
 clearness, the point, the emphasis, the discriminating preci 
 sion, with which Christ pressed spiritual duties upon men, 
 with the unconcerned and almost careless air, with which 
 
 i 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 99 
 
 Practice of the apostles. Example of Christ. Changes 
 
 he dismissed the whole subject of the most solemn ceremony 
 which he established, with, " Do this, in remembrance of 
 me." 
 
 After our Savior's death, the apostles, animated by the 
 same spirit, gradually established modes of church govern- 
 ment for the exigencies of their own times. They modified 
 them as occasion required, and so careful were they to leave 
 no record of a mode, which might subsequently be made a 
 rule, that no ingenuity has been able to make out any 
 one consistent system, from the various partial directions 
 which they gave. And even could this be done, it would 
 be no authority for us. I repeat it, — if a clear and consistent 
 system of church government and of modes of worship 
 could be deduced from the practice merely of the apostles, it 
 would be no rule for us. We are bound to believe the asser- 
 tions of inspired men, but not by any means to imitate their 
 practice. Their practice was often wrong ; though this is 
 not what we here refer to. It is because the circumstances 
 in which they were placed, — the state of society and the con- 
 dition of the world, — were peculiar, and from the very nature 
 of the case, they must have been left to make arrangements 
 adapted to their circumstances, but which would be inex- 
 pedient in ours. Their practice, therefore, even where we 
 admit that they were right, is' of no binding obligation on us. 
 So that, though we are required to believe what the apostles 
 said, we are not required to do what they did, unless we are 
 placed in the same circumstances with them. In fact, if we 
 are to go back at all, for the authority of practice, on this 
 subject, we ought to go back to the fountain-head, and imi- 
 tate the Savior himself; that is, employ none hut itinerant 
 preachers, and send them out two and two I The conclu- 
 sion is irresistible. 
 
 No. Nothing can be plainer, than that Jesus Christ meant 
 to secure the spirit of Christianity, and to leave to each age 
 
100 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Changes necessary. Common error. One great denomination. 
 
 and nation, the regulation of its forms. He adopted one 
 mode, — the one suited to his purpose. His apostles imme- 
 diately adopted another, which they changed as circumstances 
 required ; and it has gone on changing ever since, and it will 
 go on changing probably until the millennium, when modes and 
 forms of worship will be as various and as unnumbered, as 
 the domestic and social customs, of the human race, divided 
 as it is, into a thousand nations and dwelling in every va- 
 riety of region and clime. 
 
 The narrow-minded view, which would have fixed in 
 Judea, eighteen centuries ago, a system of organization to be 
 adopted by all the races of men, and to continue unchanged 
 for forty centuries, would have worked incalculable mischief 
 Emergencies continually occur, demanding new efibrts, on 
 new or modified plans. Sometimes great denominations 
 arise thus, and accomplish what existing organizations could 
 not have effected. At other times, gradual political changes 
 so alter the genius, and character, and habits of a people, 
 that the external form in which Christianity embodies itself 
 must change too. It is the spirit alone that remains station- 
 ary and common in all. 
 
 And yet nine tenths of nominal Christians, all over the 
 world, are firmly believing and sincerely wishing, that their 
 own denomination may extend and swallow up the rest, and 
 become universal. But let us consider a moment, what 
 would be the result, if such were the case. That one uni- 
 versal denomination would soon have leaders. It might, or 
 might not be so constituted, as to have them in name and 
 office, but it certainly would have them in reality. Grant, 
 if you please, that the first set of leaders are really humble, 
 devoted, honest Christians ; what sort of men would be am- 
 bitiously looking up to their posts, and beginning to struggle 
 and crowd for the succession ? Why there can be no moral 
 effect more certain, than that in such a case, four or five 
 
HUMAN DUTY. 10 1 
 
 Disastrous results. Spirit of Christianity. 
 
 generations would place worldly, selfish, ambitious men at the 
 head of the religious interests of the world ! We have had 
 one terrible experiment of the effects of one great denomina- 
 tion, to illustrate this reasoning. God grant that the dark 
 day may never come again. 
 
 It was thus the spirit of Christianity only that our Savior 
 urged. He proclaimed forgiveness to all who would abandon 
 their sins, and return to God, and obey the great moral law, 
 which had been enacted for the general happiness. He pro- 
 claimed the fact that forgiveness was sure, and thus opened 
 the door of hope to every man ; but he did not say much 
 about the dark path of sorrow and suffering, which he should 
 himself have to tread, in order to open the way. It seems as 
 if, with the delicacy which always characterizes ardent love, 
 he would not inform men of the sufferings which he was 
 about to bear for them. He assured them they might be for- 
 given, but he never reminded them of their obligations to 
 him for purchasing their pardon. Even his disciples, till they 
 came to see him die, had no conception of his love. They 
 learned it at last, however. They saw him suffer, and inspi- 
 ration from above explained to them something about the 
 influence of his death. They had enjoyed its benefits long be- 
 fore, in peace with God, forgiveness of sin, and hope of heaven ; 
 but now for the first time, they understood how those benefits 
 were procured. It is hard to say which touches our grati- 
 tude most sensibly ; the ardent love which led him to do 
 what he did, or the delicacy with which he refrained from 
 speaking of it, to those who were to reap its fruits. He did 
 all that he could to save men, and in his interviews with 
 them, spent his time in endeavoring to persuade them to con 
 sent to be saved. His sufferings he left to tell their own story 
 
102 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 [uman nature. The way to study it. The village. Morning. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HUMAN NATURE, OR THE SAVIOR's RECEPTION AMONG MANKIND. 
 " We will not have this man to reign over ua." 
 
 In the last chapter we considei:ed our Savior simply as a 
 Teacher ; hereafter we shall have occasion to look at him 
 more particularly as a sufferer. In the mean time, we must 
 devote a few pages to consider the reception, which the 
 principles of duty which he inculcated meet with among 
 men. 
 
 This brings us at once to the study of human nature ; — 
 and the proper way to study human nature, is to look at it 
 as it exhibits itself in the actual conduct of mankind. If we 
 examine it thus, we shall find it presenting itself in a great 
 many alluring aspects. Look, for instance, at any of those 
 quiet villages which may be found by thousands in every 
 Christian land. When day dawns, the gray light looks into 
 the windows of a hundred dwellings, where honest industry 
 has been enjoying repose. The population is grouped into 
 famiUes, according to the arrangement which God has made, 
 and while the eastern sky reddens and glows by the reflec- 
 tion of the approaching sun, there is, in every dwelling, a 
 mother, actively engaged in providing for the morning wants 
 of the household which God has committed to her care. 
 There is a tie around her heart, binding her to her husband, 
 her children, her home, and to all the domestic duties which 
 devolve upon her. These duties she goes on to discharge, 
 
 1 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 103 
 
 The wife and mother. Indiistry. 
 
 though they are ever renewed and ever the same. She does 
 it day after day, — three hundred and sixty-five times this 
 year, and as many more the next, and the next, perhaps for 
 half a century. What patience ! What persevering indus- 
 try ! and all, not for herself, hut for others. 
 
 At the proper time, all the families of the village assemble, 
 each in its own quiet home, to receive their food. The 
 breakfast hour for one, is the breakfast hour for all. Each 
 conforms to the customs of the others, with as much regular- 
 ity as if these customs were enforced by penal laws. Every 
 one is at liberty, and yet, in all the important arrangements 
 of life, they all agree. And how is this agreement produced ? 
 By the regard which every one has for the opinions and feel- 
 ings of the rest ; a feeling which we can not but look upon 
 with pleasure ; and it reigns in all human communities, and 
 has almost boundless power in regulating established cus- 
 toms, and preserving the order of society. 
 
 We next see our villagers going forth to their respective 
 labors. You will observe them issuing from their various 
 dwellings, and repairing to their work, with as much regu- 
 larity as if on a preconcerted signal. The mechanics go to 
 their shops, the tradesman to his store, and the farmers to 
 their fields ; and though there may be here and there an ex- 
 ception, they continue their toil as industriously as if their 
 motions were watched, and all their actions controlled by 
 masters, who had the right and the power to exact from them 
 a stated daily task. And this course of daily active industry 
 is persevered in through life, and all the means of comfort 
 and enjoyment, which it procures, are frugally husbanded. 
 Sickness, death, calamity, may produce an occasional inter- 
 ruption, and even paralyze, for a time, all interest in worldly 
 pursuits and duties ; but the elastic spirit rises again, when 
 the severity of pressure is removed, and again finds occupa- 
 tion and enjoyment in its daily routine. 
 
104 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Beneyolence. Exceptions rare. Moral beauty. 
 
 The moral beauty of it all consists in the fact, that each 
 man labors thus industriously, day after day, and year after 
 year, not mainly for himself, but for others. Each has, upon 
 an average, four or five, who are dependents upon him, and 
 it is for them mainly, and not for himself, that he confines 
 himself so constantly to his daily toil. 
 
 There may be exceptions. Here and there one is idle and 
 dissolute, leaving the inmates of his wretched home to mourn 
 the guilt of the husband and father, and to feel its bitter con- 
 sequences. But it is only here and there one ; and in almost 
 every such case the ills which the sufferers would otherwise 
 have to bear, are very much alleviated by the assistance of 
 neighbors, who can not well enjoy their own comforts at 
 their own homes, until they have relieved the pressure of 
 want that is so near them. The great majority however are 
 faithful to their trust ; held to duty, not by compulsion, nor 
 by fear of penalty, but by a tie which God has fastened 
 round the heart, and whose control men love to obey. 
 
 The reader may perhaps say that there is no virtue in all 
 this seeming benevolence, because such is the nature of the 
 tie, by which the father and the mother are bound to their 
 household, that the faithful discharge of their own domestic 
 duties is the way to secure the highest and purest happiness 
 to themselves. It is so, undoubtedly ; and this is in fact the 
 very moral beauty which we have been endeavoring to point 
 out, that in a case of such universal application, the human 
 heart is such, that it can find, and does find, its own purest 
 and highest enjoyment in unceasing efforts to promote the 
 enjoyment of others. 
 
 Thus the day passes on in our peaceful, quiet village ; the 
 evening brings recreation of various kinds ; some indeed seek 
 guilty pleasures, but far the greater number find happiness 
 at home. Night brings universal repose, the members of 
 each family sleeping quietly under their own roof, " with 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 105 
 
 Night. The sick child. The proposaL 
 
 none to molest or make them afraid." Or if there is a soli- 
 tary one, who prowls about at midnight, to steal, or burn, or 
 kill, he is but one among a thousand, — a rare and abhorred 
 exception to the general rule. 
 
 If among the families forming this peaceful community, 
 there is one whose members, by unavoidable misfortune, or 
 even by their own improvidence or neglect, have been re- 
 duced to want, those around them will not allow them to 
 suffer. Either by the spontaneous impulse of individual 
 charity, or by a systematic arrangement in which all com- 
 bine, ample provision is made for these wants. Food, cloth- 
 ing, and shelter are provided for those who can not provide 
 them for themselves, that there may be no exception to the 
 general comfort and happiness. 
 
 Perhaps, however, under one roof there is sickness. A 
 pale and feeble child, who has been a source of unceasing 
 anxiety and trouble to his parents from his very birth, lies in 
 his little couch, restless and feverish, under an attack of some 
 new disease. 
 
 " Mother, your sleep has been disturbed long enough by 
 its restlessness and its cries. Carry it away to some remote 
 apartment, and leave it there, to moan alone under its suffer- 
 ings, so that you may sleep, for once, undisturbed. If it 
 should die before the morning, you will only be relieved of a 
 continual and heavy burden." 
 
 " Father, leave the little sufferer to its fate. You will 
 then sleep quietly through the night, and the necessity for 
 toil will be diminished on the morrow. Why should you 
 take such pains, and bear such watching and such fatigue 
 for this child ? Even if he lives, he will never repay you ; 
 but as soon as he becomes a man, he will go out from your 
 roof, away into the world, and you will see him no more. 
 Abandon the little sufferer, therefore, now ; — send him away 
 to a distant room and leave him." 
 
106 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Watchfulness. 
 
 Moral beauty. 
 
 THE MOTHER. 
 
 The proposal makes 
 father and mother cling 
 still more closely to 
 their suffering child, 
 and when at midnight 
 every house in the vil- 
 lage seems desolate 
 and still, you will see 
 from the two windows 
 of their chamber, the 
 glow of lamp and fire 
 within, contrasted with 
 the cold white light, 
 with which the moon 
 silvers the windows of 
 other dwellings. In 
 that chamber the sleep- 
 less mother watches, with love which no sacrifices . can ex- 
 haust, and no protracted efforts tire. It expands to meet 
 every emergency, and rises higher and higher, in exact pro- 
 portion to the wants and sufferings of its feeble object. The 
 light will continue at those windows, till the morning dawn 
 extinguishes it ; and as long as the loved object needs this 
 watchfulness and care, those windows will show the same 
 signal of sickness and suffering, as regularly and as constantly 
 as night returns. 
 
 There is a great moral beauty in this, — and in all those 
 principles of human nature, by which heart is bound to 
 heart, and communities are linked together, in bonds of peace 
 and harmony, and of mutual co-operation and good- will. 
 Some persons may indeed say that there is nothing of a moral 
 character in it. We will not contend for a word. There is 
 beauty in it of some sort, it is certain ; for he who can look 
 upon these, and similar aspects of human character, without 
 
 1 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 107 
 
 [ 
 
 Human virtue. Its two foundationa. 
 
 some gratification, is not human. It is beauty of some sort, 
 and it is neither physical nor intellectual beauty ; if any man 
 chooses to apply some other term than moral to characterize 
 it, we will not contend. At any rate, it is human nature. 
 
 But nearly all that there is which appears alluring in the 
 above views, or any other views, which can be taken of hu- 
 man nature, when left to itself, is to be resolved into two 
 principles. And these principles are such that if virtue can 
 be based upon them at all, it is certainly virtue of the lowest 
 character. The principles are these. Natural Affection, and 
 Policy ; the two foundations on which rest nine tenths of all 
 which is called virtue in this world. There is, indeed, 
 among men, a vast amount of industry and frugality ; of 
 faithful domestic attachment, and persevering performance 
 of the ordinary duties of life ; there is honesty, and conscien- 
 tiousness, and a certain dislike of suffering, which leads to 
 many efforts to remove or alleviate it. But after all, — for 
 we must, to be honest, come to the unpleasant conclusion, — 
 nearly the whole has its only basis in feelings of natural 
 affection, or on views of enlightened policy. The results are 
 beautiful ; they are essential to the well-being, and almost 
 to the existence of society, but when we come honestly to 
 analyze their causes, we shall see that instinctive affection 
 and views of policy produce nearly the whole. God has 
 taken care so to form the human heart, and so to constitute 
 communities, that these influences of natural affection and 
 these considerations of policy shall be enough, in ordinary in- 
 stances, to protect the outward frame-work of society. This 
 outward frame- work, therefore, is sustained very well. The 
 rest, — all that is within, the region of the heart, the private 
 feelings and private conduct between man and man, he has 
 attempted to regulate by his law. And what is the conse- 
 quence ? Why what he impels man to do, by fixed and 
 
108 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The village examined. Real characters. 
 
 certain constitutional tendencies, and what he makes it 
 plainly his interest to do, that is done. But all the rest fails. 
 His laws are broken, his authority contemned, and though 
 the exterior fabric of society is protected, as we have seen, 
 and presents so beautiful and imposing an aspect, the heart 
 sickens as we look at what is within. 
 
 Take our village for instance. If we look at its exterior 
 arrangements, how fair it seems. But the reader would shut 
 this book in displeasure at its harshness, if I were to describe, 
 with any thing like fairness, the feelings and emotions which 
 really reign in the hearts of its inhabitants. The children 
 all know that God their Maker has said to them, " you shall 
 not disobey your father and mother." They care no more 
 for the injunction than for the idle wind. The mother who 
 watches over her sick child, has perhaps a heart rising against 
 Grod, repining and unsubmissive. It seems to be an honest 
 village, for the inhabitants do not rob or murder each other 
 in the night ; and yet there is not a man who will trust his 
 neighbor to make a bargain without watching his own inter- 
 ests . in it with the utmost eagerness. They seem to be be- 
 nevolent ; that is, they can not bear to witness any physical 
 suffering, and they take measures to alleviate or remove it. 
 The amount of real heartfelt benevolence among them is 
 shown by this fact : that if any man comes forward with a 
 plan for doing good, and asks the co-operation of his neigh- 
 bors, nine out of ten of them will believe that the interest of 
 the solicitor is in some way or other directly connected with the 
 scheme, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, they will be 
 right ! Such a view of human character, on paper, is ob- 
 jected to, and opposed by many ; but still they know that 
 it is in fact true. The very men who object to it act on 
 the presumption of its truth, in all their dealings with others ; 
 and their knowledge of mankind is abundantly sufficient to 
 convince them, that if the hearts of the inhabitants of any 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 109 
 
 The poat-ofiace. Apparent virtue. 
 
 village could be really unmasked, they would present such 
 disclosures of euAry, malice, strife, selfishness, ill-will, pride, 
 and revenge, as would justify the strongest language which 
 could possibly be used to describe them. 
 
 It is astonishing what beautiful, what admirable results. 
 may be secured in human society, by the operation of these 
 natural impulses and views of policy, while each individual 
 of the community may be the abandoned slave of sin. The 
 Ibllowing is a striking illustration of it. A man may drop a 
 letter containing a hundred dollar bill, into any post-office in 
 the country. He slips it through a little aperture, and does 
 not know who is on the other side. The man who takes it 
 up is a stranger. He passes it into the hands of another 
 stranger ; and thus it goes from hand to hand, from driver 
 to driver, and clerk to clerk, for a thousand miles, and at last 
 his correspondent safely receives the money from some one, 
 he knows not whom. And what has been its protection ? A 
 sheet of paper, fastened with a little colored paste ; or in its 
 condition of greatest security, a leather bag, closed by a lock, 
 which any stone by the side of the road would shatter to 
 pieces. The treasure is thus carried over solitary roads, 
 through forests, and among the mountains ; and is passed 
 from one hand to another, in a state of what would seem to 
 be most complete exposure. What honest men these agents 
 thus trusted, must be ! is the first reflection. Honest I Why 
 the writer of the letter would not really trust a tenth part of 
 the sum to the honesty of a single one of them. They may 
 be honest, or they may not, but the careless observer who 
 should attribute the safe result to the honesty of the men, 
 would be most grossly deceived. It is an adroit arrange- 
 ment, — most admirably and skillfully planned by human 
 wisdom, and acting by means of principles which God has 
 implanted, — that secures the result. The merchant trusts 
 the money to agents whom he does not know, not because he 
 
110 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 No real diflference of opinion about human character. 
 
 thinks they are honest, but because he knows they are imse ; 
 he relies on human nature, but it is the shrewd policy of hu- 
 man nature, — not its sense of justice. 
 
 Forgetting this distinction has been the means of a great 
 proportion of the disputes which have raged in the world 
 about human character. In philosophizing upon the subject, 
 a writer of a poetic turn is deluded by the beauty, the moral 
 beauty, we may perhaps safely say, of results, which really 
 depend on very different principles in human hearts, from, 
 what they seem to indicate. They who have the most ro- 
 mantic ideas of human nature in theory, do not fail of being 
 sufficiently guarded and suspicious in their dealings with 
 mankind ; or if they do, they soon inevitably become soured 
 by disappointed hopes, and while they panegyrize the race in 
 the mass, they bitterly accuse and reproach it in detail. Be- 
 sides, there is one proof, and that on a most extensive scale, 
 of the real nature of worldly virtue ; it is this, — a fact 
 which no man competent to judge will deny, — that all the 
 arrangements of business in every community, and in every 
 scheme of government which was ever formed by human 
 skill, go on the plan of making it for the interest of men to 
 do right, and not on the plan of confidence in the integrity 
 and moral principle of their hearts. A government and a 
 system of institutions based on the idea that men were, in a 
 majority of cases, disposed to do their duty of their own ac- 
 cord, could not stand a day. 
 
 But all this is not the worst. It is not the falseness and 
 hollowness of worldly virtues, nor the vices of heart and life 
 which prevail everywhere among men, which are the great 
 subjects of the charge which God makes against us. It is 
 another thing altogether, — viz., that men will not submit 
 TO THE REIGN OF GoD OVER THEM. This IS their Settled, 
 determined, universal decision. It is called in the Bible by 
 various names — such as ungodliness, rebellion, unbelief, en- 
 
HUMAN NATURE. Ill 
 
 Alienation from God: settled and universal. 
 
 mity against God, and many others. Jehovah has proclaimed 
 a law; men disobey it altogether. They do, indeed, some 
 things which are commanded in that law, but then it is only 
 because to do those things happens to suit their convenience. 
 He says to us that we are not our own but his ; — we pay no 
 regard to it, but go on serving ourselves. He says to us that 
 all will soon be over with us in this world, and that in a 
 very short time we must stand in judgment before him. 
 Who believes it ? He charges the man of wealth to act as 
 his Maker's steward in managing his property, and sacredly 
 to appropriate it to his cause ; the wealthy man regards it 
 just as much as he would a similar claim from the beggar 
 in the street. He calls upon men of rank and influence to 
 glorify him by exhibiting pure and holy lives in the conspic- 
 uous stations in which he has placed them ; look at the 
 princes and nobles, the legislators and statesmen of this 
 world, and see how they obey. By his word and by his 
 spirit he tells us of our undying souls, of the value of holi- 
 ness and spiritual peace, and of the deep guilt of sin, of 
 mercy through a Savior, and of eternal life with him in 
 heaven ; men turn away from such subjects in utter con- 
 tempt. These topics, whenever introduced among the vulgar 
 classes of society, will ordinarily be received with open de- 
 rision and scorn ; and the refined circles of society, with as 
 decided, though with a little more polite hostility, will not 
 allow their introduction. There seems to be as real and 
 certain, and determined a combination am.ong men, to ex- 
 clude God and his law, from any actual control over human 
 hearts, as if the standard of open rebellion was raised, and 
 there were gathering around it all the demonstrations of 
 physical resistance. 
 
 It is sometimes said that the reason why subjects connect- 
 ed with God and religion are so excluded from conversation 
 in polite circles of society, is the fact, that when such sub 
 
112 THE CORNER-STONE, 
 
 Evidences. Use of God's name. False religions. 
 
 jects are introduced, they are so often the cloak of hypocrisy 
 and deceit. I know it is so, and this fact constitutes the 
 most complete and overwhelming evidence of the extent to 
 which this world is alienated from God. Even what little 
 professed regard there is for him here, is, two thirds of it, 
 hypocrisy ! This is, in fact, what the objection implies ; and 
 what a story does it tell, in regard to the place which God 
 holds in human hearts. No. As men have generally made 
 up their minds to have nothing to do with God, they are 
 determined to hear nothing about him, unless it be in such 
 general terms, and in such formal ways, as shall not be in 
 danger of making an impression. We may almost wonder 
 how eternal justice can spare this earth from day to day, 
 when we reflect upon what is unquestionably the awful fact, 
 that throughout all those countries where the true God is 
 known, in four cases out of five in which his name is men- 
 tioned at all, it is used in oaths and blasphemies. 
 
 The world has been full of religions, it is true : but they 
 have been the schemes of designing men, to gain an ascend- 
 ency over the ignorant, by deceiving and bribing that con- 
 science which God has placed in every heart to testify for 
 him. It has been the studied aim of these religions to evade 
 the obligation of moral law, and the authority of a pure and 
 holy, and spiritual Deity. They substitute for these a sys- 
 tem of empty rites and ceremonies, in order to divert the 
 attention of the sentry which God has stationed in the soul, 
 while all the unholy lusts and passions are left unrestrained. 
 The case of the Pharisees presents a specimen which will 
 answer for all. Unjust and cruel toward men, unfaithful 
 and unbelieving toward God, and habitually violating and 
 trampling under foot the whole spirit of his law, they would 
 go out into their gardens, and carefully take one tenth of 
 every little herb which grew there ; and this they would 
 carry with ridiculous solemnity, to the temple of God, to 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 113 
 
 The door of salvation open. Men will not enter. 
 
 show their exact observance of his commands ! This is an 
 admirable example of the spirit and nature of all false reli- 
 gions. Men will do any thing else but really give them- 
 selves up to God. They w^ill go barefooted to Jerusalem, for 
 the sake of being sainted on their return ; they will fight 
 under the crescent, for plunder or for military renown ; they 
 will build churches and contribute money to public charities, 
 from a hundred different motives ; but as to coming and 
 really believing all that God has said, and giving up the 
 whole soul to him, entering his service, and looking forward 
 habitually to heaven as their home, they will not do it. It 
 has been proposed to them again and again, in every variety 
 of mode, and they will not do it. The prophets proposed 
 it. Men stoned them. Jesus Christ proposed it. They 
 crucified him. The apostles and their immediate successors 
 proposed it. In the course of a very few generations they 
 succeeded in bribing them, by means of worldly rewards and 
 honors, to pervert their message, and leave the world undis- 
 turbed in its sins. 
 
 The preceding chapter of this work opened, perhaps the 
 reader thought, a very broad door of salvation, and would 
 lead one to ask, who can help being saved. It was indeed 
 a wide door ; one which all might enter ; the condition sim- 
 ple, and universally proclaimed. " Let the wicked forsake 
 his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts : and let him 
 return unto the Lord and he will have mercy upon him ; 
 and to our God for he will abundantly pardon." " In every 
 nation he that feareth God and worketh righteousness, is 
 accepted of him." But the difficulty is, that, widely ex- 
 tended as the gates of salvation are, and simple as is the 
 entrance, men will not come in. They do not wish to be 
 saved, and they will not seek salvation. They do not love 
 holiness ; they do not like the idea of serving God : peni- 
 tence, humility, broken-hearted submission to God's will, and 
 
1 14 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Insincerity among Christians. Open vice and criino. 
 
 spiritual peace and happiness, they do not like. They wifeh 
 to be making money, or gaining admiration, or enjoying 
 sensual pleasure ; and persuasion is not merely insufficient 
 to change them, — it does not even tend to change them. 
 You can not change the desires and affections of the heart 
 by persuasion. No ; plain, and simple, and open to every 
 man, as is the way of life, men choose another way, and if 
 the few imperfect exceptions which exist, were not accounted 
 for in the Bible, we should be utterly unable to account for 
 them at all ; so fixed, and settled, and universal a character- 
 istic it is of human nature, to wish to have, in this life, as 
 little as possible to do with God and eternity. Even the 
 little love to God and submission to him which exists, is so 
 adulterated that it sCarce deserves the name. The enemies 
 of religion know this very well. They charge us with sel- 
 fishness and ambition and party spirit, as the real springs of 
 a large portion of our pretended efforts in behalf of religion. 
 And they are right. We deny it in our eager controversies 
 with our foes, but every true Christian acknowledges and 
 bewails it in his closet before God. 
 
 We see thus that the great, the destroying guilt of human 
 souls, is not open vice and crime, but determined and perse- 
 vering alienation from God. The question whether a person 
 becomes vicious and criminal depends almost entirely upon 
 circumstances. A child brought up in the cabin of a smug- 
 gler, or on board a piratical ship, will almost inevitably be- 
 come a robber or murderer ; while on the other hand, the 
 son of Christian parents, who is trained up properly in a 
 Christian land, will almost as inevitably learn to respect and 
 obey the laws. But though they may thus widely differ in 
 external conduct, they may both reject, with equal determi- 
 nation, all the authority of God over them. Both are equal- 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 115 
 
 Salvation offered to children. Its reception. The little child. 
 
 ly under the control of a worldly spirit, though they gratify 
 this spirit in different ways. 
 
 Whenever we present the law of God to the human soul, 
 and bring home to the conscience and the hcaj":, the sum- 
 mons to surrender to its authority, we meet from all the 
 varieties of human character, with substantially the same 
 reception. Take it to savages on their remote island. Ex- 
 plain the law to them, show its moral perfection ; offer them 
 forgiveness for the past if they will now subdue their pas- 
 sions, and cease their murderous quarrels, and give them- 
 selves up to the service of the pure and holy Spirit, and be- 
 come like him pure, and holy, and merciful, and kind. Will 
 they obey ? 
 
 Come then to a Christian land, and collect an assem- 
 bly of children. Describe to them the cold, cheerless misery 
 of sin ; call their attention to the secret corrodings of remorse, 
 which they all suffer every day. Remind them of their in- 
 gratitude and disobedience to their parents, and their neglect 
 of God ; tell them how rapidly time is flying, and how soon 
 they must appear before their Maker. Describe the moral 
 beauty of a holy character, — ^pure, docile, faithful, grateful to 
 father and mother, and filled with affection for God, — the 
 soul resigned and submissive to his will and happy in a sense 
 of his forgiveness and protection. Then ask them to come 
 and give themselves to their Savior, and to begin lives of 
 purity and duty and holiness. What will they do ? They 
 will sit still while you speak, if they have been trained to sit 
 still on such occasions, and perhaps a few may listen with 
 real attention ; but after you have finished all that you have 
 to say, they will go away with hearts as cold toward God as 
 if they had been indurating under the influence of sin for a 
 hundred years. 
 
 Take younger children then. Here is a little one, just able 
 to run about the floor and talk, and it yet knows little or 
 
116 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The wealthy merchant. The message to him. 
 
 nothing about God. It obeys its mother's express commands, 
 because it finds from experience that some unpleasant conse- 
 quences will ensue if it does not obey, and its obedience is just 
 in proportion to the certainty of these consequences. Call this 
 child to you now, and explain to it its duties and obligations 
 to God. Attempt to awaken gratitude, filial love, and 
 willingness to obey him. Try, in a word, to establish an 
 acquaintance and communion of feeling between its heart, 
 and the unseen, eternal spirit around it, and to awaken 
 gratitude for his favors, and a desire to please him and to do 
 his will. And what will be your success ? Why you may 
 excite surprise ; you may arrest a momentary attention, you 
 may awaken awe and even terror, by bringing death and a 
 coming judgment to view. But to link that heart by any 
 substantial tie to its maker and benefactor, and kindest and 
 dearest friend, will baffle all your powers. 
 
 Make the experiment then upon a maturer mind. Here 
 is a wealthy merchant, engaged in business, which abundant 
 prosperity from God has brought before him. In order that 
 there may be nothing exceptionable in the form and manner 
 in which his duty as a child of God is brought before him, 
 we will suppose that he is sick, and has sent for his pastor 
 to come and visit him. Let this pastor explain what is 
 meant by the requisition of the Bible, that a man of wealth 
 should feel that his wealth is not his o-wn, but that he holds 
 it as steward. — agent ; — and that he is bound to be faith- 
 ful to the trust committed to him. He knows very well 
 what are the duties of trustee. He understands the distinc- 
 tion between agent and principal ; so that no long explana- 
 tion is necessary. Let the pastor simply call his attention 
 to the point, and bring home to his mind the nearness of 
 eternity, the inconceivable importance of the salvation of his 
 soul, and of the souls of his workmen, his clerks, his sales- 
 men, his navigators; and plead with him to come out 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 117 
 
 Enmity against God. The amiable girl. 
 
 honestly and openly and with all his heart, on the side of 
 God and holiness ; — to let his light shine ; — and to devote 
 every thing that he has to the work of helping forward 
 God's cause in the world. Suppose this experiment were to 
 be tried, who that knows mankind would doubt about the 
 result. One half the Christian pastors in the world would be 
 so convinced of its hopelessness, that they would not make the 
 attempt. They would not ask, plainly and directly, a worldly 
 man, under such circumstances, to give himself up to God. 
 And if they should bring the question forward, plainly and 
 faithfully, and in all its honest truth, instead of winning new 
 converts to God, they would, in nine cases out of ten, in any 
 commercial city in Christendom, excite high displeasure, and 
 very likely never be able to gain admission to that bedside 
 again. Worldly men are very willing to sustain the exter- 
 nal institutions of religion, and to assemble on the Sabbath^ 
 from time to time to hear praises of the moral virtues, or 
 discussions of the abstract excellences of religion. But you 
 can not take such a text as this, "Ye are not your own, 
 
 YE ARE BOUGHT WITH THE PRICE, THEREFORE GLORIFY GoD 
 IN YOUR BODIES AND IN YOUR SPIRITS WHICH ARE God's :" and 
 
 fairly bring it before men's consciences and hearts, so that 
 they may really understand its meaning, without awakening 
 strong opposition or dislike. It is opposition and dislike to 
 something. They say it is not enmity against God. But 
 that certainly looks very much like enmity against God and 
 his government, which is excited by the presentation af the 
 very fundamental principle of all his laws. 
 
 But do not let us despair. There may be some one yet, 
 who will admit God, though all these have rejected him. 
 Here is an amiable and gentle girl ; obedient to her parents, 
 faithful in many of her duties, affectionate, kind. Let us 
 bring to her the invitation to come into the kingdom of 
 heaven. Exemplary as she is in external conduct, she 
 
118 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Apparent attention. Real indifference. Almost a Christian. 
 
 knows very well that her heart would not bear exposure. 
 Envy, self-will, jealousy, pride, often reign there. She knows 
 it ; she feels it ; and her conscience being still tender, these 
 sins often destroy her peace. Tell her that divine grace will 
 help her to subdue these, her enemies. She sometimes looks 
 forward to future life, and sighs to think how soon it will 
 pass away. Tell her that piety will dispel the darkness that 
 hangs over the grave, and open immortality to her view. 
 She thinks of future trials and difficulties and dangers with 
 dread. Tell her that the Savior is ready to guide her and 
 be her friend ; to protect and bless her at all times, to give 
 her employment, and to be her reward. Spread the whole 
 subject out before her, and urge her to come and give her- 
 self up to God and save her soul. She listens to you with 
 respectful, and perhaps even with pleased attention. Do not be 
 deceived by it. She is, at heart, utterly weary of the gloomy 
 subject. She might like perhaps protection and happiness, 
 but her heart revolts against God and holiness, and you might 
 as well talk to the deaf adder as talk to her. 
 
 Or if her heart is not entirely braced up and hardened in 
 its determination to have nothing to do with God and religion, 
 — if she is really willing to listen and to read, — she is still 
 just as obstinately determined not to obey. She is called 
 perhaps a religious inquirer. She reads the Bible, and offers 
 a daily prayer, and takes an interest in religious instruction ; 
 but her secret motive is to keep religion tvithin her reach, 
 because she dares not let it go altogether. She is still deter- 
 mined not to give herself up to her duty. She can love her 
 parents, her brothers and sisters, but her heart is cold and 
 hard against God ; and do all you can to persuade her to 
 come out openly and honestly and cordially on his side, she 
 is fixed, immovably fixed, in refusing to do it. Her religious 
 friends think that she is very near to the kingdom of heaven. 
 And in one sense, she is near. She stands at the very gate 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 119 
 
 Universal alienation from God. Dead in trespasses and sins. 
 
 of the celestial city. All obstacles are removed ; she can 
 look in and see the happy mansions and the golden streets. 
 The simple difficulty is, that she will not enter. If you urge 
 her, she attempts to perplex you with metaphysical specula- 
 tions, or listens in respectful silence, and goes away and con- 
 tinues in sin exactly as before. 
 
 And thus it is all over the world. There are many beau- 
 tiful moral exhibitions to be seen here ; many admirable 
 results ; many alluring aspects of human nature. But after 
 all, any honest observer must see, that between mankind and 
 God their Maker, there is a deep and settled and universal 
 disagreement. They would be willing that Grod should rule 
 over them, if he would leave them pretty much to them- 
 selves. But this he will not do. His very first and most 
 emphatic command is, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
 God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself;" 
 and this they will not do. It is their fixed, their settled, 
 their unchanging determination that they will not do it. 
 
 Perhaps I ought not to call it a determination ; for it is 
 rather a feeling than a determination, — a disrelish for holi- 
 ness and the spiritual enjoyment of loving and serving God. 
 The heart, sensitive as it is in regard to its own rights and 
 interests, is cold and torpid in regard to its Maker's claims. 
 Motive will not act upon it. Persuasion has no effect, for 
 there is no feeling for persuasion to take hold of. Argument 
 does no good, for though you may convince the understand- 
 ing without much difficulty, the heart remains insensible and 
 cold ; — dead, as the Bible terribly expresses it, — dead in 
 trespasses and sins. This coldness and insensibility of the 
 heart toward God leads to all sorts of sinfulness in conduct. 
 It takes off" restraint, gives up the soul to unholy feelings, 
 increases the power of temptation, and thus leaves the soul 
 the habitual slave of sin. These overt acts are the effects, 
 not the cause, and he who hopes to be morally renewed 
 
120 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The real diflaculty. Spiritual blindness. The ungrateful child. 
 
 must not look directly and mainly to his moral conduct, and 
 endeavor to rectify that ; but he must look deeper ; he must 
 examine his heart, and expect no real success which does 
 not proceed from the warmth of spiritual life springing up there. 
 
 1 presume that a large portion of the readers of this chap- 
 ter, will be persons who feel, in some degree, the value and 
 the necessity of piety, and they are, perhaps, actually reading 
 this book with a vague sort of wish to meet with something 
 in it which can help them to find salvation. The book can 
 do this only by showing you the real difficulty ; — which is, 
 that you do not sincerely wish for salvation. " Cease to do 
 evil, ask forgiveness in the name of Christ for the evil that 
 you have done, and henceforth openly serve God." These 
 are certainly directions which it is easy for you to under- 
 stand, and easy to practice. The difficulty is, a heart which 
 will not comply. There is a moral obligation to comply, which 
 the understanding admits, but which the heart does not feel ; 
 and a moral beauty in complying which it does not perceive. 
 
 This is spiritual blindness. And yet, simple as it seems, 
 a large portion, even of those who call themselves religious 
 inquirers, have very little conception of what spiritual blind- 
 ness is. It is insensibility to spiritual things, a dullness of 
 moral perception, such that sin, though it is intellectually 
 perceived, makes no impression, and holiness, though the 
 word is understood, awakens no feeling of its excellence and 
 beauty in the heart. I can best illustrate it by a simple 
 case, such as parents often have occasion to observe, 
 
 A noisy boy, three or four years old, was once running 
 about the house, disturbing very much, by his rattling play- 
 things and his loud outcries, a sick mother, in a chamber 
 above stairs. I called him to me, and something like the 
 following dialogue ensued.* 
 
 * As the reader proceeds through the dialogue, we wish he would 
 recollect that the case is not brought forward to illustrate the general 
 
HUMAN NATUHE. 121 
 
 The dialogue. Ingratitude. 
 
 " Where is your mother ?" 
 
 " She is sick up stairs." 
 
 *' Is she ? I am sorry that she is sick." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 *' Were you ever sick ?" 
 
 " Yes. I was sick once," said he, and he began to rattle 
 his little feet upon the chair, and to move about in a restless 
 manner, as if he wished to get down. 
 
 " Oh, you must sit still a moment," said I, " I want to talk 
 with you a little more. When were you sick ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know." 
 
 " What did your mother do for you, when you were sick ?" 
 
 " Oh, she rocked me in the cradle." 
 
 " Did she ? — did she rock you ? I am glad she was so 
 kind. I suppose you liked to be rocked. Did she give you 
 any thing to drink ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Did she make any noise to trouble you ?" 
 
 " ]^o, sir, she did not make any noise." 
 
 *' Well, she was very kind to you. I think you ought to 
 be kind to her, now that she is sick. You can not rock her 
 in the cradle, because she is too old to be rocked, but you can 
 be gentle and still, and that she will like very much." 
 
 " Oh but," said the boy in a tone of confidence, as if what 
 he was saying was perfectly conclusive and satisfactory, " I 
 want to ride my horse a little more." 
 
 So saying, he struggled to get free, that he might resume 
 his noisy sport. Probably nearly all the parents who read 
 this dialogue, will remember, as they read it, many similar 
 
 character of children. That is not our present subject. The story is 
 told merely to illustrate the nature of blindness to spiritual things ; and 
 though true, it would have answered our purpose just as well, if it had 
 been entu-ely imaginary. Children generally, or at least often, have a 
 very keen sensibility to the guilt of ingratitude. 
 
 F 
 
122 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral insensibility. Spiritual blindness. The horse and his rider. 
 
 attempts which they have made, to lead a little child to 
 perceive the inoral beauty of gratitude, and to yield their 
 hearts to its influence. But the child will not see or feel. 
 It understands the terms ; — it remembers its own sickness 
 and its mother's kindness ; — it knows that its mother is now 
 sick, and that its noisy plays produce inconvenience and 
 suffering; but every attempt to lead it to look at all these 
 things in connection, and to perceive and feel its own in- 
 gratitude, are vain. It has no perception of it, no sensibility 
 to it. " I want to ride my horse a little more," is the idea 
 that fills its whole soul ; and duty, gratitude, obligation, are 
 unfelt and unseen. 
 
 It is thus with you, my irreligious reader. Your heart has 
 no spiritual perception of the guilt of ingratitude toward God, 
 and the moral beauty and excellence of obedience to his law. 
 You can look at the law, at God's character, at your own 
 sins, at all the declarations of the Bible, but you do not feel 
 their moral weight. The carnal, that is, the worldly mind, 
 does not know them, because they are spiritually discerned. 
 
 Objects of natural beauty may be seen in the same man- 
 ner, and yet not appreciated. A traveler on horseback 
 emerges from the wood, on the declivity of a mountain, and 
 there suddenly bursts upon his view, a widely extended 
 prospect of fertile valleys, and winding streams, and fields 
 waving with corn, farmhouses and smiling villages, giving 
 life to the scene. He stops to gaze at it with delight. His 
 horse looks at it too, and sees it all as distinctly as his rider 
 does. The fields look as green, and the groves as shady, 
 and the streams glisten with as bright a reflection to one 
 as to the other. But while the man gazes upon it with 
 emotions of delight, the animal looks idly on, pleased with 
 nothing but his moment's rest. All that is visible comes 
 equally to both ; but beauty is felt, not seen. Though the 
 eye may bring in those combinations of form and color, which 
 
HUM/AN NATURE. 
 
 123 
 
 Insensibility. 
 
 Spiritual perception. 
 
 THE PROSPECT. 
 
 are calculated to awaken the emotion, there must be a heart 
 to feel, within, — or all will be mere vision ; — cold, lifeless, 
 stupid vision. 
 
 It is so with spiritual perception. You, my reader, may 
 understand the gospel most thoroughly, — you may have 
 studied the Bible with diligence and care, and may see 
 clearly and distinctly all its truths ; but there is a moral 
 and spiritual meaning and power in them, to which the 
 heart, while it remains worldly, remains utterly insensible. 
 It does not see, it does not feel them. 
 
 I know of nothing which more forcibly illustrates the cold 
 insensibility of men to all that relates to God and holiness, 
 and the salvation of the soul, than the trains of reflection 
 which the unsanctified heart falls into, in its languid eflbrts 
 to bring itself under religious influence. Let us take one 
 
124 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The common case. Scene at evening. Feelings. The soliloquy. 
 
 case as a specimen of tens of thousands. The subject is a 
 moral, upright young man, with an honest respect for re- 
 ligion, and a distinct understanding of its truths. He has 
 been taught his duty from early infancy, and has at length 
 left his father's roof to come out into the world ; and as he 
 has not espoused his Savior's cause, his conscience keeps up 
 a perpetual murmur, which makes him restless and dissatis- 
 fied and destroys his peace. He has all the time a resolution 
 carefully laid up in his mind that he will become a Chris- 
 tian before long. This makes him feel as though he were 
 keeping salvation within his reach, and helps a little to quiet 
 conscience. He has lately resumed the habit which he was 
 early taught to establish, of reading a portion of Scripture 
 before he retires to rest. This duty he generally performs, 
 though in a cold and heartless manner, so that it does not in 
 the least interfere with his leading, day after day, a life of 
 irreligion and sin. In fact he would be ashamed to have it 
 known that he reads the Bible every day. 
 
 He has just finished his chapter, and is sitting in his armed 
 chair before the dying embers of his evening fire. He is 
 alone, and it is near midnight. He walks to the window 
 and looks for a few moments into the clear, cold sky, and a 
 slight emotion swells in his heart as he thinks of the bound- 
 less distance and inconceivable magnitude of the stars that 
 he sees there. The feeling is mingled with a sort of poetic 
 wish that he had a friend in the mighty Maker of them. He 
 soon gets into a contemplative mood, and sits down again 
 in his armed chair before the fire, where a train of thought 
 something like the following passes in his mind. I insert it, 
 not for its dignity, or its good taste, but because it is true to 
 human nature. 
 
 THE THOUGHTFUL SINNER's SOLILOQUY. 
 
 " Oh, I do wish I was a Christian. I must attend to the 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 125 
 
 Wandering thoughts. Reveries. The confession. 
 
 subject. I am now twenty-five, and half mankind do not 
 live to be fifty, so that probably I am more than half through 
 life. — I should like to know exactly what my chance of life 
 is. They say insurance companies can tell exactly ; — won- 
 der how they calculate. — 
 
 " But I wish I was a Christian. I do not know how to 
 repent. I will confess all my sins now, and try to feel peni- 
 tence for them. I will begin back in infancy. That lie 
 that I told to my father about the book. Charles Williams 
 sat on the same seat with me then. — Wonder where he is 
 now." 
 
 Here he gets into a reverie, about home and scenes of 
 childhood ; presently he rises up and sighs, and begins to 
 walk back and forth across the floor. 
 
 " Oh I how hard it is to confine my thoughts. Strange ; 
 — going to judgment, — all my sins recorded, — coming up 
 against me, and I have no heart to repent of them. Can 
 see them, but can't feel. — Mr. W.'s sermon was not very 
 clear. I do not understand how the judgment will be ar- 
 ranged. Take a great deal of time. — Bible says Christ will 
 judge the world. 
 
 " But I must become a Christian. — And yet if I should, I 
 must make a profession of religion. — ^Very public. — What 
 would they all say ? ." 
 
 Here he stops to look out of the window, and seems lost, 
 for a few moments, in vacancy. 
 
 " Wonder who is sick in that house ; — ^bright light. How 
 should I feel if I were taken sick to-night, and knew I was 
 going to die ? — The time will come. 
 
 " But my sins. — Let me see ; — I disobeyed my father and 
 mother a great many times ; I used to take their things 
 without leave, too. — Stealing, that ? — no, — not stealing, ex- 
 actly. Why not ? Let me see. " 
 
 He specuUtes a few minutes on this question of casuistry, 
 
126 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The cold, formal prayer. 
 
 and then sighs deeply as he finds his thoughts wandering 
 again, and makes another desperate efibrt to bring them 
 back. 
 
 " Oh I how I wish I could really feel my sins. I will 
 pray to God to forgive them, and then go to bed ; I will sit 
 down in my armed chair and pray. 
 
 " Oh God, look down in mercy, and forgive all my sins. 
 
 I confess I have been a great sinner 1 have, 1 am 
 
 a great sinner, — I, (musing) — I that's a beautiful 
 
 blue flame ; some chemical substance in the coals, — azure 
 
 (musing) O my God, forgive me, and enable me to 
 
 repent of all my sins ; — beautiful ; — what a singular thing 
 flame is, — distinct shape, but no substance. 
 
 '• ! how my thoughts will wander. I wish I could con- 
 fine them. What shall I do ? I will go to bed ; and pray 
 there ; posture is of no consequence." 
 
 He lies down and begins again to call for forgiveness, but 
 very soon loses himself in a dreamy reverie, which terminates 
 in a few moments, in sleep. 
 
 As I have been writing the above, I have been on the 
 point, again and again, of drawing my pen over the whole, 
 as a wrong species of composition to introduce into such a 
 work as this. But it tells the truth. Many of my readers 
 will see their own faces reflected in it ; for as in water, face 
 answereth to face, so the heart of man to man. And it 
 shows the real difliculty in the way of salvation, — a heart 
 cold, insensible, and callous ; unbelief almost entirely darken- 
 ing the soul, and pride destroying the efl^ect of the little light 
 which gains admission. 
 
 The difliculty seems hopeless, too : that is, so far as human 
 means will go toward removing it. Every thing fails. In 
 the hands of the Spirit of God, as we shall hereafter show, 
 every thing does indeed, at times, succeed ; but in its ordi- 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 127 
 
 EflFect of sickness and sufTering. The sick man. A visit. 
 
 nary operation, every means and every influence which can 
 be brought to bear upon the human heart, fails of awaken- 
 ing it. You can not possibly have a stronger case to present 
 to men, than the claims of God's law, and you can not have 
 a case in which argument, and eloquence, and instruction, 
 and persuasion, if left to themselves, will be more utterly 
 useless and vain. It is a common opinion among men, who 
 are aware that all this is true in regard to their own hearts, 
 that the coldness and insensibility which they feel will be 
 dispelled by some future providence of God. They think that 
 affliction will soften them, or sickness break the ties of earth, 
 or approaching death arouse them to vigorous effort to flee 
 from the wrath to come. But alas, there is little hope here. 
 Affliction does good to the friends of God, but it imbitters 
 and hardens his enemies. Sickness stupifies, and: pain dis- 
 tracts ; and approaching death, though it may alarm and 
 terrify the soul which is unprepared for it, seldom melts the 
 heart to penitence and love. I will describe a case, — it is a 
 specimen of examples so numerous, that every village and 
 neighborhood in our land might appropriate it, and every 
 clergyman who reads it, might almost suppose that I took it 
 from his own journal. 
 
 A few years since, when spending a Sabbath in a beauti- 
 ful country town, I was sent for to visit a sick man who was 
 apparently drawing near the grave. I was told, as I walked 
 with the neighbor who came for me, toward the house of 
 the patient, that he was in a melancholy state of mind. 
 
 " He has been," said he, " a firm believer and supporter 
 of the truths of religion, for many years. He has been very 
 much interested in maintaining religious worship, and all be- 
 nevolent institutions ; he has loved the Sabbath School, and 
 given his family every religious privilege. But he says that 
 he has never really given his heart to God. He has been 
 
128 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Conversation by the way. The unfeeling heart. Consumption. 
 
 devoted to the world, and even now, he says, it will not re- 
 linquish its hold." 
 
 " Do you think," said I, " that he must die ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied he, " he must die, and he is fully aware of 
 it. He says that he can see his guilt and danger, hut that 
 his hard heart will not/eeZ." 
 
 This is the exact remark which is made in thousands and 
 thousands of similar cases, and in almost precisely the same 
 language. The eyes are opened, but the heart remains 
 unchanged. 
 
 We at length approached the house. It was in the midst 
 of a delightful village, and in one of those calm, still, sum- 
 mer afternoons, when all nature seems to speak from every 
 tree, and leaf, and flower, of the goodness of God, and to 
 breathe the spirit of repose and peace. I wondered that a man 
 could lie on his bed, with windows all around him opening 
 upon such a scene as this, and yet not feel. 
 
 As I entered the sick-room, the pale and emaciated patient 
 turned toward me an anxious and agitated look, which 
 showed too plainly what was passing within. It was a case 
 of consumption. His sickness had been long and lingering, 
 as if by the gradual manner in which he had been drawn 
 away from life, God had been endeavoring to test by experi- 
 ment, the power of approaching death to draw the heart to- 
 ward him. His strength was now almost gone, and he lay 
 gasping for the breath which his wasted lungs could not re- 
 ceive. His eye moved with a quick and anxious glance 
 around the room, saying, by its expression of bright intelli- 
 gence, that the mind retained undiminished power. 
 
 I endeavored to bring to his case those truths which I 
 thought calculated to influence him, and lead him to the Sa- 
 vior ; but he knew before, all that I could tell him ; and I 
 learned from his replies, given in panting whispers, that re- 
 ligious truth had been trying its whole strength upon him all 
 
HUMAN NATURE. 129 
 
 Hopeless condition. 
 
 his life, and that in presenting it to him again now, I was 
 only attempting once more, an experiment, which had been 
 repeated in vain, almost every day for forty years. I saw the 
 utter hopelessness of effort, and stood by his bedside in silent 
 despair. He died that night. 
 
 My reader, if your heart is cold and hard toward God, 
 abandon all hope that the alarm and anxiety of a death- 
 bed will change it. Seek moral renewal and forgiveness 
 now. 
 
130 THE CORNER-STONE.. 
 
 Character of the Deity. Eflaciency in government. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 PUNISHMENT, OR THE CONSEQUENCES OF HUMAN GUILT. 
 " He will miserably destroy those wicked men." 
 
 There are perhaps one thousand millions of men upon the 
 earth at this time, of which probably nine hundred and 
 ninety-nine millions entertain the feelings toward God which 
 are described in the last chapter, and act accordingly. The 
 question at once arises, what will Grod do with them. 
 
 The reader will perhaps recollect, that in the first chapter 
 of this work, when considering the character of the Deity, 
 we found that one of its most prominent traits, is deter- 
 mined decision in the execution of law. This is a trait 
 which shows itself as conspicuously in all nature around us, 
 as it does in the declarations of the Bible ; but one which 
 unfortunately is not very favorably regarded in this world. 
 Efficiency in government is approved or disapproved, accord- 
 ing to the character of the individual who j udges it. An ef- 
 ficient administration secures protection and happiness to the 
 good, but to the bad it brings suffering, and perhaps destruc- 
 tion. It is natural, therefore, that the latter should be very 
 slow to praise the justice which they fear ; and in this world 
 the 'proportion is so large of those that God's efficiency as a 
 moral Governor will bear very heavily upon, that the whole 
 subject is exceedingly unpopular among mankind. 
 
 It is curious to observe how men's estimates of the same 
 conduct vary according to the way in which they are them- 
 
PUNISHMENT. 131 
 
 Different estimates of it. The forgery. Severe punishment. 
 
 selves to be affected by it ; for nothing is more admired and 
 applauded among men, than efficiency in the execution of 
 law, in all cases where they are themselves safe from its 
 penalties. There have been, it is true, great disputes in re- 
 spect to the bounds which ought to be assigned to political 
 governments, or, in other words, to the degree of power which 
 the magistrate ought to possess. But within these bounds, — in 
 the exercise of this power, — every body admires and praises 
 firmness, energy, and inflexible decision. Nobody objects to 
 these qualities, except the criminal who has to suffer for the 
 safety of the rest. He always protests against them. 
 
 About fifty years ago an English clergyman of elevated 
 rank and connections, and of high literary reputation, com- 
 mitted forgery. The law of England declares that the 
 forger must die. Now England is a highly commercial 
 country, and all the transactions of business there connected 
 with the employment, and the sustenance, and the property 
 of millions and millions, entirely depend upon confidence in 
 the truth of a written signature. Destroy the general confi- 
 dence in the identity of a man's handwriting in signing his 
 name, and all the business of the island would be embar- 
 rassed or stopped, and universal confusion, distress, and ruin 
 would follow in a day. The man, therefore, who counter- 
 feits a signature in such a country, points his dagger at the 
 very vital organs of society. 
 
 The law of England does right, therefore, in affixing a very 
 severe penalty to the crime of forgery, not for the purpose of 
 revenging itself on the hapless criminal, but for the sake of 
 protecting that vast amount of property, and those millions 
 of lives, which are dependent upon the general confidence in 
 the writing of a name. It is a sad thing for a clergyman of 
 refined and cultivated mind, to pass through the scenes which 
 such a law prepared for him. Consternation, when de- 
 tected ; long hours of torturing suspense, before his trial : in- 
 
132 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Necessity for it. 
 
 Alternative. 
 
 describable suffering when, on being brought to the bar, he 
 sees the proof brought out, step by step, clearly against him, 
 and witnesses the unavailing efforts of his counsel to make 
 good his defense ; and the sinking of spirit, like death itself, 
 
 while the judge pro- 
 nounces the sentence 
 which seals his awful 
 fate. Then he is re- 
 manded to prison, to 
 spend some days or 
 weeks in uninterrupt- 
 ed and indescribable 
 agony, until his facul- 
 ties become bewildered 
 and overpowered by 
 the influence of hor- 
 ror and despair ; and 
 he walks out at last, 
 pale, trembling, and 
 haggard, to finish his 
 earthly sufferings by 
 Sad consequences these. 
 
 THE FOKGEB. 
 
 the convulsive struggles of death 
 we admit, although they come only upon one ; — and all for 
 just afl[ixing another man's name to a piece of paper, without 
 any intention of defrauding any body ! For it is highly 
 probable that in this case, as in many similar ones, the 
 criminal meant, in mercantile language, to have taken up the 
 paper before it fell due. In fact, he must have designed this, 
 for this would be the only way to escape certain detection. 
 Awful results, we admit, for a sin so quickly, and so thought- 
 lessly committed ; but not so sad as it would be to let the 
 example go on, — until the frequency of forgery should destroy 
 all mutual confidence between man and man, and business 
 be stopped, and millions of families be reduced to beggary. 
 
PUNISHMENT. 133 
 
 Consequences of yielding to crime. Public sentiment. Petitions. 
 
 Better that here and there a violator of the law should suffer 
 its penalties, than that the foundations of society should be 
 sapped, and the whole structure tumble into ' ruin. The 
 question, therefore, for the government of that island, was 
 simply this : will you be firm, notwithstanding individual 
 suffering, in executing the law, or will you yield, and take 
 the consequences ? If you yield, you open the flood-gates of 
 crime and suffering upon the country ; and there will be no 
 place to stop, if you once give way to crime, till the land be- 
 comes one wide-spread scene of desolation, — famine raging 
 in every hamlet, — banditti lurking in the valleys or riding in 
 troops upon the highways, — and wretched mothers with their 
 starving babes, roaming through the streets of desolsrted Lon- 
 don, in a fruitless search for food. That was the question ; 
 and the energetic government of the country understood it so. 
 The unhappy criminal gave every indication of penitence. 
 He was universally believed to be truly penitent then, and is 
 universally believed to have been so now. All England, 
 too, with one voice, sent in earnest petitions for his pardon. 
 But it was in vain. The British ministry understood their 
 duty better, and though it was perhaps as painful a duty as 
 a government ever had to discharge, they were firm and un- 
 yielding to the last. They gave the wretched criminal nei- 
 ther pardon nor reprieve ; and though they would probably 
 have submitted to almost any personal suffering, to save him, 
 they were compelled to leave him to drink to the full, the 
 bitter consequences of his sin. 
 
 There were thousands and thousands of petitioners in his 
 favor who were led to ask for a pardon, overcome by com- 
 passion for the man. The tide of popular feeling was alto- 
 gether against the government then, for men generally are 
 weak-minded, inefficient, yielding, when the performance of 
 duty is painful. But since the time has gone by, and the 
 momentary weakness of the occasion has passed away, there 
 
134 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Public sentiment now. Impartiality. Opinions influenced by character. 
 
 has been as strong a tide of public approbation in their favor. 
 In fact this so conspicuous and so terrible a case of sin and 
 suffering, has made a permanent impression, not only upon 
 England, but upon the whole civilized world. Every man 
 feels it. He may not trace back the feeling to its origin, but 
 it is undoubtedly, in a very great degree owing to this and 
 precisely similar transactions, that that distinct and almost 
 indelible impression has been made upon the community, 
 and is handed down from generation to generation, which 
 connects in every mind, such strong and mysterious associa- 
 tions of sacredness with the signature of the written name. 
 From that day to this every writer who has commented upon 
 the transaction, while he has many expressions of sympathy 
 for the suffering of the criminal, has a far more emphatic 
 tribute of praise for the inflexible firmness and decision which 
 refused to relieve it. 
 
 We are, in a great measure, incapacitated from regarding 
 some transactions, analogous to this, in a correct manner, on 
 account of their coming too near to ourselves ; but this one 
 can be understood ; its moral bearings and relations are seen 
 as they are, without distortion ; and the simple fact which 
 enables us to take the view of this subject which truth and 
 justice present, is this, — we have not committed forger}'^ our- 
 selves. Suppose there had been in the prison where this 
 unhappy criminal was confined, a room full of other forgers, 
 and their opinion had been asked about the justice or the 
 necessity of condemning him. Could they be made to under- 
 stand it ? No ; they would be vociferous in their outcries 
 at the unjust severity of inflicting such protracted and terri- 
 ble suffering for so little a sin. We however can understand 
 it, for we are impartial observers. We have not committed 
 the crime, and we consequently have nothing to fear from 
 sustaining the law. We rather see the value of an efficient 
 administration of justice, in the protection which it affords 
 
PUNISHMENT. 135 
 
 Points illustrated. Time spent in sin. Fifteen seconds. 
 
 to our rights, and in the addition it makes to our happiness. 
 I have accordingly taken this case to present to my readers, 
 to illustrate four or five points, which we can see more plain- 
 ly than when we look at them directly in the government of 
 God. As I enumerate the points which such a case illus- 
 trates, let the reader listen to the voice of reason and con- 
 science within, and he will find that it testifies in their 
 favor. 
 
 1. The time spent in committing the sin, has nothing to 
 do with the just duration of the punishment of it. It took 
 Dr. Dodd fifteen seconds, to write Lord Chesterfield's name. 
 He suffered indescribahle agony for many mionths, and was 
 then blotted from existence for it. He would have lived 
 perhaps forty years. So that here, for a sin of fifteen sec- 
 onds, justice took forty years in penalty. She took more ; for 
 he would have been glad to have exchanged death for forty 
 years of exile and suffering. In fact he petitioned for such 
 a commutation. 
 
 Some one may say that I fix too small a time for the com- 
 mission of the sin ; — ^that he spent many hours and perhaps 
 days in devising his plans, and practicing his counterfeit 
 signature, and getting his bond drawn ; and that his guilt 
 was extended over all this period. His guilt might have 
 been indeed thus extended, but it must be remembered that 
 he was not punished for guilt. He was punished for crime. 
 If the last fatal act had not been performed, he would not 
 have committed any offense against human law. God might 
 have punished him, but man would not ; — so that, strictly 
 and fairly, the fifteen seconds spent in delineating the letters 
 of his pupil's name, was the whole. For a sin of fifteen 
 seconds, then, there followed a penalty worse than a suffer- 
 ing for forty years ; and mankind have, by common consent, 
 from that day to this, pronounced the punishment just. 
 
 2. Desert of punishment does not depend upon intention 
 
136 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Bad intentions. Immediate consequences. Inconsiderateness. 
 
 to do injury. The forger, in this case, had not the least 
 intention of doing injury. He could not have had such an 
 intention, for Lord Chesterfield could not have been called 
 upon to pay the bond without causing instant detection. 
 This fact however was no reason why he should go free. The 
 question was not what injury he intended to commit, but what 
 injury really would follow, if his crime should go unpunished. 
 
 3. Desert of punishment does not depend upon the imme- 
 diate consequences of the sin. The evil of sin consists not 
 in the direct injury of the single transgression,, but in the 
 ruinous effects resulting to the community, when it is allow- 
 ed to go unpunished. The only direct injury which could 
 have resulted from the crime in question, was the loss of four 
 thousand pounds by one individual. Fifty times that sum 
 might probably have been raised to save the unhappy crimi- 
 nal's life, but it would have been unavailing. He was 
 executed, not for putting to hazard the four thousand pounds, 
 but for endangering the vital interests of an immense com- 
 munity. The four thousand pounds has nothing to do with 
 the case. It would have been the same if it had been forty 
 pounds. The sin was the forgery, not the endangering of 
 four thousand pounds. 
 
 Men are always disposed to estimate their guilt by the 
 time employed in committing the sin, or by the direct conse- 
 quences resulting from it ; and fancy that they deserve but 
 little punishment, because they think that their transgres- 
 sions have occupied but little time, and can of themselves do 
 no great, immediate injury. 
 
 4. Desert of punishment does not depend upon the degree 
 of distinctness with which the consequences are foreseen. 
 The criminal here had no idea that he was involving himself 
 in such dreadful difficulty ; but this inconsideration was no 
 admissible plea. 
 
 Hearts in this world which give themselves up to sin, are 
 
PUNISHMENT. 137 
 
 Object of punishment. Not revenge. 
 
 unconcerned about its guilt, and have no idea of the awful 
 consequences which are to ensue ; but this will not, can not, 
 alter those consequences. 
 
 5. The object of punishment is not revenge against the 
 individual. No one felt any sentiment of revenge against 
 the forger in the case of which we are speaking. There 
 was one common and universal desire to save him, — 
 and that in the very community which alone could suffer 
 injury from his crime. The government would most gladly 
 have pardoned him, if they could have done it safely. No one 
 wished that he should suffer. The only reason for insisting 
 upon it was, that the suffering of the criminal in such a case 
 can alone arrest the consequences of the sin. In many and 
 many an instance has the chief magistrate of a state had the 
 strength of his moral principle tried to the utmost by the 
 importunities of a whole community, and more than all the 
 rest, of ,the wretched wife and children of the criminal. A 
 weak man, in such a case, will yield. His desire to save 
 individual suffering, will induce him to take a step which 
 will hazard all that society holds most dear. Instead of any 
 feelings of resentment against the individual to urge him on, 
 there is a deep emotion of compassion for him, to keep him 
 back; so that if he is firm and does his duty, it must be 
 because moral principle carries him forward, against the 
 strong tide of feeling with which his heart pleads for the 
 life of a fellow-creature. 
 
 It is so in the government of Jehovah. If any of us 
 should be so happy, as, after finishing our pilgrimage in this 
 vale of tears, to be admitted to our happy home in the skies, 
 God will assuredly protect us forever from the sins and the 
 sinners which have brought so much misery here. He will 
 be firm and unyielding, in the execution of his law ; but he 
 will pity the sufferings which he must not relieve. He takes 
 no pleasure in the death of the wicked. 
 
138 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral impression. The petition. Satisfying justice. 
 
 6. The object of punishment on the other hand, is, a moral 
 impression upon the community, designed to arrest the ruinous 
 consequences of sin. We have seen under the last head, 
 that it is not resentment against the individual which 
 demands the punishment. The forger knew it was not, in 
 his case, resentment that stood in the way of his pardon ; and 
 in his petition for pardon he said nothing with the view of 
 allaying any personal hostility felt against him, but only 
 endeavored to show how the necessary moral impression 
 might be made without his death. The following paragraph 
 from a petition which he offered to the king, shows this. 
 
 " I confess the crime, and own the enormity of its con- 
 sequences, and the danger of its example. Nor have I the 
 confidence to petition for impunity ; but humbly hope, that 
 public security may be established, without the spectacle of 
 a clergyman dragged through the streets to a death of 
 infamy, amidst the derision of the profligate and profane ; 
 and that justice may be satisfied with irrevocable exile, per- 
 petual disgrace, and hopeless penury." 
 
 It is evident from this, what object the petitioner sup- 
 posed it to be, which required his death. And in all his 
 efforts to avoid death, his plan was to show that the proper 
 moral impression might be made on the community without 
 it, so as, in his own words, " to establish the public security'' 
 — "to satisfy justice ;'' expressions which are almost pre- 
 cisely those used by religious writers in describing God's 
 design in punishing sin, and which are spurned by the dis- 
 believers in a judgment to come, as expressions having no 
 meaning, or else signifying something unjust or absurd. 
 " To satisfy justice;'' — a metaphorical expression certainly, 
 but one which any man can understand if he will. The 
 great English philologist, for it was Dr. Johnson who penned 
 
PUNISHMENT. 139 
 
 Salvation by Christ. Penitence. Its power in averting punishment. 
 
 this petition for the unhappy criminal, will hardly be charged 
 with using under such circumstances, unmeaning, or unintel- 
 ligible language. If the man had been pardoned, a violence 
 would have been done to the sense of justice which reigns in 
 every man's bosom, that would have worked incalculable 
 injury. It would have undermined the authority of law, and 
 brought down the standard of moral obligation ; and every 
 man would have felt, as soon as the excitement of the occa- 
 sion was past, that the firm foundations of commercial con- 
 fidence throughout the empire had been rendered insecure. 
 
 The object then, in endeavoring to procure the pardon of 
 this criminal, was to devise some way to prevent these evils, 
 without his death ; — some way to satisfy justice, and sus- 
 tain law, and make a moral impression which the govern- 
 ment well knew would be made by the destruction of the 
 man. No such way could be found, and the poor criminal 
 was compelled to submit to his fate. 
 
 What this poor sufferer's learned and eloquent advocate 
 failed to find, for him, Jesus Christ our Savior succeeded in 
 finding for us ; — a way by which to satisfy justice, and sus- 
 tain law, and make a moral impression which should arrest 
 the sad consequences of guilt, and render it safe that we 
 should be forgiven. We shall consider this however more 
 fully in the sequel. 
 
 7. The necessity of punishment is not diminished by the 
 penitence of the sinner. All mankind know and admit this, 
 excepting in their own case. There, they always have an 
 undefined but fixed impression that penitence settles the 
 whole difficulty. There is perhaps as good evidence that 
 this forger was penitent as there can be, in such a case ; but 
 penitence, however deep and however sincere, could have no 
 power to arrest the consequences which the community must 
 suffer from unpunished crime. If the gratification of per- 
 sonal resentment against the criminal had been the reason 
 
140 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 It makes pardon desirable. Application of principles. 
 
 for insisting on the penalty of violated law, then repentance 
 would have been a valid plea, as it would have removed all 
 personal resentment, and turned human sympathy in his 
 favor. Repentance always increases the desire to forgive, 
 but it never of itself opens the way. That is the distinction. 
 I repeat it ; it does a great deal toward making pardon 
 desirable ; but alone, it does nothing toward making it safe. 
 That is, it does nothing toward making that impression on 
 the community which the connection of crime with suffering 
 always makes, and which is necessary in order to arrest the 
 ruinous consequences of sin. If, then, the question of pardon 
 came up at all in the British cabinet, the stronger the 
 evidence was that the criminal was penitent for his sin, the 
 more painful would the duty of insisting on justice be ; but 
 the necessity of performing the duty would remain un- 
 changed. 
 
 We have taken this case because it is well known, and 
 because the common sense of mankind, from that day to 
 this, has pronounced but one decision upon it. The in- 
 ferences which we have drawn out from it, might be 
 almost equally well illustrated by any case of sin and 
 punishment which takes place in any government, parental 
 or political. These truths are so plain, that no man can 
 or will deny them, excepting in his own case, or in some 
 case which comes so near to him as to bias his feelings. 
 They are the principles by which the Bible declares that 
 Jehovah will be guided in the administration of his govern- 
 ment. The punishment due to transgression will not be 
 regulated by the briefness of the time spent in the com- 
 mission of the sin ; — it will not be measured by the small- 
 ness of the immediate injury ; — ^the sinner may have had 
 no intention to invade the peace and happiness of God's 
 great family ; — he may have been entirely unaware of the 
 consequences which were to follow ; — he may be over- 
 
PUNISHMENT. 141 
 
 Nature and effects of sin. Cock-fighting. 
 
 whelmed with consternation and sorrow when he finds 
 what the bitter fruits must be ; — he may offer reparation 
 a hundred-fold ; — but all in vain. Even repentance, sin- 
 cere and humble repentance, will be insufficient to save 
 him. For it is not personal resentment against the indi- 
 dual, nor desire to repair the immediate injury effected 
 by the specific sin, which leads to the infliction of the 
 penalty. If it were, repentance would remove the one, and 
 a comparatively slight effort, effect the other. But it is not 
 these. It is that sin, that evil and bitter thing, wherever it 
 comes, blights and destroys. Just so far as it gains admis- 
 sion into God's dominions, peace and happiness fly, — harmony 
 is broken up, — man hates and oppresses his fellow-man, and 
 all conspire against God. "We feel not its miseries and its 
 horrors because we have become hardened to them, and 
 the heart is stupid and insensible to guilt in which it is 
 itself involved. 
 
 Men see and understand guilt in a degree, sometimes, 
 when it starts upon them in some new and unexpected form, 
 while they are entirely blind to far greater enormities which 
 they have themselves assisted to make common. A whole 
 town was once shocked by the disclosure of a scene of vice 
 and cruelty, which was to the mass of the inhabitants, a new 
 and unusual form of sin. It was cock-fighting. Cruel, un- 
 relenting wretches prepared their victims for the C9ntest, by 
 sawing off their natural spurs, and fastening deadlier ones of 
 steel upon the bleeding trunks. Then, having forced the in- 
 nocent animals to a quarrel, by thrusting each against the 
 other till they provoked them to anger, they sat around to 
 enjoy the spectacle of their combat. The whole community 
 was shocked by it, for this was sin in a new and unexpected 
 form, and one in which they had not themselves personally 
 partaken. But when the same experiment, precisely, is tried 
 with men, the world looks on calmly and unmoved. Mili- 
 
142 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 War. Human insensibility to sin. Threatened destruction. 
 
 tary leaders bring human beings together by thousands, men 
 who have no quarrel, and would gladly live in peace. They 
 drive them up together front to front, and having armed them 
 with weapons of torture and death, which nature never fur- 
 nished, they succeed, half by compulsion, and half by mali- 
 cious art, in getting the first blows struck, and the first blood 
 flowing, as a means of bringing the angry passions of the 
 combatants into play. This they call getting the men en- 
 gaged I There is no trouble after this. The work goes on ; 
 — a work of unutterable horror. The blood, the agony, the 
 thirst, the groans which follow, are nothing. It is the raging 
 fires of hatred, anger, revenge, and furious passion, which 
 nerve every arm, and boil in every heart, and with which 
 thousands upon thousands pour in crowds into the presence 
 of their Maker ; — these are what constitute the real horrors 
 of a battle-field. And what do mankind say to this ? Why 
 a few Christian moralists feebly remonstrate, but the great 
 mass of men gather around the scene as near as they can get 
 to it, by history and description, and admire the systematic 
 arrangements of the battle, and watch the progress and the 
 manoeuvers of the hostile armies, as they would the changes 
 in a game of chess : — and were it not for the flying bullet, 
 they would throng around the scene in person. But when 
 it comes to sawing off* the spurs of a game-cock, and exas- 
 perating him against his fellow, — oh ! that is shocking 
 cruelty : — ^that they can not bear ! 
 
 We do not realize the nature, and the effects of any sin, 
 when we have been long habituated to it, nor perceive that 
 guilt in which we are personally involved. But this will 
 not alter the case. God will cherish no personal resentment 
 against sinners, and no wish to put them to suffering. But 
 the aAvful consequences of sin among his creatures must be 
 stopped : — and in order to stop it, the wretched souls who 
 choose it for their portion must be destroyed. 
 
PUNISHMENT. 143 
 
 The alternative. Open unbelief. Indifference. 
 
 Destroyed ? It is a strong expression, but Grod has chosen 
 it. We take it from his word, and we may not use a 
 gentler one. " All the wicked will he destroy." 
 
 " The Lord Jesus shall he revealed from heaven with his 
 mighty angels, — in flaming fire, taking vengeance on their 
 that know not God, and that obey not the Gospel of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ ; — who shall be punished with everlasting de- 
 struction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory 
 of his power." 
 
 Destruction I It is a word in regard to which all com- 
 ment is useless, and all argument vain. Perverted ingenuity 
 might modify, and restrain even such expressions as eternal^ 
 and everlasti7ig, but destruction, — it bids defiance to cavil- 
 ing : it extinguishes hope. Everlasting destruction ! 
 We are left to the single alternative of admitting the terrible 
 truth, or positively Refusing to take God's word. 
 
 Of this alternative, men choose difierent sides. They who 
 are determined to live in vice and sin, openly deny God's dec- 
 laration. Reasoning with them is useless. Can you expect 
 to find any words plainer than " everlasting destruction ?'' 
 No : the difficulty is with the heart. Till this is touched, 
 demonstration is useless : — but then, when the conscience is 
 awakened, and the heart feels, the difficulty is over : — doubts 
 about the Judgment to come, vanish like the dew. 
 
 This open contradiction of the word of God is, however, 
 perhaps a smaller evil than the lurking, secret unbelief which 
 reigns in almost every heart. The number who openly deny 
 what God declares, in regard to the desert and the punish- 
 ment of sin, is very small ; but the number of those who 
 really, and from their hearts, believe it, is, very probably, 
 smaller still. Between these two extremes lie the vast ma- 
 jority of the human race, — asleep ; too faithless to believe, 
 and too stupid and indifferent to take the trouble to deny. 
 They do not reason aloud upon the subject, but there is a 
 
144 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Mistaken views. The guilt of sinning t^ainst God. Case of the child. 
 
 lurking feeling in their hearts that they have been sinners 
 only for a little time ; they have, they think, no malicious 
 intentions, no direct hatred of God ; their guilt is that of 
 thoughtlessness and inadvertence, and the mischief is slight 
 which immediately follows. Many a young person secretly 
 reasons thus after spending years in decided and determined 
 neglect of God. The plea which he puts in is just the same 
 as if the forger had urged in his petition for pardon, that it 
 took him only fifteen seconds to commit the crime, that he 
 had no malicious intentions toward the community in com- 
 mitting it, and that the sum which was hazarded, was only 
 four thousand pounds. He can not, he infers, deserve death 
 for this. He overlooks altogether the wide-spread evils that 
 would desolate the whole community, should the work which 
 he thus begins be allowed to go on. 
 
 So the sinner, a child of ten years old, who has lived a 
 comparatively amiable and harmless life, wonders what there 
 can be in his life and character deserving of the terrific retri- 
 bution which God has denounced upon him. I will tell you 
 what it is, my child. It is not the length of the ten years, 
 during which you have been living in sin. That is nothing. 
 It is not the inconvenience and suffering that you have occa- 
 sioned your parents. If you had been to them, during all 
 this time, an unceasing source of pain and anxiety, it would be 
 comparatively nothing. It is not the injury which you have 
 often done to your playmates by your guilty passions ; if that 
 injury had been ten times as frequent, and ten times as great 
 as it has been, it would be comparatively nothing. It is not 
 that you have directly opposed and hated God ; I admit that 
 you have had no distinctly malicious intention toward him. 
 It is not those things, therefore. What it is, however, is 
 this, namely, that there is a great controversy going on, 
 whether God shall reign or not among the beings he has 
 made, when nothing but his reign can save them from uni- 
 
PUNISHMENT. 145 
 
 The spread of sin must be stopped. Sin overruled for good. The forgery. 
 
 versal disorder and misery, and from becoming the victims 
 of every kind of guilt : and in this controversy you have 
 taken the wrong side. It is a sad, a very sad thing, for a 
 child like you to linger forever in guilt and misery, but it 
 would be a far more melancholy thing for the rebellion 
 against God, which has poisoned all the sources of happiness 
 here, to spread throughout God's empire, withering and de- 
 stroying wherever it comes. So that the charge against you 
 is not based upon the injury which your individual sins have 
 already produced ; but upon this, namely, that by deliberately 
 rejecting God, you take the side of sin and misery ; you do 
 all in your power to bring off God's creatures from their al- 
 legiance to him ; you place yourself exactly across the way 
 over which the mighty wheels of Jehovah's government are 
 coming, and the chariot can not be turned aside to save you, 
 without destruction to the rest. 
 
 But we must return once more to the forgery, for the sake 
 of deducing one farther inference, and then we take our final 
 leave of the illustration. 
 
 8. Sin may be overruled so as to result in good. I intro- 
 duce this subject with great hesitation, for it opens one of 
 those obscure and boundless fields of thought, which are not 
 unfrequently presenting themselves before us in looking into 
 the mighty government of God. Clouds and mists hang 
 over it ; some objects are eftitirely concealed, and some we 
 see but indistinctly, notwithstanding our most eager efforts 
 to fix their forms. Now and then the shades and darkness 
 break away a little, and we get a glimpse, far on in a per- 
 spective of difficulty and doubt ; but before we have time to 
 fix the knowledge which we have obtained, the clouds close 
 in again, and all is once more darkness and gloom. The 
 self-sufficient and shallow intellect, which never really thinks, 
 but takes upon trust what its leaders tell it, or studies only 
 to find proof of what it is determined, at all events, to believe. 
 
 G 
 
146 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Its beneficial effects. Moral impression. 
 
 never experiences what I now mean ; but no man can lay 
 aside authority, and shake off the fetters of every bias, and 
 come, with a free, untrammeled mind, to look into the moral 
 government of God, without being often confounded and lost 
 in the sublime obscurities which continually gather round 
 his way. I make these remarks because it is to such an 
 obscure and darkened field that I point the reader now. 
 
 Sin may be overruled for good. It is highly probable that 
 the forgery which we have been considering, resulted in the 
 most beneficial effects to the whole community affected by it. 
 The sin and the penalty which followed, were most conspic- 
 uously displayed. There was scarcely a man in the whole 
 British empire who did not know these facts at the time of 
 their occurrence, and who did not watch the progress of the 
 efforts which were made to save the criminal. Every one 
 knew that the administration cherished no malicious or 
 resentful feelings against the sufferer ; and that if they re- 
 fused to pardon him, it was only because the public safety, 
 in their view, imperiously forbade it. Thus the attention of 
 the whole community was called to the nature and conse- 
 quences of this crime, and a moral impression was produced 
 which must have been inconceivably beneficial in its effects. 
 The case made men look with a feeling of respect, almost 
 amounting to awe, upon the written signature ; — and attach 
 a sacredness to it, which, though.it is nothing more than a 
 mental impression, is probably one of the greatest safeguards 
 to property which the institutions or customs of civilized life 
 afford. We do not mean that this instance has been the 
 sole promoter of this feeling ; but that instances like this 
 have produced it ; and this has been efficient above all 
 others, just in proportion as it has been conspicuous beyond 
 the rest. 
 
 The effect of the moral impression produced by this forgery 
 and its punishment, was not confined to the particular class 
 
PUNISHMENT. 147 
 
 Good often done by the commission and the punishment of sin. 
 
 of offenses which it brought more directly to view. It sus- 
 tained the general authority of law. It spoke, in a voice 
 which could not be misunderstood, of the nature of guilt, and 
 the ground and the necessity of punishment; and it sent 
 forth a warning to every village and neighborhood in the 
 land, — a warning which has been remembered to this day. 
 The transaction has, in fact, been appealed to continually, 
 from that time to this, in proof of the incorruptible majesty 
 of British law. 
 
 So true is this, that if an English statesman at the time, 
 had regarded only the effect of the transaction upon the 
 community, he would not have regretted its occurrence. If 
 he could have overlooked the misery of the poor criminal, he 
 would even have rejoiced at it, as a transaction destined to 
 result in immense public benefit. In fact it has undoubtedly 
 often happened that a government has actually rejoiced in 
 the commission of an individual crime which could be made, 
 by exemplary punishment, the means of producing a moral 
 impression which would save the community from some 
 general threatening danger. Yes ; where the circumstances 
 of the offense have been favorable for this purpose, they have 
 actually rejoiced at it. They have rejoiced, too, not merely 
 that the criminal was detected, but that the crime was com- 
 mitted, — as it gave them the opportunity to arrest far greater 
 evils than the suffering of the offender. The most humane 
 and benevolent magistrate, and even the teacher of a school 
 or the father of a family, will often find cases, where the 
 moral effects produced upon the community under his care, 
 by some offense and its consequences, have been so beneficial 
 that he can hardly regret the occurrence. "We may go even 
 farther than this. If it had come within the power of a 
 statesman to do it, and if he had looked only at the general 
 good, and not at the sufferings of the individual, he could not 
 have adopted a wiser measure, to strengthen general confi 
 
148 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 DiflSculty. Divine power over the human heart. The traveler. 
 
 (lence in the authentication of a document by a written 
 name, than by actually producing such a conspicuous case 
 of forgery, and inflicting its punishment. Of course, to do 
 this is entirely beyond the limits of human power ; and the 
 mind shrinks back baffled and bewildered from the vain 
 attempt to understand the degree of power which God can 
 exercise in respect to the moral agency of the beings he has 
 formed. Does any thing depend upon contingencies which 
 he can not control ? If not, then it would seem that there 
 is not any thing, not even transgression, which is not a part 
 of his design. The origin of sin, and the reasons why it is 
 permitted, if he only permits it, or ordained, if we consider 
 him in all things absolute and supreme, is a subject in which 
 the human faculties are confounded and lost. It opens be- 
 fore us one of those vistas of dread uncertainty and doubt, 
 which we have already described. Shall we assign any 
 limits to the sovereignty of Almighty God, in regard to the 
 moral conduct of his creatures ? Conflicting feelings declare 
 that we must, and that we must not ; and reason stands 
 overwhelmed and confounded by the grandeur and the pro- 
 foundness of the recesses, which she attempts, in vain, to 
 explore. We are like the traveler, lost at midnight in the 
 dark glens of the mountains, where frowning precipices hang 
 over his head, and forests, in silence and solitude, stretch 
 away before him. Mists float through the valleys, and heavy 
 clouds hang over the summits of the mountains or move 
 slowly along their sides. A momentary opening admits to 
 his straining eyes a vista of grove and cliff' and glen, which 
 the moon, brightening for an instant, reveals to him ; but 
 before he has time to separate reality from shadow, or to gain 
 one distinct impression, the heavy cloud rolls over him again, 
 shuts out his light, cuts off" his view, and leaves him bewil- 
 dered and in darkness. It is so with many a region of reli- 
 gious truth. The human mind, when it has fairly entered 
 
PUNISHMENT. 149 
 
 Spirit of controversy. God is to be feared. The Savior. 
 
 it, is bewildered and lost in the mazy scene. Sometimes an 
 opening in the clouds in which it is enveloped, gives a mo- 
 mentary and partial glimpse of the objects around, and while 
 the thoughts are eagerly reaching forward through the vista, 
 almost thinking that every cloud is about to break away and 
 disappear, thick shades and darkness come over it again, 
 Hope revives for a moment, as the moonlight beam of reason 
 feebly shines on some new object, in some new direction ; 
 but it revives only to be again extinguished as before. Into 
 this scene noisy controversy loves to enter, to dispute about 
 what she can not see, and to profane the sublimity which she 
 can not appreciate ; but intelligent and humble piety stands 
 awed, submissive and silent, feeling her own helpless feeble- 
 ness, and adoring the incomprehensible majesty of God. 
 
 But to return ; " God is love," is one part of the inspired 
 delineation of his character. " God is a consuming fire," is 
 equally distinct, and it comes from equally high authority. 
 There is, however, a common understanding among men 
 that they will read and appreciate the former declaration, 
 while the latter is almost wholly passed by. In fact, there 
 is among many persons, and even sometimes among Chris- 
 tians, a feeling that God must be considered and represented 
 as a father only, not as a magistrate ; children must be 
 taught to love him, not to fear him ; and those terrible de- 
 nunciations which frown on every page of the Bible are kept 
 out of view. It is even thought by many persons that there 
 is a kind of harshness and inhumanity in representing God as 
 he is, a God of terrible majesty, and in holding up distinctly 
 and clearly to view the awful retributions which he threatens, 
 with any design to deter men by fear, from breaking his laws. 
 But Jesus Christ thought not so. '*Fear him," says he, 
 "who can destuoy both soul and body in hell. Yea I 
 say unto you, fear him." He never shrunk from bringing 
 
160 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Insensibility to God's threatened judgments. A form of unbelief. 
 
 fully to view the undying worm, — the ceaseless torment, — 
 the inextinguishable fire. We are too benevolent, say some, 
 to believe such things, or to teach such things. Then they 
 are more benevolent than the Savior. He had love enough 
 for men to tell them plainly the truth ; but these, it seems, 
 have more. I do not speak here merely of those who openly 
 deny the declarations of the Bible on this subject, but of a 
 very large portion of the Christian church, who never trem- 
 ble themselves, or teach their children to tremble, at the 
 wrath to come. Many a Christian reader of the Bible passes 
 over its pages, thinking that such truths are all for others, 
 when in fact they are peculiarly needed by himself He is a 
 professor of religion, he thinks that his peace is made with 
 God, and that consequently the terrors of a coming judgment 
 are nothing to him. In the mean time, he leads a worldly 
 life, — he does, day after day, what he knows to be wrong,— 
 frustrating the grace of God, by making his vain hope of for- 
 giveness the very opiate which lulls him into sin. As to 
 threatened punishment, it passes by him like the idle wind. 
 God is a father, he says ; his government is paternal ; and 
 the language which proclaims his threatened judgments is 
 eastern metaphor, or, if it has any serious meaning, it is in- 
 tended for others, not for him. 
 
 If, however, we look throughout the Bible for the subject 
 which is presented with the greatest prominence and em- 
 phasis there, the one which is pressed most directly, with 
 reference to a strong and continual influence upon human 
 minds, we shall find that it is the unshrinking and terrible 
 decision, with which, under the government of God, sin will 
 be punished ; and yet how very few there are, even in the 
 most enlightened Christian community, and in the very bo- 
 som of the church, who stand in any daily fear of the judg- 
 ment to come. So settled and universal is this feeling, that 
 gome readers will perhaps be surprised at the idea, that fear 
 
PUNISHMENT. 151 
 
 Christians should be affected by it. Probation. Debt and credit. 
 
 of God's judgments should have a place in the bosom of the 
 church. " There is no fear in love," they will say ; " perfect 
 love casteth out fear." So it does, but it must be 'perfect love ; 
 and when a church has attained to this, — when sin is ban- 
 ished from every soul, — and the world is finally abandoned, 
 — and God reigns, in supreme, and unquestioned, and unin- 
 terrupted sway, — and every heart is a temple of perfect 
 purity and holiness, — ^then may its members cease to think 
 of the danger of God's displeasure. Then ; but not till then. 
 
 The great foundation of the almost universal unbelief 
 which prevails, in respect to the consequences of sin, rests in 
 the heart. Man is unwilling to believe what condemns and 
 threatens himself. But while the origin is in the heart, the 
 intellect assists in maintaining the delusion, and this chiefly 
 through the mistake of considering moral obligation as of the 
 nature of debt and credit, instead of regarding God's govern- 
 ment as it really is, a system of probation. The meaning of 
 probation is understood well enough in reference to this 
 world. Young men are led to see that there are certain 
 crises in their lives when immense and irretrievable conse- 
 quences depend upon the action of an hour. This is well 
 known ; — the principle is interwoven into all the providential 
 arrangements of life. Men do not complain of it ; they see 
 practically its fitness. But when they come to look at the 
 attitude in which they stand toward God, the idea of proba- 
 tion gives way to that of debt and credit, — and they go to 
 estimating their sins, — and to calculating the time that they 
 have spent in committing them, and they bring on their off*- 
 sets of good deeds, — and then consider what amount of sufi^er- 
 ing is necessary to close the account. 
 
 In order to show how momentous are the consequences 
 which often depend upon a very brief period of trial, let us 
 take a very common case. A boy of twelve years old brought 
 up by Christian parents in some quiet village, is sent at last 
 
152 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The young man. 
 
 Leaving home. 
 
 to the metropolis, into a commercial establishment, where he 
 is to commence the duties of active life. As his mother gives 
 him her last charge, and with forced smiles, but with a 
 bursting heart, bids him good-bye, he thinks he can not yield 
 to any temptation which can beset him. For many days, 
 and perhaps weeks, he is strong. He is alone, though in a 
 
 crowded city ; his heart, solitary and sad, roams back to his 
 native hills, and recalls a thousand incidents of childhood ; 
 conscience, foreseeing the struggles that are to come, is busy 
 in his heart, retouching every faint and fading moral impres- 
 sion which years gone by had made there. He looks upon 
 the diseased and abandoned profligates around him with hor- 
 ror, and shrinks instinctively back from the very idea of vice. 
 Every night he reads a passage in the beautiful Bible which 
 was packed by stealth in his trunk, with his father's and 
 
PUNISHMENT. 153 
 
 Allurements of sin. Tho crisis. The sore temptation and the struggle. 
 
 mother's names upon the blank page ; and he prays God for 
 strength and help to enable him to be faithful in duty, and 
 grateful to them. 
 
 In the course of a few weeks the world is somewhat 
 changed to him. He does not love his parents and his early 
 home the less, perhaps, but he thinks of new scenes and new 
 employments a little more. He forms acquaintances and 
 hears sentiments and language which he must, in heart, con- 
 demn, though he does it more and more faintly at each suc- 
 cessive repetition. He engages with his new comrades in 
 plans of enjoyment which he feels are questionable. Either 
 they are positively wrong, or else his previous notions have 
 been too strict ; he can not exactly decide which, and he ac- 
 cordingly tries them more and more, occasionally reasoning 
 with himself in regard to their character, but coming to no 
 absolute decision. He does not think of home so much as he 
 did ; — somehow or other there are melancholy thoughts con- 
 nected with it, — and he finds it less easy and pleasant to 
 write to his parents. He used to have a letter, well filled, 
 always ready for any private opportunity which accident 
 might furnish ; but now, he writes seldom, though he apol- 
 ogizes very freely for his seeming neglect, and expects every 
 week to have more time. 
 
 At last, some Saturday afternoon, the proposal comes up 
 among his companions, to go off on the morrow on a party 
 of pleasure. It is not made directly to him, but it is in his 
 hearing, and he knows that he is included in the plan, and 
 must decide in favor of, or against it. A party of pleasure, — 
 of innocent recreation, they call it. He knows it is a party of 
 dissipation and vice, — and formed, too, for that sacred day 
 which God commands him to keep holy. He says nothing, 
 and from the silent and almost indifferent air which he assumes 
 while they loudly and eagerly discuss the plan, you would 
 suppose that he was an unconcerned spectator. But no ; 
 
164 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Results depending. 
 
 Consequences of a defeat. 
 
 "^ -^ ^<(^j^ 
 
 THE TEMPTATION. 
 
 look at him more at- 
 tentively. Is not his 
 cheek a little pale ? 
 Is there not a slight 
 quiver upon his lip ? — 
 and a slight tremor in 
 his limbs, as he leans 
 upon a chair, as if his 
 strength were failing 
 him a little? These 
 external indications are 
 very slight, but they 
 are the indications of a 
 sinking of the spirit 
 within, as he feels that 
 the moral forces are 
 taking sides, and mar- 
 shaling themselves in array for the struggle which must come 
 on. Conscience does not speak ; — but he knows, he feels, 
 how she will speak, before this question is decided. Inclina- 
 tions which are beginning to grow powerful by indulgence, 
 do not yet draw, but he knows how they will draw ; and the 
 blood falls back upon his heart, and strength fails from his 
 limbs, as he foresees the contest. It seems as if the combat- 
 ants were drawing up their forces in gloomy silence, waiting, 
 by common consent, till the time shall arrive, and the signal 
 be given, for their deadly struggle. 
 
 The armistice continues, with slight interruptions, until he 
 leaves his companions, and having closed the business of the 
 day, walks toward his home. But there are within him the 
 elements of war, and as soon as he retires to his solitary room, 
 and the stimulus and excitement of external objects are re- 
 moved, the contest is begun. I need not describe it ; I can 
 have no reader who does not understand the bitterness of the 
 
PUNISHMENT. 165 
 
 Probation. Nature of it. 
 
 struggle which ensues, when duty, and conscience, and the 
 command of God, endeavor to maintain their stand against 
 the onset of sore temptation. Human beings have occasion 
 to know what this is, full well. 
 
 Besides, it is not to the particular circumstances of the con- 
 test in such a case that I wish to turn the attention of the 
 reader, but to this fact : that very probably, on the event of 
 this single struggle, the whole character and happiness of the 
 young man for life depend. He may not see it so at the time, 
 but it may be so notwithstanding. If duty gains the victory 
 here, her next contest will be achieved more easily. There 
 is a double advantage gained, for the strength of moral prin- 
 ciple is increased, and the pressure of subsequent attacks 
 upon it is diminished. The opposing forces which such a 
 young man must encounter, in taking the right stand, are far 
 moie powerful than those which tend to drive him from it, 
 when once it is taken. On the other hand, if he yields here, 
 he yields probably forever. Conscience stands rebuked and 
 silenced ; guilty passions become tumultuous for future grati- 
 fication ; impure and unholy thoughts pollute his mind ; and 
 though remorse may probably, for a long time to come, at 
 intervals more and more distant, and in tones more and more 
 faint, utter reproaches and warnings, he will, in all proba- 
 bility, go rapidly down the broad road of vice and sin. All 
 this is not fancy, but fact. It is the sober history of hundreds 
 of young men, who go down every year to ruin, in precisely 
 this way. They have their time of trial ; the time when 
 they are put to the test ; a crisis, which, in many, many 
 cases, is over in a few hours, but whose awful consequences 
 extend through a life of misery, and are not stopped, even by 
 the grave. 
 
 Perhaps it may be supposed that all the miseries of a life 
 of vice ought not to be charged upon the hour when the first 
 step was taken, but should be considered as the consequences 
 
156 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Sin perpetuates itself. Its worst efiFects. Wandering from God. 
 
 of the repeated acts of transgression which the individual 
 goes on to commit. We have no objection to this at all, but 
 it does not relieve the hour of the first transgression from any 
 portion of its responsibility ; for this very disposition to go on 
 in sin, is the direct result of the first transgression ; and it is 
 the very worst result of it. If the first sin left the heart in a 
 right state, the conscience tender, and guilty passions sub- 
 dued ; and if nothing was to follow from it but simple suffer- 
 ing, even if it were suffering for years, it would be compar- 
 atively nothing. The greatest, the most terrible of all the 
 evils which result from the first indulgence of sin, is, that it 
 leads almost inevitably to a second and a third. The tyrant 
 takes advantage of his momentary power to rivet his fetters, 
 and to secure his victim in hopeless slavery. So that if a 
 young man spends one night in sin, the great evil is not, that 
 he must suffer the next day, but that he will go on sinning 
 the next day. He brings heart, and conscience, and ungodly 
 passions into such a relative condition that he will go on. 
 There is not half as much to stop him, as there was to pre- 
 vent his setting out, so that the first transgression has for its 
 consequences, not only its own peculiar miseries, but all the 
 succeeding steps in the declivity of sin, together with the 
 attendant suffering, which, to the end of time, follow in 
 their train. 
 
 All this is true, though not universally, in respect to the 
 vices and crimes of human life. I say not universally, for 
 the wanderer does, sometimes of his own accord, stop and 
 return. But it is true universally, and without exception, 
 of the broad way of sin against God, from which the wan- 
 derer, if he once enters it, will never, of his own accord, turn 
 back. Take the first step here, and all is lost. The incli- 
 nation to return never comes. The whole Bible teaches us, 
 that sin once admitted, whether it be by a spotless spirit be- 
 fore the throne of God, or by a tender infant here, establishes 
 
PUNISHMENT. 167 
 
 Can the sinner return ? Will the sinner return ? 
 
 its fixed and perpetual reign. Can not the sinner return ? 
 the reader perhaps may ask. Can not the fallen spirit or 
 sinning man, give up his warfare and come back to God ? 
 Can not Dives, who neglected and disobeyed God when on 
 earth, seek his forgiveness and his favor now ? We have 
 nothing to do with these questions ; the inquiry for us to 
 make is, not whether they can, but whether they will return. 
 The Bible assures us that they will not ; but with mankind 
 around us, and our own hearts open to our view, we scarcely 
 need its testimony. Sin once admitted, the soul is ruined. 
 It lies dead in trespasses and sins ; going farther and farther 
 away from God, and sinking continually in guilt and misery. 
 It may, indeed, while in this state, be clothed in the appear- 
 ances of external virtue, but it will still remain hopelessly 
 estranged from God, so deeply corrupted, and so wholly lost, 
 that it can be restored to purity and holiness again, only by 
 being created anew. Sin thus does more than entail misery, 
 — it perpetuates itself. The worst of all its consequences, 
 is, its own inevitable and eternal continuance. 
 
 The question is very often asked, whether the punishment 
 of sin in another world, will consist of suffering directly in- 
 flicted, or only of the evils which naturally and inevitably 
 flow from sin. The distinction between these two species 
 of retribution is very clear in respect to human punishments, 
 but it is lost at once, in a great measure, when we come to 
 the government of God. It is impossible to draw the line 
 between them, because whatever consequences follow from 
 sin against God, they are so uniformly and indissolubly con- 
 nected with the sin itself that they form a part of its nature. 
 In fact, it is not enough to say that sin brings suffering, — it 
 is suffering. Misery is, as it were, an essential property of 
 it ; but whether rendered so by the decision of Jehovah, or 
 by an original and absolute necessity in the very nature of 
 
158 THJi CORNEtt-STOxXE. 
 
 Grod often employs suffering. Arrangements for it in the human frame. 
 
 things, it is perhaps impossible for human powers to deter- 
 mine. One thing is certain, however, that Jehovah does not 
 shrink from the direct employment of suffering, whenever it 
 is necessary to accomplish his purposes. It is a painful sub- 
 ject, and one which, probably, a vast majority of readers 
 would prefer to have passed by ; but no one can form any 
 correct idea of his Maker's character, or know at all what 
 he is to expect at his hands, without being fully acquainted 
 with it. 
 
 Take, for instance, the human frame. It is made for 
 health and happiness, and when we look upon a countenance 
 blooming with beauty, and observe its expression of quiet 
 enjoyment, we feel that the being who formed it is a God of 
 love. But we must not forget, that within that very bloom- 
 ing cheek, there is contrived an apparatus capable of produ- 
 cing something very different from enjoyment. A fibrous 
 net- work spreads over it, coming out in one trunk from the 
 brain, extending everywhere its slender ramifications, and 
 sending a little thread to every point upon the surface. 
 What is this mechanism for ? Its uses are many ; but 
 among its other properties, there is in it a slumbering power, 
 which may indeed never be called into action, but which 
 always exists, and is always ready, whenever God shall call 
 it forth, to be the instrument of irremediable and unutterable 
 suffering. We admit that in almost every case, it remains 
 harmless, and inoperative ; still it is there, always there, and 
 always ready ; and it is called into action whenever God 
 thinks best. And it is not merely in the cheek, but through- 
 out every part of the frame that the apparatus of suffering 
 lies concealed ; and it is an apparatus which is seldom out 
 of order. Sickness deranges and weakens the other powers, 
 but it seldom interferes with this ; it remains always at its 
 post, in the eye, the ear, the brain, the hand, — in every 
 organ and every limb, and always ready to do God's bidding. 
 
PUNISHMENT. 159 
 
 Uses of suffering. Jehovah is to be feared. Value of an eflScient government. 
 
 Nor is it useless ; — an idle preparation of instruments, 
 never to be employed. It is called into action often, and 
 with terrific power. God accomplishes a great many of his 
 most important purposes by it. These purposes it is not our 
 business now to examine, though there can be scarcely a 
 more interesting field of inquiry for us, than the uses of 
 suffering, and the extent to which God employs it in the 
 accomplishment of his plans. These purposes are all benevo- 
 lent, most highly so ; still, sufferi7ig, freely employed, is the 
 means through which they are produced. All nature thus 
 corroborates what the Scriptures assert, that our Maker is 
 not only a father to be loved, but a magistrate to be feared. 
 
 The dreadful suffering, which God has in providence in- 
 flicted upon communities and individuals for the violations 
 of his laws, can not be described, nor can they be conceived 
 by those who have not experienced them. We know, how- 
 ever, something of their power, and the awful extent to 
 which retribution for sin has been poured out upon men. It 
 is, indeed, far pleasanter, in examining the character of God, 
 and his dealings with us, to dwell upon the proofs of his love, 
 than upon those of his anger ; but we must not yield to the 
 inclination, so as to go to the Judgment with expectations of 
 lenity and forbearance which we shall not find. It is best 
 to know the whole, and to be prepared for it ; and not to 
 attempt to avoid a coming storm, by denying its approach, 
 or shutting our eyes to the evidences of its destructive power 
 
 Still, however, the feelings which a knowledge of God's 
 character as a magistrate, will awaken in us, will depend in 
 a great degree upon the side which we take in respect to 
 obedience to his law. An efficient government is a terror to 
 evil-doers, but it has no terrors for those who do well. We 
 all love to be under the dominion of just and righteous laws, 
 and if we are disposed to obey them ourselves, we like to 
 have them inflexibly administered in respect to others. If, 
 
160 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 therefore, to any of our readers the subject of this chapter is 
 a gloomy one, we assure them, in conclusion, that they may 
 divest it of all its gloom, by giving up sin and returning to 
 duty. When we think of the ravages of sin in this world, 
 the cruelty, the oppression and indescribable miseries which 
 it has brought down upon its victims, we feel that we need 
 an efficient and a strong protector. We must be more or 
 less exposed a little longer here to its baneful influences, but 
 the time will come when we shall enjoy full protection and 
 perfect safety ; and though we can not but feel sorrowful 
 and sad, to reflect that any of pur fellow-beings are to be 
 shut up at last in an eternal prison, we still can not but re- 
 joice that the time will come, when neglect and disobedience 
 toward God, and selfish and ungovernable passions toward 
 man, will be confined, and separated from all that is pure 
 and holy, by a gulf that they can not pass over. We know 
 that this little planet, with all its millions, is as nothing 
 among the countless worlds which fill the wide-spread re- 
 gions all around it. Into those regions we can not but hope 
 that sin and misery have not yet extended. There may be, 
 we hope that there is, unbroken peace and happiness and 
 virtue there. The destructive disease which has raged hero 
 for forty centuries, spreading misery and ruin everywhere, 
 can be controlled and stopped only by Jehovah's hand. All 
 depends upon him ; and the only hope of our ever finding a 
 safe and quiet home, where we can once more be protected 
 and happy, depends upon the firm and inflexible decision 
 with which he manages this case of rebellion. He must not 
 pardon, unless he can pardon safely. He must not endanger 
 the peace and happiness of his empire, to save the compara- 
 tively few who have deliberately rejected his reign. 
 
PARDON. 161 
 
 Pardon possible. Always desirable when it is i 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PARDON, OR CONSEQUENCES SAVED. 
 
 " God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus 
 Christ, who died for us, that, whether we wake or sleep, we should Uve together 
 with him." 
 
 Notwithstanding all that was said in the last chapter, in 
 respect to the necessity of the most vigorous and energetic 
 measures in arresting the consequences of sin, there is such a 
 thing as pardon ; — forgiveness, perfectly free, and yet per- 
 fectly safe. There are various ways by which the object of 
 punishment can be secured, without punishment itself, — 
 though these various modes are perhaps only different appli- 
 cations of the same or similar principles. The objects of law 
 and penalty are to hold up to the community distinctly the 
 nature and the effects of sin, — ^to make a strong moral im- 
 pression against it, and thus to erect a barrier which shall 
 prevent its extension. A wise parent or teacher, who feels 
 the necessity of being firm and decisive in government, will 
 find a great many cases occur, in which punishment that is 
 really deserved, is still not necessary ; that is, when the ob- 
 jects enumerated above can be attained without it. Now 
 every wise parent and teacher desires to save suffering where- 
 ever it can be saved, and though there is great evil in doing 
 this when it can not be done safely, still there are cases 
 where it certainly is safe. 
 
 The reader is requested to call to mind here, the story of 
 the lost cap, given at the commencement of the third chap- 
 
10'^ THE CORNER-STONt:. 
 
 The story of the lost cap. The teacher's motives, 
 
 ter of this work. It was there introduced for another pur- 
 pose, but it illustrates well the point which we have here in 
 view. The course which the teacher pursued in that case, 
 was undoubtedly far better than any plan of punishment 
 would have been. Every one will admit this. There can 
 not be a question in the mind of any one who understands 
 the workings of human nature in such a case, that the course 
 there described, was admirably adapted to secure the end in 
 view. In order to perceive this, however, it must be dis- 
 tinctly understood, what the real object of punishment is, 
 namely, to produce a certain influence upon the community 
 that witnesses it, and not to gratify any feeling of personal 
 resentment against the offender. If the teacher, in that case, 
 had been a passionate man, and if his feelings of resentment 
 had been aroused at the misconduct of his pupil, he never 
 would have devised such a plan to save him. It is difficuH, 
 in fact, to decide which appears most conspicuous in the 
 case, the wish on the part of the teacher to promote the 
 highest welfare of the little community over which he pre- 
 sided, or delicate and compassionate interest in the welfare 
 of the offender. Any person who is capable of perceiving 
 moral beauty at all, will see that, in the plan which he 
 adopted, both these feelings, namely, a firm and steady regard 
 for the safety of the community, and a benevolent interest in 
 the transgressor, were singularly and beautifully blended. 
 
 The plan was in substance this : he substituted his own 
 inconvenience and suffering for the punishment of his pupil, 
 so as to rely upon the former for the production of that moral 
 effect which would naturally have resulted from the latter ; 
 and we observe three things in the character of the transac 
 tion, which are of importance to be mentioned here. First, 
 the plan originated in love for the offender, and a wish to 
 save him suffering. Secondly, it was exactly adapted to 
 touch his feelings, and produce a real change in his heart, 
 
PARDON. 163 
 
 Cases common. Not precisely analogous to the plan of salvation. 
 
 which punishment probably would not have effected. 
 Thirdly, it secured the great object, the right moral impres- 
 sion upon the little community which witnessed it, far more 
 perfectly and more pleasantly than any other mode could 
 have done. The whole plan is an instance of what may be 
 called moral substitution, — putting the voluntary suffering 
 of the innocent, in the place of the punishment of the guilty. 
 This principle, substantially, though seldom or never brought 
 to view by writers on rewards and punishments, is very often 
 applied in practice. They who resort to it, perceive, in the 
 individual cases, by a kind of instinctive feeling, its powerful 
 and healthful effect, though they may not perhaps philoso- 
 phize on its nature. The story of the lost cap, is a specimen 
 of many cases, where this or a similar principle is acted upon 
 by intelligent parents or teachers. Each particular case, 
 however, is different from the others, and presents the prin- 
 ciple in a different aspect. I will therefore add one or two 
 others, describing them as they actually occurred. Before 
 proceeding, however, I ought distinctly to say, that no human 
 transactions can be entirely analogous to the great plan of 
 redeeming man from sin and misery by the sufferings and 
 death of Jesus Christ. They may partly illustrate it, how- 
 ever, some conforming to it in one respect, and some in an- 
 other. The reader will therefore understand that I offer 
 these cases as analogous to the arrangement made for saving 
 men through the atoning sufferings of Jesus Christ, only in 
 the general principle which they involve, namely, that of 
 moral substitution, — accomplishing, by means of the suffer- 
 ing of the innocent, what is ordinarily secured by the punish- 
 ment of the guilty. I will first naention a very trivial case. 
 I give this rather than more important and extraordinary 
 ones, because it is more likely to recall to the minds of 
 parents similar instances which may have occurred in their 
 own government. 
 
164 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The broken stucco. 
 
 In a certain school, it was the custom for the pupils to 
 play during the recesses, in the school-room, with soft balls, 
 stuffed lightly with cotton, and which could consequently be 
 thrown without danger. The use of hard balls, which were 
 sometimes brought to the school, were strictly forbidden. 
 One morning, as the teacher entered the room, and was just 
 taking his seat at his desk, a girl approached him, with a 
 very sad and sorrowful look, and followed by several of her 
 companions. She had in her hands some fragments of 
 stucco. 
 
 THK FALLEN STUCCO. 
 
 " Sir," said she sorrowfully, holding up the broken pieces 
 " see what I have done." 
 
 " What is it," said the teacher. 
 
 She pointed up to the ceiling, where was an ornamented 
 center-piece, wrought in stucco, and said she had broken it off 
 from that, with her hard ball. 
 
PARDON. 165 
 
 Suffering of the innocent for the guilty. Effects of the substitution 
 
 I 
 
 It was very evident from the countenanee of the offender, 
 and from the general expression of concern which was visible 
 in the many faces which were turned toward the group at 
 the teacher's desk, that she herself, and all the rest of the 
 pupils, felt deeply the fact, that the consequences of this 
 breach of law must come upon the teacher, as the one 
 intrusted with the apartment, and responsible for it, They 
 were attached to their teacher, and would rather have suffer- 
 ed themselves than have brought inconvenience and trouble 
 to him ; and he perceived by a glance of the eye, that by 
 this means a moral impression was made far more effectual 
 and valuable than any punishment would have produced. 
 In a word, he saw that, through his suffering, the offender 
 might safely go free. If no injury had been done, he would 
 have felt bound to notice very seriously any violation of the 
 law ; but since the injury came upon him, and since the little 
 community was in such a state that it would feel this deeply, 
 the very best, the very wisest thing that he could do, was to pass 
 over the offense entirely. A rough, passionate, and unthink- 
 ing man, might, perhaps, in such a case, have rebuked, with 
 greater sternness, and punished with greater severity, just in 
 proportion to the inconvenience and trouble which the offense 
 brought upon him ; but he who knows human nature, and 
 studies the adaptation of raioral means for the accomplishment 
 of moral ends, will see in a moment, that in such a case the 
 mildest punishment, and even the gentlest reproof, would 
 weaken the impression, and that the way to make the most 
 of such an occurrence, would be to dismiss the sorrowful 
 pupil with kind words in respect to the injury, and without 
 a syllable about her sin. This, too, is moral substitution; 
 receiving, through the sufferings of the innocent, the advan- 
 tages usually sought from the punishment of the guilty. 
 
 It is difficult to lay down general principles in regard to 
 the applications of this principle in the moral education of 
 
166 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The principle often applied. Another caae. ■ The students and the joiners. 
 
 the young, because so much depends upon the state of feeling 
 of the parties concerned, at the time. For example, in the 
 case last descjibed, had the offender been not penitent and not 
 concerned, and had a feeling of cold indifference prevailed in 
 the school-room, in regard to the injury which had been done, 
 the course taken would have been most evidently unwise, and 
 unsafe. It is a question of moral impression on hearts, — an 
 impression in favor of law, and against the breach of it, — 
 and it is only where this impression can be produced better 
 without the punishment than with it, that there can be any 
 safe remission. It is however unquestionably true, and all 
 parents and teachers ought to keep it in mind, that where 
 any wrong act performed by the young results in any damage 
 or injury, or other evil consequences, these consequences, in a 
 wise and dexterous government, will lighten, not increase the 
 severity of reproof and punishment. They go far toward 
 producing the very impression which reproof and punishment 
 are intended to effect, and consequently, they diminish the 
 necessity of it. Those parents and teachers who take little 
 notice of offenses when they are harmless, and punish them 
 with severity when followed by accidental injury, ought to 
 perceive that they are not administering moral government, 
 but only gratifying their own feelings of resentment and 
 revenge. 
 
 In the case which we have just described, the injurious 
 consequences were not voluntarily assumed by the innocent 
 individual in order to allow the guilty one to be forgiven. 
 They came upon him without any consent of his. The 
 following case is different in this respect. The persons 
 who suffered the injury here voluntarily assumed it. The 
 case, like the former, is described exactly as it occurred. 
 
 At one of the New England colleges, not many years ago, 
 a company of joiners were employed in erecting a building. 
 A temporary shed had been put up in the college yard, where 
 
PARDON. 167 
 
 I 
 
 Mischief. The proposed substitution. 
 
 the work went on, and where, at night, the tools were left, 
 protected only by the honesty of the neighborhood. From 
 some cause or other, a feud arose between some of the work- 
 men and a portion of the students, and the next day, when 
 the latter came to their work, they found their tools scattered 
 about in disorder, and in a very bad condition. Planes were 
 gapped and notched, saws dulled, chisel-handles split, and 
 augers had been bored into the ground. The indignation 
 which this wanton injury excited on the part of the workmen, 
 threatened very serious consequences. Some measure of re- 
 taliation was expected from the mechanics, which of course 
 would be repaid again by the students, and thus it was 
 feared that a deadly and permanent hostility would be pro- 
 duced. It was of course impossible to ascertain the authors 
 of the mischief, and if they had been ascertained, punish- 
 ment would probably only have made them more secret in 
 their future plans. A species of moral substitution removed 
 the difficulty entirely. The plan was this. 
 
 After evening prayers, when the students were all assem- 
 bled, one of the officers stated the case to them, — described 
 the injury, — presented an estimate of its amount, and pro- 
 posed to them that they should raise by voluntary contribu- 
 tion, a sum sufficient to remunerate the injured workmen. 
 " There is no just claim upon you for this," said he ; "none 
 whatever. The mischief was indeed undoubtedly done by 
 some of you, but it was certainly by a very small number, 
 and the rest are not in any degree responsible for it. Still, 
 by leaving their tools so completely exposed, the workmen 
 expressed their entire confidence in you. This confidence 
 must now be shaken ; but if you take the course I propose, 
 and voluntarily bear the injury yourselves, you will say, 
 openly and publicly, that you disavow all participation in the 
 offense, and all approval of it ; and you will probably prevent 
 its repetition, and confidence in you will be restored. Still, 
 
168 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Its effects. Moral impression. Peculiarities of the case. 
 
 however, there is no ohligation whatever restingf upon you, to 
 do what I propose. I make only a suggestion, and you will 
 consider and decide upon it as you please." 
 
 The students were then left to themselves, and after a few 
 minutes' debate, occasioned by a slight opposition from a few 
 individuals, the vote was carried almost unanimously, to re- 
 pair the injury. The money was contributed and paid. The 
 innocent suffered, and the guilty went free, and the moral 
 effect of the transaction was most happy. The whole quarrel 
 was arrested at once. The tools were repaired ; and thence- 
 forward they were exposed in perfect safety, though as un- 
 protected as before. 
 
 It ought to be stated that the sum necessary for repairing 
 the damage in this case was a very trifling one, and it was 
 not at all the amount of it that determined the moral effect 
 of the transaction. Any officer of the college would have 
 readily paid double the sum himself to have ended the 
 difficulty. The effect was not produced by the reparation, 
 but by the guilty individuals' seeing that their innocent 
 companions would assume the consequences of their guilt. 
 It was not a measure of ways and means, but of moral 
 impression. 
 
 This case seems different from the preceding, in two im- 
 portant particulars. The first is, that the loss was borne, 
 neither by the offenders, nor by the magistracy, but by a 
 third party, not directly concerned in the transaction. The 
 second point is, there was in this case no evidence that the 
 offenders were penitent. In fact, the plan had no reference 
 to the offenders at all. Its whole aim was moral impression 
 upon the community. The offenders themselves succeeded 
 in escaping in this instance, not through any plan formed for 
 the purpose of saving them, but through the imperfection of 
 the government, which had no means of detecting them. 
 Tbey were not forgiven ; they simply escaped. Generally, 
 
PARDON. 169 
 
 The offenders not penitent. Favors received for Christ's sake. Illustration. 
 
 in such cases, the plan devised aims at the accomphshment 
 of two objects ; to save the offender, if he is penitent, and to 
 produce the right moral effect upon the community. Here, 
 however, the former was no part of the design ; it was the 
 latter exclusively. Had the individuals who actually per- 
 petrated the wrong been discovered, and had they been found 
 still unchanged in heart, justice would not have been satis- 
 fied, to use Dr. Johnson's language, without their punish- 
 ment. Still the other great design, — a strong moral impres- 
 sion upon the community, to arrest the progress of sin, and to 
 create a universal feeling against it, was well secured 
 through the voluntary consent of the innocent to suffer the 
 consequences which ought justly to be borne by the guilty. 
 
 All these are cases in which a person is relieved, through 
 the instrumentality of others, from sufferings which he de- 
 serves ; and it is equally in accordance with universally ad- 
 mitted principles of human nature, that a person should in 
 the same manner through the instrumentality of others some- 
 times be admitted to enjoyments which he himself does not 
 deserve. We are represented as not only being forgiven 
 through Jesus Christ, but as receiving every blessing and 
 favor for his sake. This seems to be a moral substitution of 
 a little different character, but it is exemplified with even 
 greater frequency in human life, than the other. There calls 
 at your door, late at night, a wandering stranger, and asks 
 admittance. He seems destitute and wretched, and as it is 
 not convenient, and perhaps not even safe, to admit him into 
 your family, you very properly direct him to a public house 
 at a little distance, and supply him with the means of pro- 
 curing a reception there. Just as he is leaving you, you im- 
 agine you recognize something familiar in his features, and 
 on inquiring his name, you find he is the son of one of your 
 dearest and earliest friends. How promptly do you change 
 your plan, and bid him welcome, and endeavor to repay by 
 
 H 
 
170 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral gOTeruments. 
 
 your hospitality to the son, the favors which you received in 
 days long past from the father. And yet it is in fact no re- 
 payment to the father. It may be that he has been long in 
 the grave. It is a substitution ; and there is an universal, 
 and almost instinctive feeling in the human heart, leading us, 
 under certain circumstances, to make such substitutions, — to 
 show favor to one, on account of obligation to another. The 
 apostle Paul understood this principle, when he sent back 
 Onesimus to his master, and endeavored to secure for him a 
 kind reception by saying, " If thou count me a partner, receive 
 him as myself." 
 
 The reader will perceive that it has not been our object, 
 in the preceding illustrations, to find a parallel among human 
 transactions for the great plan adopted in the government of 
 God, to render safe the forgiveness of human sins. Such a 
 parallel, precisely, can not be found. All that we have been 
 attempting to show is, that the principles upon which the 
 plan is based have a deep-seated foundation in the very con- 
 stitution of the human mind, and that they are constantly 
 showing themselves, more or less perfectly, whenever a real 
 moral government is intelligently administered here. We must 
 look, however, for such exemplifications of these principles, 
 generally in the government .of the young ; for in no other 
 case in this world is a government properly a moral one. 
 The administration of law in a political community, is a dif- 
 ferent thing altogether. It is simply the enforcement of a 
 system of rules of action, designed almost exclusively for the 
 prevention of injury. In a moral government, strictly so 
 called, one mind superior to the others, presides over a com- 
 munity of minds, and acts upon them in his administration, 
 with reference to their moral welfare. He looks beyond mere 
 external action, — adapts his measures to moral wants and 
 moral feelings, — and aims at an influence over hearts. A 
 
PARDON. 171 
 
 Political governments. Differences. 
 
 political government, though often confounded with this, is 
 distinct in its nature, and aims at different objects. It at- 
 tempts only the protection of the community against injury. 
 Its province is to regulate external actions, not to purify and 
 elevate the feelings of the heart ; and it does this by endeav- 
 oring to enforce certain prescribed rules, relating almost ex- 
 clusively to overt acts, and designed merely to prevent injury. 
 This difference in the nature and design of a political gov- 
 ernment, and of a moral government, strictly so called, is 
 fundamental, and it applies with peculiar force to the subjects 
 which we are considering. In fact there is, properly speak- 
 ing, no such thing as forgiveness in human jurisprudence. 
 Legal provision is indeed made for what is called pardon ; but 
 this is, in theory, a mode of arresting punishment where 
 evidence not brought forward at the trial comes to light after- 
 ward, or where peculiar circumstances which the strict 
 principles of law could not recognize render it equitable to 
 remit the sentence. In practice, it goes indeed sometimes 
 farther than this. In some cases the executive, overcome 
 with compassion for the criminal, liberates hira at the risk 
 of sacrificing the public good. In other cases, by a common 
 though tacit understanding, pardons are granted so uniformly 
 in certain cases, as to amount to a permanent modification of 
 the law. But such a remission of legal penalties as this, is in 
 its nature entirely different from forgiveness. It is, in fact, only 
 the exercise of a discretionary power, lodged in suitable hands, 
 to modify the inflexible decisions of law, when equity, in 
 peculiar circumstances, demands their modification, — it is not 
 real forgiveness. Real forgiveness in political government 
 has no place. We must look, therefore, among the young, 
 where alone we find that any thing like moral training is 
 the object of government, for illustrations of the principles of 
 God's administration. We shall find them however here. 
 A wise parent or teacher, who acts intelligently, and watcheg 
 
172 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Two motives for punishment. 
 
 the operation of moral causes and effects upon the hearts un- 
 der his care, will often, though perhaps insensibly, adopt these 
 principles, and will imitate, almost without knowing it, tho 
 plans of the great Father of all. We certainly shall find 
 abundant examples of the operation of the great principles 
 which we have been endeavoring to bring to view : namely, 
 that the object of punishment is not to gratify resentment 
 against an individual, but to promote the welfare of the com- 
 munity ; that it can not safely be remitted, unless there is 
 something to take its place, and to do its work, in produ- 
 cing moral impression ; and that this end can not generally 
 be attained without the suffering of some one who is inno- 
 cent, in the place of the guilty. 
 
 We have dwelt upon this subject perhaps long enough al- 
 ready, but it is so essential to the peace and happiness of the 
 young Christian, clearly to understand it, that we will pre- 
 sent it in one other point of view. Let us suppose that a fa- 
 ther, when sitting with his children around his evening fire, 
 accidentally learns that one of them has played truant dur- 
 ing the day. He has been guilty of the same offense once 
 or twice before, and the measures which were adopted then 
 have proved to be ineffectual. Now there are plainly two 
 distinct feelings which may lead the father to inflict punish- 
 ment upon the guilty one. I mean here by punishment, any 
 means whatever of giving him pain, either by severe reproof, 
 or deprivation of enjoyment, or direct suffering. First, the 
 father may be a passionate man, and he may feel personal 
 resentment against the boy, and punish him under the influ- 
 ence of those feelings ; a case exceedingly common. Secondly, 
 without feeling any resentment, but rather looking with ten- 
 der compassion upon his son, he may see the necessity of do- 
 ing something effectual to arrest this incipient sin, and to pre- 
 vent its extending to his other children. If now the former 
 is the father's feeling, — an emotion of resentment and pas- 
 
PARDON. 173 
 
 Their operation in this case. Substitute for punishment. 
 
 sion, on account of the trouble which the fault has caused, 
 and is likely to cause him, there is no hope for the poor 
 offender ; — resentment can only be gratified by the suffering 
 of the object of it. If, on the other hand, the feeling is only 
 a calm, though perhaps anxious regard for the moral safety 
 and happiness of his family, there is some hope ; for punish- 
 ment in this case, would only be resorted to on account of its 
 promoting this safety and happiness, by the moral impression 
 which it would make, and there may perhaps be some other 
 way of accomplishing this object. But let us look at this 
 more particularly. 
 
 The reason why truancy is so serious an evil, is not the 
 loss of a day or two at school, now and then, — or any other 
 immediate and direct conse<5[uence of it. It is because it is the 
 beginning of a long course of sin ; it leads to bad company, 
 and to deception, and to vicious habits ; it stops the progress 
 of preparation for the duties of life, and hardens the heart, 
 and opens the door for every temptation and sin, which, if 
 not closed, must bring the poor victim to ruin. These are 
 what constitute its dangers. Now the difficulty with the 
 truant boy, whose case we are considering, is that he does 
 not see these things. He is spiritually blind ; and argument 
 and persuasion will not open his eyes. Punishment is there- 
 fore necessary to make such an impression upon his mind and 
 that of the others, as to arrest the progress of tHe sin. It 
 may be confinement. It may be some disgrace or depriva- 
 tion, or suffering in any other form. If it is however judi- 
 ciously administered, and in a proper spirit, it must have an 
 effect, and it may remove the evil altogether. 
 
 But there may be some other way of accomplishing the 
 object, — that is, of producing the needed impression. Let us 
 suppose such a way. Let us imagine that after learning that 
 his son had been guilty of the offense, the father gives no in- 
 dications of resentment, or of any other personal feeling, but 
 
174 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The father's plan. Visit to the poorhouse. The scene. 
 
 begins to think what he can do to arrest the evil, without 
 bringing suffering upon his boy. At last he says to the chil- 
 dren, who have been standing by, we will suppose, while he 
 was hesitating, awaiting his decision, " My boys, I wish very 
 much that you all should understand what the real nature 
 of truancy is, and what its consequences are. I shall, how- 
 ever, say no more about it now, but to-morrow I shall wish 
 you to go and take a walk with me." 
 
 The boys look forward with eager interest to the appointed 
 time, and when it arrives the father takes them to a neighbor- 
 ing poorhouse, where lies a man sick, and suffering excru- 
 ciating pains under the power of diseases brought on by vice. 
 We may suppose the father to have been accidentally ac- 
 quainted with the case. The boys enter the large and dreary 
 apartment, crowded with beds, and tenanted by misery in 
 every form ; for there is an apartment in every extensive 
 poorhouse, where you may see the very extreme of human 
 woe, — the last earthly stage of the broad road, — where life 
 lingers in forms of most excessive misery, as if to show how 
 much the mysterious principle can endure. On one narrow 
 couch, foaming mania glares at you, — on another lies sight- 
 less, senseless, torpid old age, a picture of indescribable de- 
 crepitude and deformity ; — from a third, you hear the groans 
 and see the restless tossing of acute suffering, — and gibbering 
 idiocy laughs upon a fourth, with a noise which grates more 
 harshly upon the feelings than the deepest groans. 
 
 Into such a scene the father enters, followed by his sons, 
 pale and trembling, for it is a scene which they have 
 scarcely nerve to endure. The attendant, knowing whom 
 they wish to see, precedes them, guiding them to a bed in 
 the comer, where lies the only patient in the room who 
 has mind enough left to be conscious who, and what, and 
 where he is. He has covered his head in the vain effort to 
 hide from the horrors of his last earthly home. The attendant 
 
PARDON. 
 
 175 
 
 The abandoned. 
 
 Consequences nf truancy 
 
 THE HOSPITAL, 
 
 raises the corner of the 
 blanket which conceals 
 him, and the visitors 
 see there a haggard 
 face, with its two 
 glazed and motionless 
 eyes rolled up toward 
 them, and staring wild- 
 ly from their sunken 
 sockets. 
 
 The visitor has 
 brought the wretched 
 patient some little com- 
 fort or luxury, which 
 may amuse and gratify 
 him a moment, though 
 it can not really relieve 
 
 him. He then falls into conversation with him, and the 
 boys who stand by, learn something of the progress and the 
 termination of a life of vice and crime. The father leads 
 the wretched man back in memory to his early childhood, 
 and learns from the sufferer's own lips that truancy and the 
 bad company which it led him into, were the first steps of 
 his wretched course. 
 
 Now there is nothing unnatural in all this. Precisely such 
 an experiment may never have been made, but plans for 
 producing moral impressions exactly analogous to it have 
 been successfully adopted a thousand times ; and every reader 
 will see that if such a plan were adopted, and if the hearts 
 of the boys were in such a state as deeply to feel it, it would, 
 in this case, have rendered all farther proceedings unneces- 
 sary. If the heart of the guilty boy was really touched by 
 the scene, so that he should go home penitent and humbled, 
 and resolved to sin no more, it would be perfectly safe to for- 
 
176 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral impression made by the death of Christ. 
 
 give him. And the point to be kept most distinctly in view 
 in the case, — the point which it is, in fact, the whole design 
 of the case to illustrate, is that free forgiveness, which would 
 be dangerous alone, may be rendered safe by means of meas- 
 ures ingeniously and judiciously adopted, which shall produce 
 the same moral impression upon the community which pun- 
 ishment would have made ; and that any moral governor 
 who is actuated by a calm regard for the general good, and 
 not by personal resentment, will devise such measures if he 
 can. It is the great glory of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, that 
 it thus provides a way for the safe forgiveness of sin. We 
 are taken to the cross, and we see the nature and effects of 
 sin there ; and the great sacrifice which was made on Cal- 
 vary, goes instead of the just punishment of men, to make 
 that great moral impression which is necessary to sustain law, 
 and satisfy justice, and arrest the consequences of sin. 
 
 The imaginary case which we have been describing, is 
 evidently very different in many respects from the plan of 
 salvation by the sacrifice of the Son of God. It would have 
 resembled it more closely if, instead of one offender, we had 
 supposed two, one of whom should be affected and led to 
 penitence by the scene that he witnessed, while the other 
 remained hard-hearted and stubborn. The father would 
 then have felt compelled, while he forgave the one, to adopt 
 some farther measures in respect to the other. The resem- 
 blance would have been closer still, if instead of there being 
 exhibited to the boys some existing misery, aii innocent 
 brother could, in some mysterious way, himself have volun- 
 tarily assumed for a time the sufferings naturally consequent 
 upon the sin to be condemned. These changes, however, 
 would not essentially alter the nature of the case, nor touch 
 the great principle which it is intended to bring to view, 
 namely, that to render it safe to forgive sin, some plan must 
 
PARDON. 177 
 
 Extent and power of it undeniable. Its present influence. 
 
 be devised for producing by other means the moral effects for 
 which punishment is intended. 
 
 We have, in former chapters, taken a view of two great 
 objects for which the Son of God appeared here, namely, to 
 set us an example of moral action, and to teach us, by pre- 
 cept, our duty. We have considered the nature of the ex- 
 ample, and also that of the system of duty, which he held up 
 to men. We now come, however, to look at another great 
 design which was accomplished by his coming, — one far 
 greater, probably, than either of those already alluded to, — 
 namely, to make by his perfect obedience to the law of God 
 during his life, and by the sufferings which he endured at 
 the close of it, such an exhibition of the nature and of the 
 effects of sin, and such an expiation for it, as should render it 
 safe for those who are penitent to be forgiven. He came, in 
 other words, not only to teach us duty, and to set an example 
 of its performance, but to suffer for us, and to make, by that 
 suffering, an atonement for sin. His death was to make a 
 moral impression upon the great community of intelligent 
 minds, which should accomplish the end which would have 
 otherwise been produced by the punishment of the guilty, 
 and thus open the way for pardon. 
 
 And it has made this impression. It is now eighteen cen- 
 turies since that death occurred, and among all the varieties 
 of opinion which have been adopted in regard to it, by 
 Atheist, Deist, and Christian, in one point all must agree, 
 that the death of Jesus Christ has made a stronger impres- 
 sion upon the human race, than any other transaction since 
 the creation of the world. In the remote and subjugated 
 province where it occurred, it was witnessed only by a few 
 thousands, and they looked upon it with little more interest 
 than would have been excited by the execution of any other 
 object of popular fury ; they perhaps supposed too, that in a 
 few months it would be forgotten. But no. In a very few 
 
178 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Its present influence. Its prospective influence. Necessity of atonement. 
 
 weeks, it was the means of arresting the attention, and sub- 
 duing the hearts, and altering the characters and lives of 
 thousands. The tidings of the transaction, and the explana- 
 tion of it, spread like a flame. The walls of the city could 
 not confine it ; the boundaries of the province could not con- 
 fine it. The influence of wealth, and the coercion of mili- 
 tary power, were equally insuflicient to stop its progress, or 
 to prevent its effects. It shook the Roman empire to its 
 foundations, — and now, eighteen centuries from the time of 
 its occurrence, it holds ascendency over more hearts than it 
 ever did before, and it is an ascendency which is widening, 
 deepening and strengthening, and promises to spread to every 
 nation, and to every family on the globe. 
 
 This impression, too, is of the right kind. A knowledge 
 of the death of Christ, with the explanation of it given in 
 the Scriptures, touches men's hearts ; it shows the nature 
 and the tendencies of sin ; it produces fear of God's displeas- 
 ure, and resolution to return to duty ; and thus it produces 
 effects by which justice is satisfied, and the authority of law 
 sustained, far better, in fact, than it would be by the severest 
 punishment of the guilty sinner. 
 
 There has always been in human hearts, a feeling of the 
 necessity of some provision to render safe the forgiveness of 
 sin. Penitence has never been enough to quiet conscience. 
 Hence the customs of resorting to self-inflicted sufferings, and 
 to sacrifices for sin which have prevailed in every age. The 
 institution of sacrifices was indeed established by divine 
 authority, being mtended apparently to typify the great real 
 sacrifice which was to be offered at last. But though estab- 
 lished by divine command, it could not have spread so far, 
 and have been so constantly and universally observed by 
 men, if there had not been some strong and deeply-seated 
 feelings in the human heart with which it accorded. 
 
PARDON. 179 
 
 Sacrifices. Reparation required. 
 
 Though, as the Apostle informs us, the blood of bulls and 
 of goats could not take away sin, that is, it was not sufficient 
 to render punishment unnecessary, still the institution of 
 sacrifices, as regulated by God's commands to Moses, was 
 admirably adapted to the moral condition and wants of men. 
 One of the most brief and lucid descriptions of it is contained 
 in the following passage. 
 
 " And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying. If a soul sin, 
 and commit a trespass against the Lord, and lie unto his 
 neighbor in that which was delivered him to keep, or in 
 fellowship, or in a thing taken away by violence, or hath 
 deceived his neighbor ; or have found that which was lost, 
 and lieth concerning it, and sweareth falsely ; in any of all 
 these that a man doeth, sinning therein : 
 
 " Then it shall be, because he hath sinned and is guilty, 
 that he shall restore that which he took violently away, or 
 the thing which he hath deceitfully gotten or that which 
 was delivered to him to keep, or the lost thing which he 
 found, or all that about which he hath sworn falsely : he 
 shall even restore it in the principal, and shall add the fifth 
 part more thereto, and give it unto him to whom it apper- 
 taineth, in the day of his trespass offering. 
 
 " And he shall bring his trespass offering unto the Lord, a 
 ram without blemish out of the flock, with thy estimation, 
 for a trespass offering unto the priest : and the priest shall 
 make an atonement for him before the Lord ; and it shall be 
 forgiven him, for any thing of all that he hath done in tres- 
 passing therein." Leviticus vi. 1-7. 
 
 The first thing that attracts our notice in this provision is, 
 that reparation, — ^full reparation for all the injury must be 
 made, as the first step toward a reconciliation with God. 
 Another interesting thought is, that the animal required to 
 
180 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Sincere repentance. Principles of moral government. 
 
 be brought for the sacrifice, was one which in ordinary cases 
 would probably be an object of affection to the offender ; for in 
 pastoral life men almost love their flocks and herds, and the 
 owner of the innocent victim, one would suppose, could not 
 see its blood flowing for his sins, without being moved. Still, 
 however, it was not chiefly on this account, that is, on ac- 
 count of the direct moral effect of the transaction upon him, 
 that the sinner was required to bring his offering, but it was 
 to remind him habitually, that something was necessary to 
 open the way for his forgiveness, besides mere repentance and 
 reparation ; and thus to bring him to the right state of heart 
 to be saved by means of the real propitiation which was at 
 length to be made. The manner in which David speaks of 
 this subject, shows that it was generally understood that this 
 duty was not intended to be an empty form. '' Thou desirest 
 not sacrifice, else would I give it ; thou delightest not in 
 burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit : a 
 broken and a contrite heart, God, thou wilt not despise." 
 Psalm li. 16, 17. 
 
 We have now accomplished the plan which we had 
 marked out for this chapter, which was to exhibit some of 
 the principles upon which the pardon of sin can safely be 
 bestowed. These principles are in substance as follows. 
 The design of God in connecting such severe and lasting 
 sufferings with sin, is not resentment against the sinner, but 
 a calm and benevolent interest in the general good. He 
 wishes no one to suffer, and has accordingly formed a plan 
 by which he can accomplish more perfectly, in another way, 
 what would naturally have been accomplished by the inflex- 
 ible execution of the law. By this means, the way is open 
 for our forgiveness if we are penitent for our sins. The cir- 
 cumstances of this sacrifice will be considered more fully in 
 a subsequent chapter ; the design of this has been only to 
 
PARDON. 181 
 
 Application of the subject. Address to the inqmrer. Source of anxiety. 
 
 explain some of the acknowledged principles on which the 
 necessity of it is grounded. This ohject is now accomplish- 
 ed ; but before closing the chapter, we wish to devote a few 
 pages to turning this subject to a practical account. 
 
 There are a great many persons to whose wounded spirits 
 the truths advanced here would be a balm, if they would but 
 apply them. Many a thoughtful reader of such a work as 
 this is often the prey of mental anxiety and suffering, which 
 the subject of this chapter is exactly calculated to relieve. 
 You feel that you are a great sinner, and though this feeling 
 produces no powerful and overwhelming conviction, it still 
 destroys your peace, and fills you with uneasiness, which, 
 though it may be sometimes interrupted, returns again with 
 increased power at every hour of reflection, and especially 
 when you are in solitude. You wish that you were a Chris- 
 tian, you say. I will suppose that you really do. Many 
 persons who say that, really mean only that they wish for 
 the benefits of piety, not for piety itself They would like 
 the rewards which the Savior has to bestow, but they do not 
 like his service. I will suppose, however, that you really 
 wish to be his. It is possible that you do, and yet you may 
 not have found peace ; you think that there is some love for 
 the Savior in your heart, some interest in his cause, some 
 desire to serve him, and yet you do not feel relieved from the 
 burden of sin, and are not cheered with the spiritual peace 
 and joy which beam in the hearts of others. Now the 
 cause of your restless unhappiness is a burdened conscience ; 
 — a burdened conscience. There is a sort of instinctive 
 feeling, or if not instinctive, it is interwoven with all the 
 inmost sentiments of the soul, — that guilt deserves punish- 
 ment. You feel that you are guilty. You know that God 
 is an efficient governor, — a God of terrible majesty ; for 
 whatever men may say, there is something in the heart, 
 
182 THE CORNER-STONjE. 
 
 Remedy. Anxiety needless. Redemption fully purchased. 
 
 which testifies that it is an evil and bitter thing to sin 
 against God, and that the soul which gives itself up to sin, 
 must expect to feel the weight of divine displeasure. You 
 know this, and you feel it, and though you ask forgiveness, 
 you do not realize that it can safely be bestowed. Now the 
 remedy is simple, and effectual. It is for you to come in 
 
 FAITH TO THE CROSS OF JeSUS ChRIST. 
 
 Let me explain precisely what I mean by this. Your 
 conscience is uneasy, being burdened by the load of your past 
 sins. Perhaps you do not distinctly fear punishment, but it 
 is the sense of responsibility for sin, and an undefined dread 
 of something that is yet to come, which really destroys your 
 rest. Now why have you any thing to fear ? Why should 
 God ever call you to account for those sins ? It must be 
 either from personal resentment against you, or else because 
 the welfare of his government requires the execution of his 
 law upon you. There can not be any thing like the former, 
 you know. It must be the latter, if either. Now the balm 
 for your wounded spirit is this, that the moral impression in 
 respect to the nature and tendencies of sin, which is the only 
 possible reason that God can have for leaving you to suffer 
 its penalties, is accomplished far better by the life and death 
 of his Son ; and if you are ready to abandon sin for the future, 
 there is no reason whatever remaining why you should be 
 punished for the past. God never could have wished to 
 punish you for the sake of doing evil, and all the good which 
 he could have accomplished by it is already effected in another 
 and a better way. Now believe this cordially. Give it full 
 control in your heart. Come to God and ask for forgiveness 
 on this ground. Trust to it fully. If you do, you will feel 
 that the account for the past is closed and settled forever. 
 You are free from all responsibility in regard to it. Ran- 
 somed by your Redeemer, the chains of doubt and fear and 
 sin fall off, and you stand, free, and safe, and happy, a new 
 
PARDON. 183 
 
 Faith necessary. Difference between faith and belief. The electric machine. 
 
 creature, in Jesus Christ, — redeemed by his precious blood, 
 and henceforth safe under his mighty protection. 
 
 This change, bringing to a close the old responsibilities for 
 sin, and commencing as it were a new life in the Savior, that 
 is, by an intimate union of spirit with him, is very clearly 
 described in many passages of scripture like the following ; 
 which, however, you have perhaps often read without under- 
 standing it. "I am crucified with Christ ; nevertheless I 
 live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me, and the Hfe I now 
 live in the flesh, I live by faith of the Son of God, who loved 
 me, and gave himself for me," To receive these benefits, you 
 must have faith. " I live by faith of the Son of God." 
 Faith means confidence ; not merely cold, intellectual con- 
 viction, but confidence, — a feeling of the heart. To show 
 this distinction clearly, imagine a man unaccustomed to such 
 an elevation, to be taken to the summit of some lofty spire, 
 and asked to step out from an opening there, upon a narrow 
 board, suspended by ropes over the dizzy height. How will 
 he shrink back instinctively from it. Explain to him the 
 strength of the ropes, show him their size, and convince him 
 by the most irresistible evidence that they have abundant 
 strength to support many times his weight. Can you make 
 him willing to trust himself to them ? No. But the builder, 
 whose confidence in the suspended scaffolding has been 
 established by experience, stands upon it without fear, and 
 looks down to the stony pavement, a hundred feet below, 
 with an unmoved and steady eye. Now you must have 
 such faith in Christ's sufferings and death, as not merely to 
 admit their efficacy, but to trust yourself to it. 
 
 A father was once amusing a number of children with an 
 electric machine, and after one or two of them had touched 
 the knob and received the shock, they drew back from the 
 apparatus, and looked upon it with evident dread. The 
 father presently held out to them the jar, uncharged, and 
 
184 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The children and the electric machine. 
 
 Christian faith. 
 
 
 consequently harmless, and said distinctly, but without em- 
 phasis, " If you touch it now, you will feel nothing. Who 
 will try ?" 
 
 The children drew back with their hands behind them. 
 " You do not believe me," said he. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said they, with one voice ; and several hands 
 were held out to prove their faith ; but they were quickly 
 withdrawn before reaching the dangerous knob. One alone, 
 a timid little girl, had tliat kind of confidence in her father 
 which led her really to trust to him. The rest believed 
 
 his word, but had not 
 heart-felt faith in it. 
 Even the little be- 
 liever's faith was not 
 unwavering. You could 
 see upon her face, when 
 the little knuckle ap- 
 proached the harmless 
 brass ball, a slight 
 expression of anxiety, 
 showing that she had 
 some doubts and fears 
 after all ; and there 
 was an evident feel- 
 ing of relief when she 
 touched the knob, and 
 
 FAITH ' 
 
 found, from actual trial, 
 that her father's word was true, and that there was really 
 nothing there. 
 
 This last is Christian faith exactly. It not only believe? 
 what the Savior says, but it acts in reliance upon it. It 
 trusts to Christ, and throws itself upon him, and tries to hush 
 its remaining fears, and to feel fully the confidence which i^ 
 knows is deserved. Still there will be too often a slight mis 
 
PARDON. 185 
 
 Doubts and feara. The way to find peace. Justified by the law. 
 
 giving, — a hesitating fear, alternating and mingling with the 
 confidence and love, — and expressing itself in the prayer, 
 "Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief" There ought 
 not to be, however, the slightest misgiving. It is sinful and 
 unreasonable, even when it exists in the smallest possible 
 degree. 
 
 Come at once then to the cross of Christ with, faith in it. 
 Real heart-felt confidence in its efficacy in taking away all 
 the necessity for punishment, if you are only ready now to 
 abandon sin. If you do this, you may be sure that peace and 
 happiness will return. 
 
 This will give you peace, but nothing else will. So deeply 
 in the human heart has God laid the feeling that sin must 
 bring suffering in its train, and that you can not get free from 
 . the burden of responsibility for the past but in this M'ay. 
 You may forget it for a time ; you may drown it by the 
 excitements of business, or of pleasure ; but the poison will 
 remain, rankling more and more, and the more clearly you 
 see your sins, and the more deep your repentance, the more 
 distinctly will you feel that repentance alone can never 
 authorize their remission. We can not be justified by any 
 deeds of the law ; that is, we can not be pardoned, — con- 
 sidered just, — ^by any thing that we can now do in obedience 
 to the law. We must be justified hy faith ; that is, if we are to 
 enjoy real peace with God, it must be through Jesus Christ our 
 Lord who gave himself for us, that we might be reconciled 
 to God through the propitiation which he has made for 
 our sins. 
 
 When a person first commences his career as a moral 
 agent, he then indeed has the alternative before him of obedi- 
 ence or disobedience ; and if he chooses the former and obeys, 
 he is then justified by the law. The phrase is almost a 
 technical one, but the meaning is obvious. He keeps the 
 law, and on account of this obedience he stands innocent and 
 
186 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Lasting eflfects of sin. Example. The sinning child. 
 
 safe. He is safe from all charges of guilt, and from all the 
 consequences of guilt. He enjoys peace of mind and a quiet 
 conscience which result from his own moral excellence, — his 
 strict obedience to the law. He is justified by works, and 
 can have no place for repentance, and no need of a Savior. 
 
 If, however, he has once committed sin, his character and 
 standing are forever changed. He is, and must be, hence- 
 forward on a different footing. Common sense teaches us 
 this ; — for suppose that among the spotless angels around 
 God's throne there was one who, millions of years ago, on 
 one single occasion, fell into a passion, or yielded his heart to 
 the dominion of any other sin. Suppose that he was brought 
 immediately to repentance, and that he returned to duty, and 
 never afterward transgressed, and that God forgave him his 
 sin, — ^liow evident it is that the moral attitude in which he 
 stands must still, thenceforth, be different from that of all the 
 others. How differently would he be looked upon ! How 
 differently must he forever feel ! The recollection would fol- 
 low him, and something like a sense of responsibility would 
 follow him, — a burden which no lapse of time, and no sub- 
 sequent obedience could remove. 
 
 It would be so, too, under any other government. Even 
 where the sin is entirely forgiven, the fact that it has once 
 been committed places the sinner on permanently different 
 ground. Among a family of affectionate children, suppose 
 that one should, on a single occasion, rebel against his father, 
 and introduce for one day derangement and suffering into the 
 usually happy circle. The father takes such measures as to 
 bring him back immediately to repentance and submission, 
 and he is forgiven ; freely and fully forgiven, — and yet how 
 plain it is that the next morning, when the family are about 
 to separate from the breakfast table, to engage in the various 
 duties of the day, that this returning and forgiven sinner, 
 stands in a moral attitude entirely different from the rest. 
 
 I 
 
PARDON, 187 
 
 Change in his moral position. Justification. Peace of conscious rectitude. 
 
 He feels differently ; his brothers feel toward him differently ; 
 his father looks upon him with new and altered thoughts. 
 The evil consequences of his sin are perhaps all over, — for 
 his father may have remedied them all. The guilt of it is 
 all gone, — for he is really penitent, and he is renewed and 
 strengthened in his feeling of affectionate submission to his 
 father. But something remains. It is not resentment against 
 him ; — his father and his brothers love him even more than 
 before. It is not suspicion ; — they feel increased confidence 
 in him, knowing that the bitter lesson that he has learned 
 will save him from wandering again. It is not alienation 
 of any kind, — ^their hearts are bound more closely to him 
 than ever, and you will see that there is a tone of greater 
 kindness, and a look of greater affection, from father and 
 mother, to this their returning son than if he had not sinned 
 and been forgiven. What is it, then, that remains? It is hard 
 to describe it, but the heart testifies that there is something 
 which places him in a new position, and gives to the affec- 
 tion of which he is an object, a peculiar character. He is 
 justified ; that is, there no longer rests upon him the respon- 
 sibilities of guilt, — ^but he is not justified by his obedience, — 
 by the deeds of the law. He has violated law, and wandered 
 from duty, and yet he is justified and loved again. 
 
 Sin, therefore, even if it is sincerely repented of and en- 
 tirely forgiven, places the soul which has committed it in a 
 new and peculiar attitude. If peace returns, it is not the 
 peace of conscious rectitude ; it is the peace of forgiveness, — 
 of reconciliation ; — as perfect as the other, but of a different 
 kind. This distinction is clear. Every one who looks into 
 his own heart will see it. The two kinds of justification and 
 of peace are brought to view continually in the New Testa- 
 ment, where almost every form of contrast and antithesis is 
 employed to set one over against the other, in order to give 
 point and prominence to the distinction. It is of immense 
 
188 THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 Peace of forgiveness. Joys of forgi 
 
 importance that the young Christian should consider this, so 
 that he may clearly understand which kind of peace and 
 happiness it is that he can hope to attain. 
 
 Forgiveness ; the proud, unsubdued, and restless spirit of 
 the world knows not what it means ; hut he who has ex- 
 perienced the enjoyment which springs from it, feels that it 
 is the richest and deepest fountain of human happiness. The 
 heart renewed, — sin throwing down its weapons and escaping 
 from the temple which it has made wretched so long, — God 
 reconciled, — the soul overflowing with the emotions of grati- 
 tude and love, to which the contrast of past indifference and 
 enmity gives a character of warmth and vividness, which 
 they can never know who have never sinned ; — the past, 
 gloomy and dark as it is, all forgiven, — the future, bright and 
 alluring with promised enjoyments which are prized the more 
 as the free unmerited gifts of infinite love, — ^these are some 
 of the feelings which mingle in the heart which is reconciled 
 to God. Others lie too deep for description ; they must he 
 experienced to he known ; hut they who know them will 
 testify, that in the sense of penitence and pardon, where it 
 has full possession of the soul, there are fountains of as pure 
 and deep enjoyment as the heart can contain. The soul rests 
 in it, bathes itself in it, as it were, with contented and peace- 
 ful delight. Other enjoyments are restless and unsatisfying. 
 This fills the soul, and leaves it nothing to wish for but to be 
 undisturbed. It is hardly proper for us to inquire why sin 
 was permitted to enter the government of God ; but this we 
 can see, that it has opened a fountain of enjoyment entirely 
 unknown before. It has brought happiness which, without 
 it, could not have been felt upon the earth, and it has even 
 introduced a new song into heaven. 
 
 But this is a digression from our path. We were endeav- 
 oring to show that sin necessarily places the soul which has 
 
PARDON. 189 
 
 The sting of sin. Its permanence. A wounded spirit. 
 
 fallen a prey to it, in an entirely new moral position. Even 
 when it is forgiven, the moral attitude in which the sinner 
 stands remains permanently changed. This is, however, not 
 the consideration with which we are here chiefly concerned. 
 We wish rather to show the change that it produces in the 
 relation which the soul sustains to its Maker, before it is for- 
 given. It fixes a burden upon the guilty mind, which can 
 not be taken off, though other objects and interests may come 
 in and, in time, hide it in some measure from his view. It 
 is thus perhaps gradually forgotten, but it is not removed. 
 It remains like a fragment of a weapon in a wound, perhaps 
 seldom noticed or felt ; but it is there, and when memory 
 brings it back to view, it sends a pang of remorse to the in- 
 most soul. Many persons carry such sins upon their con- 
 sciences all through life. Some transgression was committed 
 in early youth, which has been a thousand times forgotten, 
 and a thousand times called back by memory to view, and 
 every time it comes the heart sinks, and the spirit writhes, 
 under the rankling of the wound. 
 
 Such is sin. It is a barbed and poisoned arrow, which, if 
 once allowed to enter, will penetrate deeper and deeper, and 
 will remain, unless removed by a moral treatment adapted 
 to the moral constitution of man ; and the wound can not 
 be healed till the sin is taken away. You may cover it up ; 
 you may forget it, you may, like a man with a wounded side, 
 take care to keep the tendei: part from the slightest touch 
 which may disturb its quiet, — but the wound still is there, 
 and it can not be healed, till the sting which was left in it 
 is taken away. 
 
 Now this, my reader, is your case. Sin has reigned in 
 your heart, and consequently the peace and satisfaction of 
 perfect obedience are gone forever ; and such is the moral 
 constitution of the soul, that there is no peace left for you, 
 but that of forgiveness and reconciliation. This can not 
 
190 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The way to find peace. The Savior. Peace and pardon. 
 
 come through mere repentance, — or confession, — or reform. 
 It can not come by these means, in any case of sin or crime 
 whatever. A thief who should be pardoned by government, 
 and become truly penitent, and firmly re-established in the 
 principles of integrity, would not, and could not through these 
 alone, be restored to happiness, even as a citizen. The 
 memory of the past would be bitterness and gall, and though 
 he might gradually forget his wound, he could never by such 
 remedies be made whole ; if he had nothing else to save him, 
 he would carry the galling and heavy burden to his grave. 
 And you, if you are to find real peace, real deliverance from 
 the burdens of sin, must find it in clear views of a Savior 
 crucified for you ; and in coming to him with faith, that is, 
 cordial, unhesitating confidence, that he is able and willing 
 to save to the uttermost all who come unto God through him. 
 You must feel that, by his life, and sufferings, and death, he 
 has accomplished all which would have been effected by the 
 punishment due to your sins, and that henceforth you may 
 go free, safe, and happy in him ; — the past remitted forever, 
 and the path of holiness and peace now open broadly before 
 you and inviting you on. 
 
 We must make a clear distinction, however, between peace 
 and pardon. Cases are constantly occurring, where a person 
 who, from peculiar circumstances, has obscure or clouded 
 views of the nature of forgiveness, and the necessity of a Sa- 
 vior, is still really penitent for sin. If penitent, he will be 
 forgiven, — ^in fact he is forgiven, though it may be, as it very 
 often is, weeks and months, and even years, before he sees so 
 clearly the nature of redemption through the son of God, as 
 to have peace and happiness restored to his heart. The great 
 point is, to induce sinners to return to God, and to give their 
 hearts to him. If they do this aright, they will be humble, 
 and watchful, and prayerful, and God will guide them to all 
 truth ; but there are many instances where the returning of 
 
PARDON. 191 
 
 Peace deferred. John Bunyan's view. 
 
 peace to the troubled spirit is long delayed. The little child 
 may begin to love its Maker before it knows any thing about 
 the way of safe forgiveness ; so may a half-instructed pagan ; 
 so did in fact the Savior's disciples ; they thought that their 
 master was to have redeemed his country by the exercise of 
 some political power, and they retained this belief until they 
 actually saw him crucified ; and even in Christian countries, 
 a soul may be often so shut away from the light and influ- 
 ences of the gospel, as to feel after a Savior for a long time, 
 in vain. All such persons may be fully pardoned, and yet 
 may be slow in finding peace. It is moral renewal alone, 
 which is the essential thing for pardon. A knowledge of 
 the salvation by Jesus Christ, and clear ideas of the great 
 sacrifice for sin, give peace. St. Paul, the ablest, the most 
 powerful and thorough-going preacher of the cross that ever 
 lived, understood this, when, standing before the august as- 
 sembly at Athens, he preached simple repentance, and a 
 judgment to come. If he could induce his hearers to repent, 
 he knew that they would be saved, even though they might 
 not at once attain to such clear ideas of the propitiatory sac- 
 rifice of Christ as to make them feel assured of salvation. 
 Nay, we have higher authority still, for Jehovah himself sent 
 priests and prophets, for four thousand years, simply to call 
 upon his people to repent of sin and do their duty ; they made 
 but a very few obscure allusions to a Savior, — so obscure that 
 they were not understood till that Savior came. 
 
 John Bunyan has beautifully exhibited this view, by mak- 
 ing Christian continue to bear his burden long after he has 
 entered the narrow way. The face of the pilgrim was turned 
 toward Zion, and though he fell into many sins, and encoun- 
 tered many difificulties on the way, still his heart was chang- 
 ed. Finding the burden of his past sins now a very heavy 
 load, he seeks relief from a friend whom he meets. But the 
 friend replies, " Be content to bear thy burden, till thou com- 
 
192 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Christian at the cross. The way to remove the burderu 
 
 est to the place of deliverance : for there it will fall from 
 thy back of itself " 
 
 This burden, now, was not the burden of existing sin, but 
 of responsibility for past sin. If it had been the former, the 
 advice of the guide would have been absurd and ruinous. 
 No, it was not the present pollution of sin, but its past re- 
 sponsibilities which became so heavy a burden to the pilgrim ; 
 and though his heart was renewed, and he was in the right 
 way, it was some time before he came so near to the cross 
 of Christ, as to understand and feel its power in relieving his 
 conscience of its load. He went on afterward with light and 
 happy steps. 
 
 The great question, then, with every religious inquirer is, 
 whether you have found penitence, not whether you have 
 found peace. Do you relinquish sin ? Are you weary of 
 it, and do you loathe and abhor it, on its own account, as an 
 evil and bitter thing, from which you can sincerely pray to 
 be free ? There is a burden resting upon you, which still 
 destroys your rest, and while your heart has really returned 
 to God, and you can find no happiness but in him, you won- 
 der that you continue wounded and miserable, instead of 
 finding the relief at once, which you hoped that penitence 
 would bring. You fear, therefore, that you are nof really 
 penitent, though you are almost directly conscious that you 
 are so ; and you sink, overwhelmed with the difficulties of 
 understanding the movements and the condition of your own 
 heart. You feel a burden, and think that it must be the 
 burden of present guilt. 
 
 But if your heart is really in the condition I have described, 
 it is the burden of responsibility for past sins which hangs 
 over you and bows you down, though your heart is really re- 
 newed, and consequently you are freed, in some degree, from 
 the present power of sin. The remedy is the cross of Christ. 
 Gome to it, and see what Jesus has done and suffered for 
 
PARDON. 193 
 
 Come to the Savior. 
 
 you. Look at the moral effect of this great sacrifice, and 
 feel that it takes off all the necessity of punishment, and all 
 the burden of your guilt. Come and trust to this sacrifice. 
 Seek union with Christ, so as to be one with him, and open 
 your heart to the full admission of his assurance, that you 
 may, through this union, have all past responsibilities ended 
 forever, and that all the blessings which his unfailing obedi- 
 ence and spotless perfection have deserved, may flow in upon 
 you. But oh, remember, if you do thus come and give your- 
 self to your Savior, going free from the bitter fruits of sin, 
 through his sufferings, and expecting to enter your home in 
 heaven, under his protection, and in his name, — remember 
 that giving yourself up to him must not be an empty form. 
 Christ gave himself up for us, not to have us go on in sin, 
 after receiving forgiveness, but to redeem us from all iniquity, 
 and to purify unto himself a peculiar people. If you hope 
 for pardon in this way. you must give up the world and sin 
 entirely, and forever. Henceforth, its allurements and temp- 
 tations must be nothing to you. You must say, in language, 
 which, like a great many other passages occurring in every 
 page of the New Testament, is dark to those who have not 
 experienced its meaning. " I am crucified with Christ, never- 
 theless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me ; and the life 
 which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son 
 of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me." 
 
 1 
 
194 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Plan of this work. Analysis of preceding chaptere. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LAST SUPPER. 
 
 " I have desired to eat this passover with you, before I suffer." 
 
 The plan which has been followed in the progress of this 
 work, may not have been very obvious to the reader. It 
 was our design to present the great elementary truths of the 
 religion of the gospel, as they naturally connect themselves 
 with the circumstances of our Savior's history. We accord- 
 ingly commenced with his childhood, and were led at once 
 into a train of reflection on the nature and the character of 
 that eternal and invisible essence, whose attributes were per- 
 sonified in him. His conduct and character as a man came 
 next before us, then the views of religious duty which he 
 came to urge upon men. The rejection of his message by 
 mankind, the consequences of it, and the way by which these 
 consequences may, in any case, be prevented, naturally fol- 
 lowed, leading us a little way from the immediate history of 
 our Savior. We now return to it, — ready, however, to be 
 led away again, whenever necessary to accomplish the great 
 design of this volume. 
 
 We have already shown that the great object which the 
 Savior had in view, in the influence which he endeavored to 
 exert over men, was to induce them to repent of sin, and to 
 return to duty ; and not to make them theoretically acquaint- 
 ed with theological truth. He pressed moral obligation upon 
 them, and endeavored to arouse and to enlighten the con- 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 
 
 195 
 
 The laat supper. 
 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 science. He did indeed assure tliem of forgiveness, if they 
 would abandon sin, but he left them in a great measure, to 
 be taught by a future revelation, which was to be made by 
 his Spirit to the apostles, in what way that promised forgive- 
 ness was to be obtained. It was not until after his resurrec- 
 tion that he discoursed freely and plainly, even with his dis- 
 ciples, on this subject. Then indeed he explained the sub- 
 ject to them fully. He showed them that "he ought," that 
 is, that it was necessary for him " to have suffered these 
 things, and to enter into his glory ; and beginning at Moses 
 and all the prophets, he expounded unto them, in all the 
 Scriptures, the things concerning himself." 
 
 This full disclosure of the nature and objects of his mission 
 was thus not made until after his death. He approached, 
 however, to such a disclosure, in his last sad interview with 
 his disciples, on the night in which he was betrayed. It is 
 to the circumstances and character of this interview, that we 
 have to call the attention of our readers in this chapter. 
 
 Jerusalem was at 
 this time crowded with 
 strangers, so much so 
 that, though the enmi- 
 ty against the Savior 
 had been gathering 
 strength until it was 
 now ready to burst all 
 barriers, the leaders did 
 not dare to proceed 
 openly against him, for 
 fear of a riot among 
 these multitudes which 
 they should not be able 
 to control. They feared 
 the people, it is said, — 
 
 lERUSALEM. 
 
196 THE CORWER-STONE. 
 
 Supposed feelings of the populace. The last passover. 
 
 for the people loved to listen to him, and therefore would 
 probably defend him. They greatly misunderstood the human 
 heart. He deserved to be beloved, and they supposed that 
 he would be beloved ; but the very populace whom they so 
 much feared, instead of feeling any disposition to protect 
 their innocent victim, joined the cry against him. Far 
 from giving the enemies of Christ any embarrassment or 
 restraint, the clamor of the populace was the very means of 
 urging the Roman governor to do what his own sense of 
 justice most plainly condemned. 
 
 At all events the enemies of the Savior thought it wise to 
 proceed with caution, and they were at this time warily lay- 
 ing plots for his life. "We shall consider the nature of the 
 plan which they finally formed in the next chapter. It is 
 sufficient here to say, that Jesus knew the whole, and felt 
 that his last hour had nearly come. He had been accustom- 
 ed for some time to speak in public during the day, and at 
 night to go out to rest in the neighboring villages, or to seek 
 retirement and prayer upon the Mount of Olives. His last 
 night had now come. His last public address to men had 
 been delivered. The sun had set for the last time, to him, 
 and nothing now remained but to give his beloved disciples 
 his farewell charge, and then once more to take his midnight 
 walk, and offer his midnight prayer. 
 
 It was evening ; the evening of a great festive celebration, 
 which for fourteen hundred years had been uninterruptedly 
 observed. Established to commemorate one deliverance, and 
 to typify another very singularly analogous to it, it was in- 
 tended to continue till the Lamb of God should at length be 
 slain. A new and nobler ordinance was then to take its 
 place ; an ordinance of deeper meaning, and higher value, — 
 and of interest not to one small province only, but destined 
 to extend its influence to every nation on the globe. This 
 night, therefore, strictly speaking, was to be celebrated the 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 197 
 
 Moral greatness of the occasion. The meeting. 
 
 last passover. The thousands who crowded the city did not 
 know it ; but Jesus did, and, as he made his preparations for 
 celebrating it, with his friends, noiselessly and quietly, in 
 their upper chamber, he must have been impressed with the 
 moral greatness of the occasion. A friendless man, perse- 
 cuted and defenseless, and doomed to be executed, the next 
 day, as a malefactor, — coming, with his twelve friends, as 
 powerless and unprotected as himself, into their secluded 
 room, there to bring to a close the long series of splendid 
 celebrations which, for fourteen centuries, had been sustained 
 by God's command. Yes : the meeting on that night was 
 the connecting link between the old dispensation and the 
 new. Jesus must have so considered it. Friendless and 
 persecuted as he was, — the whole city thronged with his 
 enemies, — the plot for his destruction matured, and spies out 
 for him, — the very price for his life actually paid, and dan- 
 ger pressing around him so closely that he was obliged to 
 make his arrangements very privately, in order to be sure of 
 an uninterrupted hour, — he yet must have felt that he 
 was bringing the long series of Jewish rites and ceremonies 
 to its termination, and introducing a new dispensation, whose 
 ordinances, of nobler meaning, beginning there, were to 
 spread to every nation, and to last through all time. It is 
 strange that the place chosen for this, too, should be the very 
 heart and center of hostility to his cause. 
 
 At the appointed hour the few faithful followers of Jesus 
 came together, and as they assembled around the table, their 
 Master felt that he met them for the last time. They felt 
 it too. He told them plainly that his hour had come, and 
 they felt depressed and dejected, looking forward as they did 
 with anxiety and terror to the scenes which were to ensue. 
 They understood but very imperfectly what these scenes 
 were to be, but Jesus himself knew all. They were in the 
 dark, or at least they saw but dimly, but it was all broad 
 
198 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Anxiety and sadness. The Savior's religious instruction. 
 
 light to him. As he looked around upon his little circle of 
 adherents, he could foresee precisely what part each one 
 would take in the approaching solemnities. There was 
 Judas, with the price of his Master's blood already paid, — 
 there was Peter, who was to abandon and deny him, — and 
 not one, of all his warmest friends, but would forsake him in 
 the hour of danger, and fly. But he did not think of these 
 things. It was the last time that he was to be with them 
 before his death ; and while he was fully aware that their 
 fortitude could not stand the dreadful trial to which it was 
 soon to be exposed, he did not dwell upon such thoughts. 
 He looked upon them with interest and sympathy, not with 
 anger, — and endeavored to comfort, not to reprove them. 
 He once became agitated in speaking of his betrayal, but 
 composure soon returned. 
 
 But we must come to the discourse. The peculiar circum- 
 stances under which this meeting was held, distinguish it 
 from every other occasion on which the Savior gave religious 
 instruction. In fact we may almost say it was the first and 
 only occasion on which he gave what may be strictly called 
 religious instruction. He had pressed duty in a thousand 
 forms, before ; — here he exhibited truth. He had on every 
 occasion, — in the house and by the way, — in the thronged 
 city, and before the multitudes assembled in the fields and 
 on the sea-shore, — urged men to repent and forsake their sins ; 
 now he was to exhibit some great truths more clearly than 
 he had ever done before, to a small and select company, whose 
 hearts had long been preparing to receive them. In the 
 path along which he led the human mind, repentance came 
 first, and theology afterward ; and it would be well if cavil- 
 ing inquirers, at the present day, would follow his example. 
 They should begin by obeying the sermon on the Mount, 
 and then come and listen to the conversation at the last 
 supper. 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 199 
 
 He pressed duty first. Nicodemus. Theories of regeneration. 
 
 There is something most hirrhly interesting and instructive 
 in the manner in which the Savior adapted his communica- 
 tions to the occasions on which they were to be made, and to 
 the purposes which he endeavored to effect by them. A 
 modern preacher would have carried the metaphysics of 
 theology all over the villages of Galilee, and would have 
 puzzled the woman of Samaria, or the inquiring ruler, with 
 questions about the nature of the Godhead, or the distinction 
 between moral and natural inability. But Jesus Christ 
 pressed simple duUj. His explanations all went to throw 
 light upon the one single distinction, between right and 
 wrong. Even when Nicodemus came to him, the man 
 better qualified, perhaps, than any other one who visited 
 him, for theological discussion, he simply urged upon him 
 the necessity of the great change of heart ; he attempted 
 no explanation of the precise mode by which the heavenly 
 influence could effect it. He pressed the fact, but declined 
 all investigation of the theory. Indeed he pronounced the 
 subject beyond the grasp of our present powers ; and yet, 
 notwithstanding this, human pride and selfconceit have 
 clambered over the barrier which he thus attempted to 
 raise ; and confused, and contradictory, and unintelligible 
 speculations, agreeing in nothing but hostility to one another, 
 — ^Icilling the spirit of piety and destroying the peace of the 
 church, have been continually appearing, from that day to 
 this, — a standing and perpetual commentary on the Sivior's 
 words, and a most powerful though most melancholy proof 
 of the wisdom which dictated them. 
 
 But to return to the subject of our Savior's instructions. 
 These instructions, when addressed to the public at large, 
 related to duty, — direct, practical, immediate duty, — and he 
 seemed to love to bring duty to view in ways so clear, and in 
 cases so plain, that no proof but the testimony of conscience 
 within every man's bosom, should be necessary to establish 
 
 \ 
 
200 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Topics now brought forward. Free conversation. Truths adduced. 
 
 his positions. " If any man will do his will he shall know 
 of the doctrine," was his motto, and he acted according to it. 
 The time, however, for instruction had now come, — instruc- 
 tion in the higher truths of religion, — the nature of the 
 Deity, the relation sustained to him hy Jesus Christ, the 
 design and fruits of true religion, remission of past sins 
 through the Redeemer's blood, and the presence and in- 
 fluences of the Holy Spirit as the means of leading men to 
 repentance. These were topics on which the Savior had 
 seldom spoken didactically before, but now the last oppor- 
 tunity had come, and he opened before those who were to be 
 the future ministers of his religion, new treasures of religious 
 knowledge. He had been the preacher before, — he became 
 the religious teacher now, — and under the guidance of the 
 beloved disciple, who has recorded the conversation, let us 
 go in, to the still, solemn assembly, and hear what he has to 
 say. 
 
 It was a familiar conference, rather than a formal dis- 
 course. The disciples freely asked questions, and sometimes 
 the conversation ceased to be general, and the individuals 
 of the company talked with one another in separate groups, 
 as they happened to be seated together. The great truths 
 of religion were, however, the subjects of discussion, and 
 nothing could afford higher proof of the genuineness and 
 truth of the description of this interview, than the cautious, 
 hesitating manner in which the leading disciples are repre- 
 sented as asking their questions ; it was in precisely the way, 
 in which new and extraordinary developments of truth are 
 always received by pupils, from a teacher to whom they look 
 up with veneration and respect. But let us look at these 
 truths in detail. 
 
 1. He explained to them that he was the great manifesta- 
 tion of the Divinity to men ; and that consequently it was 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 201 
 
 Testimony respecting himself. Philip's question. Way to approach the Deity. 
 
 only through him, that the human mind could find its access 
 to the Divinity. But let us quote his words. 
 
 I am the way, and the truth, and the life : no man cometh 
 unto the Father but by me. 
 
 If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father 
 also : and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen 
 him. 
 
 Philip saith unto him, Lord show us the Father, and it 
 sufficeth us. 
 
 Jesus saith unto him. Have I been so long time with you, 
 and yet hast thou not known me, Philip ? he that hath seen 
 me, hath seen the Father ; and how sayest thou then. Show 
 us the Father ? 
 
 Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the 
 Father in me ? the words that I speak unto you, I speak not 
 of myself ; but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the 
 works. 
 
 Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in 
 me : or else believe me for the very works' sake.* 
 
 The human mind still repeats Philip's very natural re- 
 quest. " Show us the Father." It reaches forward for some 
 vision of the divinity, — the great unseen and inconceivable 
 essence, which pervades all space, and exists through all time ; 
 and it often decks out for itself, as we have shown in the 
 preceding chapter, a gorgeous image, with crown and scepter 
 and throne, which reason tells them can not exist, and which 
 if it did exist, would be a splendid idol, not God. How 
 many Christians bow to such an image, which their imagina- 
 tion has made ; — an idol more vain, in fact, than those of 
 stocks and stones, — for they at least have substance, while 
 this is but a phantom of the mind. No. Jesus Christ is the 
 personification of the Divinity for us ; the brightness of his 
 * John xiv. 6-11. 
 
202 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral dependence. Ye have not chosen me. 
 
 glory and the express image of his person, and it is by him 
 alone, that we are to find our way to the great power which 
 reigns over us all. Believe this, said the Savior, on my 
 assurance, or else believe it on account of the powers which 
 you see that I possess, and the works I do. 
 
 2. He taught them that divine influence upon the hearts 
 of men was essential to their repentance and salvation. " Ye 
 have not chosen me," said he, — " I have chosen you." What 
 a declaration I How solitary it makes the Savior in the 
 world which .he had come to redeem. More than thirty 
 years he had spent here, doing good continually, and pro- 
 claiming offers of reconciliation and pardon ; and now on the 
 last night of his life, surrounded by inveterate foes, already 
 actually sold to them, and with but a few hours of liberty 
 remaining, — he gathers privately his friends, that he may 
 have one last sad interview with them ; and here he had to 
 reflect that even these his twelve friends, among ten thousand 
 enemies, Jiad not chosen him ; — he had chosen them. He 
 stood alone, after all ; the only example of independent, 
 original holiness. The universal reign of ungodliness and 
 sin had been broken only where he had chosen individuals 
 to be saved, and trained them, by his own power, to moral 
 fruitfulness and beauty. 
 
 " Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you." How 
 much it means ! How many lessons we may, by a most 
 direct and rigid inference, draw from it ! How lofty the 
 moral courage which led him to say it ! Another man, in 
 such a case, would have strengthened the attachment of the 
 few who remained true to him, at such an hour, by praising 
 their generous fidelity in adhering to their chosen friend. 
 But Jesus, as if loving the solitary grandeur of the position in 
 which he stood, with all the world against him except these 
 twelve, gently withdraws himself even from these, " Ye 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 203 
 
 The vine and the branches. Union with Christ. The Comforter. 
 
 have not chosen me, hut I have chosen you, One of you 
 
 will betray me, another will repeatedly deny that he is 
 
 my friend, and in the course of this night, when the hour of 
 real danger shall come, every one of you will be scattered, 
 and will leave me alone." Solitary sufferer I how wide a 
 distance separated thy lofty powers, and original and stable 
 virtue, from the weak and frail and cultivated attachment 
 of thy trembling friends ! 
 
 The Savior brought to view, in many other forms, the de- 
 pendence of his disciples, for all the moral excellence which 
 they could ever hope to possess, upon their union with him. 
 
 " I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman." 
 
 " Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh 
 away ; and every branch that beareth fruit he purgeth, that 
 it may bear more fruit." 
 
 *• Now ye are clean through the word which I have spoken 
 unto you." 
 
 " Abide in me and I in you. As the branch can not bear 
 fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, no more can ye ex- 
 cept ye abide in me." 
 
 It was as if he had said. You have no spiritual life origi- 
 nating in yourselves and existing independently. You depend 
 on me. It is by divine power exercised upon you, by means 
 of your union with me, that your hearts are to be purified. 
 Without this union you will be nothing. 
 
 He spoke to them of the Comforter, also, alluding again 
 and again to this promised influence from above ; saying 
 first that he would send him from the Father, and again that 
 the Father would send him in his, the Savior's, name. This 
 Comforter, the Holy Spirit, was to enlighten their minds, and 
 comfort their hearts, and above all was to bring effectually 
 to the hearts and consciences of men, those great truths 
 which he himself had preached to the ear in vain. The 
 
iiOi THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 His work upon human hearts. The disciple's question. 
 
 three great subjects which the Spirit was to press upon the 
 attention of mankind were pointed out. Human guilt, hu- 
 man duty, and a judgment to come. " He shall reprove the 
 world of sin and of righteousness ;" of righteousness and of 
 sin, some theologians would say, reversing the order, — think- 
 ing that in a logical arrangement, right should come before 
 wrong. But no ; the Savior's view is far more true to na- 
 ture and to fact. The Holy Spirit when it comes to men, 
 finds them debased and depraved, — and righteousness, if it 
 finds a place in human hearts at all, must be preceded by 
 conviction of sin. To produce this conviction, and then to 
 awaken penitence and love, and to keep alive a sense of 
 obligation and accountability, is the work which this heav- 
 enly visitor comes to do. 
 
 The necessity of an interposition from Heaven to turn men 
 away from their sins, and to bring them to repentance, had 
 been often alluded to by our Savior before. But the truth 
 stands out with uncommon clearness and prominence in these 
 his last instructions. His pupils did not at once fully under- 
 stand it. Nay, who, we may ask, understands it now ? 
 
 " He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I 
 will love him and manifest myself to him." 
 
 " How," asked one of the disciples, " how is it that thou 
 wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world ?" 
 
 ** If a man love me," was the reply, " he will keep my 
 words, and my Father will love him, and we will come unto 
 him and make our abode with him." 
 
 It is no wonder that, with their imperfect ideas of the true 
 character of their master, and of the relation which he sus- 
 tained to the Divinity, they asked the question, how he could 
 manifest himself to them and not to the world ; — and how 
 strange must his reply have seemed to them, if they supposed 
 it came from a man like themselves. God and I will come 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 205 
 
 Eternal life a gift. God's claim often resisted. 
 
 and dwell with the good I What language, — if a mere mor- 
 tal man had uttered it. 
 
 It is most interesting to observe how, in this whole con- 
 versation, the thoughts of the Savior seem constantly to dwell 
 on this great truth, — the moral dependence of the human 
 heart on God. It comes up in various forms, again and again, 
 as if it were a truth which his mind dwelt upon, and con- 
 tinually recurred to with pleasure. Even in his prayer, it is 
 most strongly expressed, and almost in the first words that he 
 uttered. " As thou hast given him power over all flesh'' — 
 what sort of power ? we ask : — the answer follows \—^' that 
 he should give eternal life, to as many as thou hast given 
 him." And what is meant here by eternal life ? holiness 
 itself, or the reward of holiness ? " And this is eternal life," 
 the Savior proceeds, "that they might know thee, the only 
 true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent.'* The 
 knowledge of God, and of Jesus Christ his Son, is a gift from 
 the Deity to men ; and it is Jesus Christ himself who be- 
 stows it. 
 
 The heart which is still unsubdued, is restless and dissatis- 
 fied, under the claim which God thus asserts to all the praise 
 which human holiness deserves. But the soul which is really 
 penitent and humble finds its greatest happiness in feeling 
 and acknowledging it. Religion is submission to God ; and 
 the feeling of submission and the sense of dependence are 
 called for more imperiously in reference to our moral and 
 spiritual wants than to any other. There is in fact no moral 
 or spiritual safety without these feelings, and our Savior 
 knew this full well. There is scarcely any subject which he 
 brought more continually to view. On this occasion he ex- 
 pressed the sentiment again and again, in various forms ; or 
 rather expressions seemed spontaneously to flow from his lips, 
 recognizing the truth as if it were one which he dwelt upon 
 with continual pleasure. 
 
206 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The happiness of yielding to it. Feeling of dependence safe : happy. 
 
 The feeling which prompted this is one which every true 
 -Christian can understand. The highest emotion of enjoy- 
 ment which the renewed heart can feel is perhaps this sense 
 of entire, unqualified, unconditional submission to God. The 
 word submission does not however precisely express the feel- 
 ing. It is the sense of being entirely and altogether in God's 
 hands and at God's disposal, — in every respect, — for life, 
 health, prosperity, character, heart, every thing. It is when 
 this feeling has most complete and unbroken ascendency in 
 the mind that the soul attains its highest position, and enjoys 
 its purest happiness. Theoretical reasoning on the subject 
 might lead us to suppose that such a feeling would diminish 
 the sense of responsibility, and throw the soul off its guard, 
 and leave it exposed to temptation, by its trusting thus its 
 moral keeping to another. But no ; it is not so in fact. The 
 heart which lies most submissive in its Maker's hands, and 
 trusts most entirely to his protection, is the one which is most 
 alive to the guilt and dangers of sin, and most sensitive and 
 shrinking in respect to the slightest contamination. The 
 higher are its ideas of its own moral helplessness, the firmer 
 is the ground on which it stands. When it is weak, then it 
 is strong. Christian philosophy has been sadly perplexed to 
 explain the theory of moral agency, and the nature of the 
 divine control over human hearts ; but Christian experience 
 settles all questions about the fact ; and the penitent and 
 humbled soul, that is willing to leave the whole field of 
 worldly influences and all the speculations of human science, 
 and go on alone after God, will, in the depths of its own ex- 
 perience, be led to views of the extent of this control which 
 can never be forced by argument upon those who have not 
 acquired them by their own spiritual vision. The temple of 
 religious experience has all its magnificence and all its gran- 
 deur within ; and they who have found their way into the 
 inner apartments, and have actually gazed upon the solemn 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 207 
 
 Religious experience. Trust in God. Physical danger. 
 
 splendor that is there, can understand and sympathize with 
 one another ; while they who stand without can never be 
 convinced, by argument or description, of what they can not 
 see. Jesus Christ did not attempt to produce such convic- 
 tion. He adapted his discourse to the degree of progress 
 which they who heard it had made. He did not stand argu- 
 ing without, but led his followers in, and pointed out the 
 sublimer truths, and the loftier sentiments of religion, only as 
 fast as they could see and feel them. 
 
 We have seen that the feeling which seemed so to fill the 
 Savior's heart on this occasion, the entire spiritual depend- 
 ence of the human soul on God, is a safe feeling ; it is also 
 a most happy one. A sense of dependence, and confidence 
 in promised protection, are delightful emotions to hearts 
 constituted as ours are. This is true in regard to physical 
 dangers. When the dark heavy clouds gather in the 
 western sky, at the close of a sultry summer's day, and 
 flashes of lightning are seen, and heavy rolling thunder 
 seems to convulse the sky, the Christian father betakes him- 
 self to his sheltered home, and gathers his family around him, 
 and loves to come and lay the whole precious trust into his 
 Maker's hands. If his heart is right, it will be a happy 
 hour to him. He has done all that he can do, and there is 
 already over him whatever protection human art can raise 
 against the rain and hail, and the tempestuous wind and 
 fatal lightning, and all the dangers of the midnight storm ; 
 but his happiness consists iri forgetting all such protection, 
 and coming to place himself and all that are dear to him 
 under the mighty hand of God, confiding in him and him 
 alone. He knows that he can trust to nothing beside. 
 There is a roof over him, but one blast of the tempest 
 might scatter it to fragments. His walls a single bolt from 
 heaven might rend asunder, and his whole dwelling in a 
 moment burst into flame. He knows all this ; and it is his 
 
208 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The safe refuge. Other truths. Evidences of piety. 
 
 happiness to feel that though he has done all that he can 
 do, he must trust in God for safety, and in God alone. 
 
 It is exactly so with his spiritual protection. He will 
 do all that he can do, but he never will consider his 
 prayers and resolutions and watchfulness, as his real defense 
 against temptation and sin. No ; he takes delight in feel- 
 ing that, in respect to moral protection, too, his trust is wholly 
 in God ; and this feeling, that he is spiritually in his Maker's 
 hands, is not only his greatest safety, — it is his highest hap- 
 piness. The soul, too, comes to this feeling in all the trying 
 scenes, and solemn occasions of life, with peculiar pleasure. 
 It flies to it as to a refuge, and enjoys its refreshing influence 
 when nothing else would sustain or console. Our Savior 
 seems scarcely ever to have thought of it so much, and to 
 have impressed it so strongly and so repeatedly upon his 
 disciples, as in this last sad scene. 
 
 But let us proceed to consider some of the other topics which 
 Jesus brought before his disciples on this occasion. As we 
 go on, the reader will be struck at the selection that he made. 
 The great fundamental truths of religion seemed to rise before 
 him and occupy his view. His conversation was, in fact, a dis- 
 course on the theology of the gospel, bringing out its great fea- 
 tures, and holding them up prominently to view. It has not 
 the formal arrangement of a scholastic discourse, but the truths 
 are all there expressed ; and the nature of the views thus pre- 
 sented, — truths so lofty and so profound, — contributes, quite as 
 much, perhaps, as the affecting circumstances of the occasion, 
 to give to the whole description that air of majestic and affect- 
 ing solemnity, which is not equaled by any other passage, 
 even in the Bible. But let us proceed to consider the re- 
 maining topics. 
 
 3. He taught them that the true evidences of piety are its 
 fruits ; a truth of which it seems more difficult to convince 
 mankind than of almost any other. Nobody denies it in 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 209 
 
 FruitB. Common errors. Two errors. 
 
 words, but very few really believe it in fact. We are always 
 substituting something else in the place of these fruits. It 
 seems as if the Savior felt that now, as he was about to 
 leave his disciples to carry on his work alone, they would 
 be peculiarly exposed to danger from this source, and he ac- 
 cordingly pressed upon them again and again attention to it. 
 *' By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye 
 have love one to another." "If ye love me, keep my com- 
 mandments." " He that hath my commandments and keep- 
 eth them, he it is that loveth me." " If a man love me, 
 he will keep my words." " Herein is my Father glorified, 
 that ye bear much fruit, so shall ye be my disciples." Such 
 expressions were continually occurring in his discourse ; and 
 if we consider, what was unquestionably the fact, that the 
 record of John contains only a brief summary of the remarks 
 which the Savior made, we shall be convinced that he urged 
 this subject very emphatically and fully, upon the attention 
 of his disciples. 
 
 The church is, however, very slow to learn the lesson. 
 We err in two ways, sometimes by placing something else 
 entirely, in the stead of fruits, as evidences of piety, and some- 
 times on the other hand, by mistaking the nature of the fruits 
 which are to be regarded as evidence. We do this continu- 
 ally ; and probably when the day of real trial shall come, the 
 whole church will be overwhelmed with astonishment to find 
 at last what an immense amount of hollow and hypocritical 
 pretensions, ^merely, will be found under her banner. In fact, 
 the evidence which is perhaps mainly relied upon here, in 
 determining the attitude in which a man stands, in respect 
 to Christian character, is almost altogether different from that 
 pointed out by the Savior. Bold assurance of profession, and 
 religious party spirit, rank very high among the commonly 
 received evidences of piety. If a man talks confidently of 
 his change, and expresses deep interest in the duties of his 
 
210 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Abundance of talk. Party spirit in religion. Its nature. 
 
 new service, and if the language of the Christian comes flu- 
 ently from the tongue, we are slow to suspect insincerity. 
 In many such cases the very profusion of professions might 
 lead us to withhold our confidence. Empty profession is 
 generally loquacious, while sincere and devoted attachment, is 
 strong and deep in the heart, but its words are few, " Out 
 of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," the 
 reader will say. True, it speaks out of the abundance, and 
 yet it says but little. There is abundance of feeling but not 
 of words. 
 
 Party spirit in religion is another spurious proof of piety. 
 The victim of it seems to be entirely devoted to the cause of 
 Christ ; he feels indeed a strong interest in that cause, and he 
 makes continual effort and submits to great sacrifices to pro- 
 mote it. But the real fruits of piety do not reign in his heart, 
 and if he were not spiritually blind, he would see that his 
 zeal is party spirit, almost entirely ; — that is, an interest in 
 the aggrandizement of an organization as such, of which he 
 has become a constituent part. Whenever men act together, 
 the mind, by the action of one of its mysterious powers, sees 
 a new being in the union, and soon forms almost a personal 
 attachment to it. It enlists men's pride and ambition, and 
 arouses all their energies ; and devotion to this imaginary 
 existence becomes often one of the strongest passions of the 
 human mind. It is one of the sins to which the human 
 heart is most prone, and in which it is most impregnable. 
 A man usually thinks it a virtue. He sees that he is not 
 working for himself, and he persuades himself that it is the 
 principles of his party which are the object of his attach- 
 ment. But this is not the case, for when these principles 
 spread partially into other parties he is always displeased. 
 He is never satisfied at seeing his opponents coming to the 
 truth, — they must come over to his side. 
 
 This is party spirit, and the humble and devoted Christian 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 211 
 
 Its spirit. True fruits of piety. The catalogue. Love. Joy. 
 
 who really loves his Master, finds it constantly insinuating 
 itself into his heart, and acting as the motive of a very large 
 proportion of his labors in the service of his Master. The 
 tests by which this spirit can be detected we have not time 
 now to describe ; but it burns everywhere in the Christian 
 church, it influences parish against parish, and society against 
 society, and makes each denomination jealous and suspicious 
 of the rest. It frowns upon the truth and the Christian pros- 
 perity which is not found within its own pale. It is the 
 spirit of intolerance and exclusion. " We found one," it 
 says, " casting out devils in thy name, and we forbade him, 
 because he folloiveth not us.'" Banish this spirit forever. 
 If men will cast out devils, no matter whom they follow ; 
 they must do it, if they do it at all, in Jesus's name, and no 
 matter for the rest. We must not frown upon real piety or 
 truth, because they do not appear in our own uniform ; but 
 then, on the other hand, we must never confound truth with 
 error, nor admit the pretensions of any specious counterfeit 
 which may assume the name and form of piety, while it is 
 without its power. 
 
 But what are the real fruits of piety ? the reader may 
 ask. The apostle has given the catalogue. They are char- 
 acteristics of the heart, not of the external conduct. They 
 are these : 
 
 Love. The heart that is renewed experiences an entire 
 change in respect to its great ruling principles of action. In- 
 stead of being swayed by the impulses of selfishness and pas- 
 sion, its afi^ections go forth and rest upon God as their supreme 
 object, and link themselves also by indissoluble bonds with 
 every other being who is joined in heart to him. These new 
 emotions have henceforth the control. 
 
 Joy. The prevalence of universal love will go very far 
 toward producing universal enjoyment. Love is happiness, 
 and it brings happiness in every form ; and true piety will 
 
212 THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 Peace. Long-suffering. Gentleness. (roodness. 
 
 find sources of pleasure which sin never knows. Where 
 there is moroseness or melancholy, there must be something 
 wrong. It may be moral or physical disease, but it must be 
 one or the other. 
 
 Peace. Peace within the heart itself, and peace with 
 others. Selfishness is keenly alive to its own rights, and 
 keenly sensitive to injuries : and where each seeks mainly 
 his own, there must be collision. Piety quiets animosities 
 and strifes, by destroying the value of the objects of conten- 
 tion. It points men to new sources of happiness ; and these 
 new sources are such as can be enjoyed most perfectly when 
 others share them. The heart that is renewed is at peace, 
 too, within itself Its irritating passions and corroding cares 
 are all allayed, and the soul is like a summer's sea, serene 
 and placid, — the storms of passion hushed, and the golden 
 beams of the sun of righteousness reposing tranquilly upon it. 
 
 Long- Suffering. The true Christian feels that he is 
 himself forgiven, and consequently in his dealings with other 
 wrong-doers he bears long and is kind. He looks upon sin 
 with a feeling of compassion for the offender, and remembers 
 the burning from which he himself was saved. The heart- 
 less pretender can, in public, assume this language ; but 
 when off his guard at home, or in his counting-room, or field, 
 his hasty words and impatient and angry looks often betray 
 the spirit which reigns in his heart. 
 
 Gentleness. The Christian feels that his great business 
 in life is to lead hearts to the Savior : and hearts, if led at 
 all, must be led gently. The hollow-hearted pretender will 
 attempt to drive. Harsh, repulsive and tyrannical, he shows 
 that he has not experienced the grace of God ; for that al- 
 ways softens asperities, and smooths the roughness with 
 which selfishness is so often clothed. 
 
 Goodness. The renewed heart feeJs a benevolent interest 
 in the welfare of every sentient being. It desires universal 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 213 
 
 Faith. Meekness. Temperance. 
 
 happiness, and springs, with an ever ready alacrity, to pro- 
 duce it, wherever Providence shall present the opportunity. 
 The great public effort, the generous donation, the open deed 
 of charity, may he the result of pride, or ostentation, or party 
 spirit ; but real Christian benignity shows itself in all the 
 thousand nameless occasions where a word or a look or a 
 trifling action may give pleasure. It shows itself in great 
 efforts too ; but the highest proof of its existence and its 
 power, is its continued, and universal, and spontaneous ac- 
 tion. 
 
 Faith. True piety believes what God declares, and trusts 
 to it too. It sees heavenly realities, and feels their influence 
 continually. It trusts in God's care, realizing that every 
 mercy is his gift, and bowing submissively to affliction and 
 trial. Hypocrisy is sound in its theoretical views, but it re- 
 pines at losses, — or stands restless and uneasy over the cradle 
 of a sick child, — or proves by the manner in which it pursues 
 this world, that it has no faith in God's promises about the 
 happiness of another. 
 
 Meekness, The sincere Christian is humble in respect to 
 himself, and indulgent and mild toward others. Having 
 some conceptions of the deceitful wickedness of his own heart, 
 he looks upon the worst of men as brother sinners. The 
 hypocrite can not see his own pollution and guilt, and is 
 consequently haughty, censorious, and uncharitable in respect 
 to the failings of his fellow-men. 
 
 Temperance. The worldly enjoyments of the sincere dis- 
 ciple are in all respects regulated by Christian principles. 
 The regulator, existing in the heart, acts always, and with 
 steady consistency. Hypocrisy restrains those indulgences 
 which men would see and condemn, but she rewards herself 
 for her venal virtue by the freedom of her secret sins. 
 
 Such are the fruits of piety, as enumerated by an inspired 
 apostle. It was such fruits as these that our Savior had in 
 
214 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Other occurrences at the interview. The Lord's supper. 
 
 view. He charged his disciples, again and again, to look for 
 these as the only evidences that human professions of love to 
 him were really sincere. 
 
 We have thus considered the three great truths which 
 stand out most prominently in the instructions of this occa- 
 sion. There were, however, various other topics discussed, 
 and various incidents likewise occurred, which it does not 
 comport with our present purpose to describe. There are 
 many considerations which it would he highly interesting to 
 present, such as the perfect frankness with which Jesus fore- 
 told the dangers and sufferings which his disciples were about 
 to incur in his cause ; the frequency and earnestness with 
 which he pressed upon them the promised efficacy of prayer, 
 sometimes saying that he, and sometimes that the Father 
 would grant their requests ; and the manner in which he 
 presented to them the comforts and consolations of religion, 
 as their refuge and solace in their future trials. These things, 
 however, we can not dwell upon now. 
 
 At the close of the interview the Savior established the 
 great Christian ordinance which has been celebrated in com- 
 memoration of his death in every age, without interruption, 
 from that day to this. The circumstances under which the or- 
 dinance was established teach us a lesson, as we have already 
 briefly said in a preceding chapter, in regard to the manner 
 in which our Savior regarded forms and ceremonies, which 
 his followers have in all ages been very prone to forget. It 
 is not that they overrate the importance of external religious 
 observances, but that they forget what it is upon which their 
 importance and value entirely depend, — namely, their spirit- 
 ual meaning, and the feelings of heart with which they are 
 performed. 
 
 It was one great object of the Savior's preaching to call 
 the attention of men from outward actions to inward char- 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 
 
 215 
 
 The Savior's view of ceremonies. Forms and feelings. Baptism. 
 
 acter, and the manner in which he instituted this last solemn 
 ceremony is precisely in keeping with the whole tenor of his 
 public instructions. There is no formal ceremonious prepa- 
 ration for it ; there are no studied arrangements and no cau- 
 tions prescription of mode and form ; but when the time 
 arrives for his last farewell, he merely sets apart, in the most 
 simple manner, his last solemn act of intercourse with his 
 disciples, as a perpetual memorial of his death ; — and he does 
 it too in such a way as most effectually to fix their minds 
 upon its moral meaning, — its spiritual effect. He did not 
 devise any new ceremony for the purpose, but only paused 
 upon a portion of the solemn transaction in which he was 
 last engaged, and consecrated that. He did it too in lan- 
 guage so brief and general as to show that moral impression, 
 not ceremonial exactness, was what he had in view in look- 
 ing forward to future celebrations of the ordinance, by his 
 followers in ages to come. " Take these," says he, as he 
 offers them the bread which had been placed upon the table 
 for another purpose, and poured out another cup of their 
 simple wine. " Take these as emblems of my sufferings and 
 death, incurred for the remission of your sins, and henceforth 
 do this in remembrance of me. As often as you do it, you 
 do show forth the Lord's death until he come." 
 
 The Savior acted evidently upon the same principles in 
 regard to the other great ceremony of the Christian religion. 
 He wished for some mode by which an open profession of at- 
 tachment to him might be made ; and he just adopts the one 
 already in use, for such a purpose. He did not contrive 
 baptism, as a mode of publicly professing piety, — ^he merely 
 adopted it, formed already, as it was, to his hands. The 
 people were accustomed to it. Their associations were al- 
 ready formed in connection with it, and this rendered it con* 
 venient for immediate adoption. He would probably have 
 taken any other form had any other been more convenient 
 
216 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Tho rainbow. Ceremonies symbolicaL 
 
 and common. The one chosen is indeed highly appropriate ; 
 denoting so clearly the inward purification which the open 
 profession of faith in Christ and of adhesion to his cause 
 should always bring with it ; hut it is the sincerity with 
 which it is performed, not the appropriateness of its char- 
 acter, which gives it all its value. 
 
 Such is the origin then of the ceremonies of the Christian 
 faith. For a mode of admission to his church, the Savior 
 simply takes the ordinary sign of reUgious profession among 
 the people with whom he lived ; and in the selection of a 
 ceremony to conmiemorate his sufferings and death, and to 
 be, in all ages and in every land, a perpetual memorial of 
 the most momentous transaction which ever occurred, he 
 simply pauses a moment upon the last act which he perform- 
 ed in the presence of his friends, — an act most solemnly sig- 
 nificant, it is true, — and consecrates that to the great purpose 
 which he had in view. It reminds us of a transaction which 
 occurred twenty-five centuries before, when Jehovah, after 
 the flood, wishing to quiet the fears which future clouds and 
 storms might awaken among his children, just takes the rain- 
 bow, the object most obvious on the occasion when it is 
 wanted, as the token of his promised protection. In nothing 
 more strikingly than in this, are false religions distinguishable 
 from true. The former are yielding and flexible as to prin- 
 ciples, but minute in the specification of forms, and unbend- 
 ing in the exaction of obedience. The latter makes moral 
 principle the rock, unmoved and immovable though heaven 
 and earth should pass away ; but when it comes to signs and 
 ceremonies it is liberal in the extreme. The ordinances of 
 the gospel are indeed appropriate and symbolical, but they 
 are no more so than a thousand others would have been, 
 which, under different circumstances, it would have been 
 quite as convenient to adopt. The ceremony of admission to 
 the church would have had as much meaning if it had con- 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 217 
 
 Monuments. A contrast. The pyramids and the Lord's supper. 
 
 sisted simply in holding up the hands to heaven, or appearing 
 in a white robe, the emblem of purity, or in making the sign 
 of the cross upon the forehead. 
 
 And yet there is something in the simple att which Jesus 
 Christ consecrated as a memorial of him, which renders it 
 admirably adapted to its purpose. Other persons have gen- 
 erally endeavored to perpetuate their memory by leaving 
 some magnificent monument behind them. One of the most 
 striking exhibitions that human beings make of the mysteri- 
 ous principles of their nature, is, by their desperate struggles 
 to keep a place for their names upon the earth, after they 
 have themselves gone beneath the ground. One founds a 
 city ; another, at a vast expense, erects a mausoleum, and a 
 third stamps his effigy upon a medal or a coin. But Jesus 
 Christ understood human nature better. He used no marble, 
 or brass, or iron, — he laid no deep foundations, and reared no 
 lofty columns. When he bade the world farewell, he simply 
 asked his friends occasionally to perform one simple act in 
 remembrance of him. 
 
 He was wiser than the builders of the pyramids. A hun- 
 dred thousand men, if ancient story be true, were employed 
 by one monarch, for twenty years, in rearing the pile which 
 was to perpetuate his memory. The Savior accomplished 
 this end far more effectually by a few parting words. 
 
 Yes ; Jesus Christ left us as a memorial, not a magnifi- 
 cent thing to be looked at, but a very simple thing to be 
 done ; and the influence, in keeping the remembrance of the 
 Savior before the minds of men, which the simple ceremony 
 has exerted, for eighteen centuries, and which it still exerts, 
 shows the wisdom of the plan. Its very simplicity, too, is 
 the means of rendering it, to a considerable extent, a test of 
 the sincerity of professed attachment to the Savior ; for the 
 ceremony can not long continue in its simplicity, unless such 
 attachment sustains it. When love is gone, it becomes un- 
 
 K 
 
218 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Test of siiKJerity. Exact obedience. 
 
 meaning, and from its very nature there is nothing but its 
 meaning to give it interest among men. When the heart 
 ceases to be in it, then there is but one alternative, — ^it must 
 lose its whole Value, and ultimately be abandoned, or else 
 pomp and parade must come in, to supply the interest which 
 grateful recollection ought to give. It has accordingly in 
 some cases been converted into pomp and parade, and in 
 others gradually lost its interest and disappeared. But with 
 these dangers on every side, the institution has still lived and 
 flourished, and its observance is gradually spreading to every 
 nation on the globe. 
 
 We have already, once or twice, alluded to the manner in 
 which our Savior selected and established the ceremonies of 
 our religion, as evidence of the manner in which he regarded 
 them, namely, as means,, valuable only on account of their 
 conduciveness to an end ; — and that end, too, a moral, not a 
 ceremonial one. This consideration is important to us now, 
 because it affects the degree of strictness with which we ob- 
 serve these institutions in their precise form. If the cere- 
 monies had been valuable on their own account, if there had 
 been any intrinsic efficacy in them, and if, in consequence of 
 this, their details had been minutely prescribed, they should 
 have been observed with the most precise and scrupulous ac- 
 curacy. If, on the other hand, they are solely valuable on 
 account of their vrwral expression, so to speak, then such 
 precise and scrupulous accuracy is not necessary. There 
 ought, certainly, to be no deviations without sufficient cause, 
 in either case ; but a cause which would abundantly justify 
 deviation in the latter, would not justify it in the former. 
 If for instance a father, on leaving home, gives directions that 
 a sick child should take a certain medicine at seven o'clock 
 in the evening, to be followed two hours afterward with 
 bathing, in water prepared in a prescribed way, it would 
 be the duty of those left in charge to be precise in 
 
THE LAST SUPPER, 
 
 219 
 
 The father's two directions. 
 
 Principles of compliance. 
 
 THE DIRECTIONS, 
 
 compliance. The effi- 
 cacy is in the things 
 to be done, not in their 
 moral effect, and con- 
 sequently the things 
 must be done exactly. 
 On the other hand, 
 suppose that he re- 
 quested his family to 
 assemble at a certain 
 window, where they 
 had often sat with him 
 every Saturday even- 
 ing, at seven o'clock, to 
 sing a hymn which he 
 had written and taught 
 them. Here the object 
 
 is of a different kind altogether. The directions are just as pre- 
 cise, but the common sense of every family would make a distinc- 
 tion between the degree of exact precision necessary in com- 
 pliance. If, on some evening, company should chance to be 
 present and should protract their stay beyond the time as- 
 signed, they would assemble to sing their hymn of remem- 
 brance half an hour later. But company would not have 
 led them to postpone administering the medicine beyond the 
 appointed time. So if the room assigned for the meeting 
 were, on som.e evening, cold and uncomfortable, they would 
 not hesitate to assemble around the fire in another apartment 
 instead of that ; or if the mother were sick and confined to 
 her chamber, on one of the Saturday evenings during the 
 father's absence, they would gather around her bed to sing 
 their hymn. They would, however, by no means be led to 
 deviate so easily from the precise directions in the other case. 
 They would not perhaps be able to point out to one another 
 
220 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Ceremonies of false and true religions. Meaning of ' Do this.' 
 
 the philosophical grounds of the distinction, but there would 
 be an immediate and spontaneous perception of it, and its in- 
 fluence upon their practice would be decisive. 
 
 Now the ceremonies of all false religions are of the kind 
 represented by the former of the above suppositions ; that is, 
 rather of the former than the latter. Their value does not 
 consist in their moral expression, but in their supposed intrin- 
 sic efficacy. The Hindoo bathes in the Ganges, and the 
 Mussulman mutters his prayers, with a view to the efficacy 
 of the ceremony itself. This efficacy is all imaginary, we 
 admit, — still it is with a view to it that he acts, and conse- 
 quently he must be precise and punctilious as to forms. True 
 religion makes use of outward rites for a different purpose ; 
 it is in their meaning, and in the feelings of the heart with 
 which they are performed that all their power resides, and 
 we are consequently, in our observance of them, held to far 
 less punctilious exactness as to forms. The vague and gen- 
 eral terms in which these rites were instituted show, as we 
 have already once or twice remarked, that this is the view 
 which our Savior took of them. " Do this in remembrance 
 of me." What is meant by doing this ? What is this, 
 precisely ? How much is included in it ? Does it mean. 
 Eat and drink , in remembrance of me, or Eat bread and 
 drink wine, or Eat bread and drink wine, together, or Eat 
 bread and drink wine together after a supper ? I might 
 go on thus indefinitely, adding circumstance after circum- 
 stance, and inquire how many of all are meant to be included 
 in the phrase " Do this." The general practice of Chris- 
 tians has decided to stop at the third of the above steps, that 
 is, Doing this, means Eat bread and drink wine, together, 
 in remembrance of me ; but they would probably find it diffi- 
 cult to show why they imitate the Savior's example in re- 
 spect to the nature of the food, and to partaking of it in an 
 jmbly of Christians, and not in the many other circum- 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 221 
 
 Circumstances excluded. Principles. Moral effect to be secured. 
 
 stances which were a part of the transaction then, but are 
 not so now. It was in the night, — females were excluded, — 
 there was a supper before the ceremony, — and this supper 
 was an annual festival. By common consent we exclude all 
 these circumstances, in interpreting the phrase "Do this." 
 I have said it would be difficult to show why we go just so 
 far as we do, and no farther, in interpreting the language : I 
 mean it would be difficult to find grounds for precisely the 
 selection which has by common consent been made, in any 
 thing which was actually said and done on the occasion. 
 But by taking the views of the nature and design of religious 
 rites which are presented above, the case is clear. The moral 
 meaning and the moral influence of the ceremony being all 
 that are essential, we are regulated by them, in regard to the 
 degree of precision with which we follow the example set us. 
 So far as is convenient, and only so far, we conform in re- 
 spect to the food ; so as not unnecessarily to vary from the 
 original circumstances. We come together to celebrate the 
 ordinance ; for the assembling of Christians for the purpose, 
 is a circumstance which contributes to the moral effect. We 
 admit females, for the same reason. We do not insist on its 
 being after a supper, nor at an annual festival, nor in the 
 night, nor in an upper chamber, for all these, though doubt- 
 less they were the circumstances under which the institution 
 was established, have no share in the production of the effect. 
 The whole Christian world most evidently takes this view of 
 the ordinance, in practice ; and our Savior would undoubt- 
 edly have been more precise and specific in his directions, if 
 he had intended that we should take any other view. 
 
 I have dwelt, perhaps, longer on this subject than many 
 readers will think necessary, because it is one, they will say, 
 on which there is no dispute. This is the very reason why I 
 have made it the occasion of presenting what, it seems to me, 
 is the true view of the ceremonial aspects of Christianity. 
 
222 THE COE.NER-STONE. 
 
 No dispute on this subject. Principles universally applicable. Formalists. 
 
 The principles, which appear clear and plain here, because 
 the mind can look at them uninfluenced by any bias, are uni- 
 versally applicable, and it is of immense consequence that 
 every mind which is shaping its views of religious truth 
 should entertain right views here. There are formalists in 
 all denominations of Christians, and perhaps quite as many in 
 those which, in theory, are most decided in their rejection of 
 forms. As society advances, and as new denominations arise, 
 new religious customs gradually grow up, established first by 
 a few leading Christians, and acquiring, in process of years, 
 a very strong ascendency over the mind. There is no harm 
 in this, if it is always borne in mind, that these are all means, 
 not ends, and that moral effect on the heart and life is the 
 only object which is ultimately valuable. There is a great 
 tendency in the human mind to forget this, and to substitute 
 the sign for the thing signified, — to rest upon the mere form, 
 — and to attach that importance to a precise compliance with 
 the circumstances of its original institution, which belongs 
 only to the moral power which it should exert over the heart. 
 By feeling and acting thus, we leave the spirit of Christian- 
 ity, and approach toward the practices and feelings of pagan 
 superstition, where form is all, and spirituality nothing. We 
 go to different lengths in this approximation toward pagan- 
 ism ; and in some cases the whole journey is made, and the 
 professing Christian, in the frigid formality of his observances, 
 seems to come out almost entirely upon the pagan ground. 
 The reader will, very probably, charge such a fault, however, 
 upon other denominations, not upon his own ; but there is 
 unfortunately no monopoly of this sin. Where it would be 
 perhaps least expected, it sometimes most decidedly appears. 
 Many a congregationalist attends his private meeting, or stands 
 up to hear an extemporaneous prayer with as much of the 
 spirit of the formalist as ever a Catholic felt when counting 
 his beads, or burning candles before the picture of the Virgin. 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 223 
 
 No denomination free. Liberality. Difference of opinion unavoidable. 
 
 Substituting the forms for the spirit of Christianity, is one of 
 the inveterate and universal habits of the human soul ; — in- 
 terwoven with all its feelings, and as difficult to be eradicated 
 as any one. Its action is less apparent in those denomina- 
 tions whose modes of government and of worship are not 
 precisely arranged, but it is not less real ; — and how much 
 less common it is, is perhaps more doubtful than is generally 
 supposed. 
 
 Understand then. Christian, what is the true nature and 
 design of a religious ceremony, — whether it was instituted 
 by Christ, or one which has gradually grown up as a relig- 
 ous custom, in the denomination with which you are con- 
 nected. Consider well that its whole value, and its whole 
 power, consist in its spiritual effect on the heart and con- 
 science. See that you secure this spiritual effect, and never 
 surrender your heart to the deadening influence of scrupulous 
 attachment to mere external ceremony. 
 
 There is one error on this subject into which we are very 
 likely to fall, and of which we are more especially in danger, 
 in proportion as we more fully adopt the views above pre- 
 sented. The danger is this, that we shall pertinaciously in- 
 sist that other Christians, and other denominations particu- 
 larly, shall come precisely to our standard in regard to this 
 subject. Now, since our Savior left his directions so general, 
 there must inevitably be a difference of opinion among Chris- 
 tians, in regard to the precision with which we must imitate 
 the circumstances of the first establishment of these cere- 
 monies ; in fact, it is not improbable that the different cir- 
 cumstances and relations of society render some variety de- 
 sirable. Now, each body of Christians is bound to act 
 according to its own ideas of the Savior's wishes, and the rest 
 ought not to complain. Suppose, for example, a Christian 
 church were to come to the conclusion that they ought to 
 make use of the wine of Palestine for the ordinance of the 
 
224 THE CORNER-STONE, 
 
 Case supposed. Wine of Palestine. Each church not judge for itself. 
 
 Lord's supper. They are honest in this opinion, we will sup- 
 pose, and at a considerable expense send to Palestine and 
 procure a supply, and always make use of it at their com- 
 munion seasons. We suppose them to be mistaken, — ^yet 
 still they are honest, and really believe that the Savior in- 
 tended that they should comply, in this particular, with his 
 example. They gather therefore quietly by themselves, and 
 celebrate the supper according to their own views of the 
 requisition of their Lord. Of course, it must be their opinion 
 that other churches are not fully complying with the com- 
 mand, and they must say so ; and though they may admit that 
 the members of other churches are sincere and devoted Chris- 
 tians, they can not consider them as performing aright their 
 official duty. Now what, most plainly, is the duty of other 
 churches in such a case ? Why, to leave these their brethren 
 unmolested and in peace at their own communion table, to 
 comply with the directions of their Lord according to their 
 own understanding of them ; to do this pleasantly and good- 
 humoredly, too, without any taunts and reproaches about 
 their uncharitableness, and censoriousness, and closeness of 
 communion. 
 
 In the same manner, if one denomination supposes some 
 circumstances in the mode of ordaining pastors, or admitting 
 members to the churches, or some views of Christian duty, to 
 be essential, while they are not so regarded by others, what 
 ought the others to do ? Why, simply to allow these breth- 
 ren to pursue their own course, unmolested and in peace. 
 They are bound to act according to their own views of the 
 wishes of the Savior. If they do honestly consider that cer- 
 tain conditions with which you have not complied, are essen- 
 tial to a proper celebration of the Lord's supper, they can not 
 consistently, however much they may esteem your piety, ad- 
 mit you to their table until you have complied with them. 
 You ought not then, in such a case, to stand knocking at the 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 226 
 
 Modes of ordination. Admission to the church. True intolerance. 
 
 door and demanding entrance ; — ^you ought to go quietly and 
 spread a table for yourselves. They do not prevent it. 
 They simply say, our views and yours differ as to what 
 in this point is essential ; — we must be governed by our 
 convictions, — ^therefore in this point, and in this only, we 
 must separate. 
 
 In the same manner, if a class of Christians think that a 
 certain mode of ordination is the only valid one, or that cer- 
 tain views of religious truth are essential, they can not of 
 course include those who differ from them in these respects 
 in the circle of official ministerial intercourse. There is no 
 bigotry or intolerance in this. There is certainly no bigotry 
 or intolerance in a man's doing what he himself thinks is 
 right, if he does not molest his neighbors, or prevent, by other 
 means than moral ones, their doing what they think right. 
 Nor is there any, in a church's confining its official measures 
 strictly to the field which is marked out by its views of of- 
 ficial duty. The world is wide enough for the other churches 
 to act freely according to their ideas. No ; the intolerance 
 and bigotry is all on the other side. It is not in the quiet 
 firmness with which a church guards its doors according to 
 its own conscientious ideas of duty, but it is in the loud vocif- 
 erations of the crowd which has assembled without, demand- 
 ing admittance as a right. If there was but one communion 
 table, and but one pulpit in the world, the majority in pos- 
 session should indeed be careful whom they excluded ; and 
 if the disciples of Christ were, or ought to be, united into one 
 great denomination, they who should obtain the control of 
 its measures, would rest under a most fearful responsibility. 
 But this the Savior undoubtedly never intended. He made 
 no arrangement for such an organization, and did not com- 
 mand it. In carrying out his principles, and in extending 
 them throughout the globe. Christians unite themselves in 
 companies, and link themselves together by ties, just as they 
 
 K* 
 
220 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Practical application. Weak and sickly Christians. Directions. 
 
 please ; and each band must be governed by its own views 
 of truth and duty, and ought to be left without molestation 
 by the rest. We may endeavor to alter, by argument, the 
 views themselves, but we must not complain that the con- 
 duct is governed by them, as long as they are really enter- 
 tained ; nor load with opprobrious epithets those whose views 
 of church policy compel them to deny our regular official 
 connection with their organization. Their denial can do 
 us no harm, if they leave us to act unmolested in our own 
 communion, and we ought to leave them to act unmolested 
 in theirs. 
 
 The celebration of the Lord's supper is particularly de- 
 scribed once more in the New Testament, namely, in the 
 epistle to the Corinthians. Paul there tells his readers that 
 there were a great many weak and sickly Christians in their 
 church, and attributes their condition to their negligence in 
 respect to this ordinance. There are weak and sickly Chris- 
 tians everywhere, and the communion service, if it was 
 properly understood, would be the most effectual means of 
 restoring them to health. In bringing this chapter to a con- 
 clusion, then, it may be well to call the attention of the reader 
 a little to this point. How shall we celebrate the Lord's 
 supper ? How shall we secure the spiritual effect of it, ac- 
 cording to the views presented in the preceding pages ? 
 
 Consider what the ceremony means. It is intended to 
 bring to our minds the death of Christ, — to remind us of his 
 blood flowing, and his body pierced /or ws, — "for the remis- 
 sion of sins," as is expressly stated. In order to eat the bread 
 then, and drink the cup, worthily, this must be in mind ; and 
 it is the moral and spiritual effect of this truth upon the 
 heart, which is to be chiefly sought for when we come around 
 the table of the Lord. 
 
 "It is the night of the preparatory lecture," says one of 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 227 
 
 The sickly Christian. Preparatory lecture. Communion day. 
 
 the weak, sickly Christians pointed at by Paul, in the passage 
 above quoted. " Let me see, — shall I go ?" 
 
 The speaker has been all day engaged in the world, and 
 his heart is still full of its interests and cares. On the other 
 hand, there is the habit of going to the preparatory lecture. 
 After a brief mental conflict the habit, or, as it perhaps 
 should be called, the attachment to form, conquers, though 
 he fancies that the victory is gained by Christian principle. 
 He walks to the meeting at the appointed time, either think- 
 ing by the way of his worldly plans, or else indulging a feeling 
 of self-complacence at the thought of the superior interest 
 which he feels in religious duty, when he sees how few of 
 his brethren are to be there. 
 
 He listens to the discourse, much as he would listen to any 
 other sermon, and applies the general considerations it pre- 
 sents, with the same fidelity, to his own case, that this class 
 of Christians usually exemplify. In his way home he may 
 make a remark or two to others who accompany him, about 
 the discourse, or the smallness of the number who were pres- 
 ent ; and then the world, even if it was actually excluded 
 while he was in the house of God, which is more than doubt- 
 ful, presses in upon him again. The approaching solemnity 
 passes from his mind, until, on the next Sabbath, when he is 
 walking up the aisle to his pew, his eye falls upon the plate 
 arranged for the ordinance, and he says to himself, " Ah ! 
 the communion is to be administered to-day." 
 
 During the administration of the ordinance he endeavors 
 to listen to the pastor's remarks, but he finds it somewhat 
 difiicult to attend to them. Some few very vague and gen- 
 eral religious impressions pass through his mind, and when 
 the cup is handed to him, he looks serious and takes his 
 portion with a very reverential air ; and something like a 
 general supplication for forgiveness, and for greater measures 
 of holiness, pass through his mind. There is something like 
 
228 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Feelings at the communion table. Its true design. Its proper effects. 
 
 a slight feeling of impatience at the delay while the elements 
 are passing to the others. And yet it is not impatience, 
 exactly, — ^but he has no employment for his thoughts, and 
 he feels a little satisfaction when the ceremony is over. He 
 walks home at last, feeling that he has been discharging a 
 duty, which, though it was not an unpleasant one certainly, 
 he is pleased to think is done. 
 
 The communion service to such an one is a dead letter ; 
 a lifeless, heartless, useless form ; and thousands of Christians 
 everywhere thus pervert the ordinance which God designed 
 to be perhaps one of the most efficacious means of grace that 
 the Christian is permitted to enjoy. 
 
 Now in order to clearly understand the mode in which 
 this ordinance ought to be celebrated, so as to secure its 
 spiritual blessings, let the reader call to mind what was said 
 in the close of the last chapter, respecting the means by 
 which the soul is to come to Christ in faith, so as to secure 
 forgiveness for the past, and spiritual strength for the future, 
 through a union with Mm. The great design of the Lord's 
 supper is simply to renew this union. When we first re- 
 pent of sin, and return to duty, we come to the Savior, and seek 
 such a connection with him as that our sins may be pardoned 
 through his sufferings and death, and that we may have 
 strength furnished us through him, to go on our way safely 
 in future. If this change were entire and complete, — if it 
 overturned forever the dominion of sin, and established the 
 perpetual and perfect reign of holiness, we should perhaps 
 never have occasion to repeat the transaction, and our celebra- 
 tion of the supper would be simply an act of grateful remem- 
 brance, — a memorial merely of the Savior's love. But it is 
 not so. Sin continues its hold. It is always ready to rise to 
 re-assert successfully its power, and the communion season 
 returns to us from time to time, to give us an opportunity 
 of breaking free again and again, and seeking by the moral 
 
THE LAST SUPPER. 229 
 
 Examination. Confession. Reunion. Partaking unworthily. 
 
 power of the sufferings and death which we celebrate, new 
 relief for the conscience, new pardon for sin, new spiritual 
 life, new peace and higher happiness. Whenever therefore 
 it returns, it should bring us to a most thorough and effectual 
 investigation of our standing and progress as disciples of the 
 Savior. It is the time of periodical settlement between our 
 souls and God, when the account should be most carefully- 
 examined, and all sins brought out fully to view ; every 
 secret hold which the world has upon us should be dis- 
 covered and broken, and thus the soul should be brought 
 into a state to give itself away anew and without reserve to 
 its Master's work. The world and its cares are to be left 
 behind, all past sins fully examined and fully acknowledged, 
 and the responsibility for them to be brought and laid upon 
 him who is mighty to save. Peace would then return. The 
 collected anxieties and troubles of conscience would all dis- 
 appear. Habits of sin beginning to be formed would be 
 broken up, and the soul refreshed and restored, and reunited 
 to its Savior, would have made, at each successive return 
 of the solemn ceremony, a decided advance in holiness and 
 happiness. 
 
 But how different is it often in fact. We come to the 
 scene of our Master's sufferings and death, and bring the 
 world all with us. One comes with his quarrels, another 
 with his business ; this brother leads some daring sin in by 
 the hand, and that one is cold and hard in heart, looking on 
 with stupid indifference at the solemn symbols. Of one 
 thing, however, we may be sure. The design of this ordi- 
 nance is very clear, and God has indicated very plainly what 
 are the feelings with which he wishes us to observe it ; and 
 he has left, in the most decisive language, his warning of the 
 danger of our thus coming and profaning what he has made 
 sacred. The institution was designed to have a deep mean- 
 ing, and to produce a powerful effect. By coming without 
 
230 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Giiilt and consequences of it. Lukewarm Ghristiang. 
 
 examination, and without preparation of heart, and without 
 a desire for the spiritual blessings which it is designed to pro- 
 cure, we are doing all that we can to degrade what God has 
 elevated, — to destroy its character and power and spiritual 
 influence, — and to bring it to contempt. 
 
 I need not repeat the language in which God has threat- 
 ened those who eat and drink unworthily. It would be 
 plain if such language had not been used, that God must 
 consider the intrusion of worldliness and sin into the places 
 which he has endeavored to make sacred, as an offense of the 
 highest character. The prosperity of his kingdom in this 
 world depends more upon the purity of his church, and the 
 elevation of its standard of piety, than upon any thing else ; 
 and throughout the whole of the New Testament no design 
 is more apparent, or more earnestly pursued, than that of 
 separating his friends by a clear line of demarkation, from his 
 enemies, and keeping his church pure. The worldly Chris- 
 tians, or rather the worldly professors of religion, crowd 
 around thi9 line, and obliterate all its distinctness. They 
 allure many a sincere follower to it, who would otherwise 
 keep away ; and thus they are thwarting, most directly and 
 most effectually, the progress of the Savior's kingdom. 
 
 But what shall we do, perhaps some one may ask, if we 
 find, when the time of the communion service arrives, that 
 our hearts are not in the right state, — shall we remain away ? 
 This question is one very difficult to answer. What it is 
 best for one to do who is a professing Christian, and yet will 
 not give up the world and sin, when the time arrives for 
 renewing the solemn consecration of himself to his Maker's 
 service, is hard to say. It is a sad alternative, if one is fixed 
 upon it, — either to disobey Christ's command altogether, or 
 comply with it hypocritically. One thing however is cer- 
 tain, that if we have any adequate ideas of our obligations 
 and our accountability, — if we feel at all what it is to go 
 
THE LAST SUPfEK. 231 
 
 The sad alternative. The Savior's farewell hymn. 
 
 into the very presence of the Savior, and among his best 
 friends, — a secret enemy ; if, in a word, we could see the 
 solemn ceremony which he instituted, as he sees it, we should 
 be afraid to go and be the Judas there. 
 
 " And when they had smig an hymn they went out into 
 the Mount of Olives." The Savior and his disciples stood 
 around their table and sang an hymn. It was the Redeem- 
 er's last public act, — his final farewell. He had presided 
 over many an assembly, guiding their devotions or explaining 
 to them the principles of religion. Sometimes the thronging 
 multitudes had gathered around him on the sea-shore ; some- 
 times they had crowded into a private dwelling, and some- 
 times he sat in the synagogue, and explained the law to the 
 congregation assembled there. But the last moment had 
 now come ; he was presiding in the last assembly, which, by 
 his mortal powers, he should ever address ; and when the 
 hour for separation came, the last tones in which his voice 
 uttered itself, were heard in song. 
 
 What could have been their hymn ? Its sentiments and 
 feelings, they who can appreciate the occasion may perhaps 
 conceive, but what were its words ? Beloved disciple, why 
 didst thou not record them ? They should have been sung 
 in every nation, and language and clime. We would have 
 fixed them in our hearts, and taught them to our children, 
 and whenever we came together to commemorate our Re- 
 deemer's sufierings, we would never have separated without 
 singing his parting hymn. 
 
232 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Dramatic interest of the narrative of the crucifixion. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CRUCIFIERS. 
 "The Lord looketh on the heart." 
 
 An instance of as high dramatic beauty and interest as the 
 Bible furnishes, is to be found in the arrangement of the cir- 
 cumstances connected with the great final scene which it 
 portrays. Fiction could not have arranged these circum- 
 stances with more admirable adaptation to the production of 
 effect, and yet nature and truth had never more complete, 
 or more evident control. Perhaps the most remarkable fea- 
 ture of the picture, is the number of distinct and strongly 
 marked characters which appear as actors. Here is religion 
 in all the variety of its forms. Hostility to God sends its 
 representatives in all the leading shapes which it ever as- 
 sumes, to exhibit themselves conspicuously here, in the view 
 of all the world. 
 
 This was intended for our instruction. Characters por- 
 trayed in the New Testament are portrayed for the purpose 
 of throwing light upon duty, or upon the nature and tenden- 
 cies of sin ; but we shield ourselves from the proper influence 
 of this example of wickedness, on account of the enormity of 
 the consequences which resulted from it. No man thinks 
 of comparing himself with Pontius Pilate ; and Christians, 
 though they often quote the example of Peter, seldom think 
 that they have been guilty of his sin. Thus the enormity of 
 the crime, to which sin in this case led, has invested the 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 233 
 
 Its moral effect often lost. Three stages of guilt. 
 
 whole transaction with such a character, as in the view of 
 men to place it entirely heyond the region of reproof and 
 warning to them. One great design, however, unquestiona- 
 bly, which Jehovah had in view, in allowing this scene to be 
 enacted, was that the whole human family might see what dis- 
 astrous effects would be produced, in peculiar circumstances, 
 by very common sins. We evade the intended effect alto- 
 gether, by setting the whole transaction aside ; — disconnect- 
 ing it from all ordinary exhibitions of human nature, on ac- 
 count of the extraordinariness of the effects which resulted, 
 when we ought to unite it with them, on account of the 
 commonness of the cause which produced them ; and thus, 
 though there are unquestionably thousands even in the Chris- 
 tian church, and in fair standing, who are habitually govern- 
 ed by the principles of Judas Iscariot, there is not one in the 
 Christian world, so degraded and so abandoned, that he 
 would not resent being called by his name. 
 
 This is owing to wrong ideas of the nature of guilt, as it is 
 recognized by God's law ; and we shall here devote a few 
 paragraphs to this subject, both because it is of general im- 
 portance to the young Christian to have clear ideas respecting 
 it, and because a right understanding of it is absolutely essen- 
 tial to enable us to receive the proper moral lessons taught 
 us by the narrative of the crucifixion of the Savior. 
 
 Guilt, then, as it generally exhibits itself in this world, 
 exists in three stages, proceeding regularly from the first to 
 its consummation in the last. These stages are more or less 
 distinctly marked in all the various cases which occur. "We 
 may however take as a convenient instance for illustration, 
 the sin of Joseph's brethren in selling him as a slave. Let 
 us look a few moments at this case. 
 
 The first stage of their guilt consists in the indulgence of 
 envious and malignant feelings. It is said " they hated 
 him, and could not speak peaceably unto him," and when he 
 
234 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 First stage; gmlty feeling. Second stage ; guilty intentions. 
 
 innocently told them his dream, they said, " ' shalt thou in- 
 deed reign over us ?' and they hated him yet the more for his 
 words." Here now is guilt, but it is the guilt oi feeling, not 
 of conduct. Here are no overt acts of violence or of unkind- 
 ness, — not even any plans or determinations to commit such 
 acts. It is the heart alone which has gone astray. They 
 are filled with feelings of envy and hatred toward their 
 brother ; and though, as is very often the case at the present 
 day when a heart is filled with hateful passions, the brow 
 might have been smooth, and the conduct right, and even 
 though the tone of voice had been gentle and kind, and not 
 a glance of the eye had betrayed the hidden anger, — still, on 
 the principles of God's law, they had committed great sin. 
 It was not the sin of action, nor of intention ; but of the 
 heart. 
 
 The second stage of their guilt consists in their 'plans and 
 determinations. They began to form the design to do some 
 violence to their brother. This stage, which it will be 
 readily perceived is distinct from the other, and decidedly in 
 advance of it, is described in the following words. 
 
 " When they saw him coming they conspired against 
 him to slay him. They said one to another. Behold this 
 dreamer cometh. Come now, therefore, and let us slay him, 
 and cast him into some pit, and we will say some evil beast 
 hath devoured him, and we shall see what will become of 
 his dreams !" 
 
 This is plainly, as we have said, a distinct stage from the 
 other, and in advance of it. A man may cherish revengeful 
 and malignant thoughts, and yet never intend to carry them 
 forward into action. There are a thousand considerations of 
 policy which tend to restrain him. There is the voice of 
 public opinion, the fear of punishment, the dread of remorse ; 
 and while he hates his brother, and cordially wishes him in- 
 jury, his hand may be held back by the thousand circum- 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS 235 
 
 Third stage; guilty action. 
 
 stances of restraint, with which a kind Providence has hem- 
 med him in. By and by, however, the rising, swelling flood 
 of wicked emotion breaks its barriers. He prepares himself 
 for the execution of deeds of iniquity. His mind passes from 
 the mere indulgence of the wicked feeling itself, to the alto- 
 gether different state, of deliberately intending to commit 
 some open acts of sin. He has thus advanced one distinct 
 step toward the consummation of guilt. 
 
 Again, the third and last stage of this disease is the open 
 act. This consummates the guilt, and seals the consequences. 
 In this case, the guilty conspirators took their brother, and 
 let him down into a deep pit in the wilderness, intending to 
 
 leave him in its dismal solitude to die of hunger and despair. 
 Avarice, however, pleaded for his life, and, as by selling him, 
 they could get twenty pieces of silver, they changed his des 
 
236 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Illustrations. Sudden acts. God's view of guilt. 
 
 tiny from death to slavery. They sold him to a wandering 
 tribe of half-savage strangers, and quietly saw him led away, 
 they scarcely knew where, or for what ; though they could 
 have expected nothing for the brother whom they had thus 
 betrayed, but a life of suffering, and toil, and chains. 
 
 Such are the three distinct stages of progress in guilt. 
 And let it be understood that the distinction between these 
 stages is not by any means peculiar to this case, nor even 
 more striking here, than it usually is in fact. They all hap- 
 pen to be distinctly noticed and described by the sacred 
 writer, and it is this only which makes the example peculiarly 
 suited to our purpose. But in all cases where open sin is 
 perpetrated at all, it advances step by step in this way. 
 First come the guilty feelings, burning in the heart, — and 
 though restrained for a time, they soon acquire a strength 
 which external influence can no longer control. Then comes 
 the guilty intention, when the mind decides against con- 
 science and duty, and prepares itself to go forth to sin ; and, 
 finally, the open act of iniquity closes the scene. It is true, 
 that in many cases these stages succeed each other with al- 
 most instantaneous rapidity. A man receives a sudden and 
 deep injury from his enemy ; — he grasps a glittering dagger 
 and plunges it to his heart. All is over in a moment, but 
 the sin, though instantaneous, is complicated, and a very 
 slight degree of care in making the analysis, will enable any 
 one to distinguish between the feelings, and the intention, 
 and the action, which it clearly comprises. 
 
 Now it is the first of these stages which the law of God 
 chiefly regards ; for it is plain that it is this alone which is 
 the true index of character. The rest depends, in far too 
 great a degree on accidental circumstances, to be taken much 
 into the account in estimating guilt. Whether Joseph's 
 brethren, for example, would ever form any plan for doing 
 the object of their hatred any actual injury, must evidently 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS 237 
 
 Difference between divine and human laws. 
 
 have depended upon the occurrence of favorable opportu- 
 nities of carrying such a plan into effect. In a Christian 
 country, the circumstances of society would render such an act 
 of iniquity as this impracticable ; and public opinion is in such a 
 state as to operate as a most powerful, and in most cases, an 
 effectual restraint against any such deeds of violence. And 
 yet there are thousands of cases, doubtless, in every Christian 
 country, where feelings exist between brother and brother, 
 that are precisely similar to those which, in the case of 
 Joseph, led to the commission of an atrocious crime. 
 
 Now it is the almost universal practice in this world, to 
 attach far too much relative importance to the overt acts of 
 sin, and too little to the state of heart from which those acts 
 proceed. The cause of this is two-fold. First, men have 
 very inadequate conceptions of the spirituality of God's law, 
 in any respect ; and secondly, human laws necessarily relate 
 almost exclusively to external acts, and public sentiment feels 
 the influence and imbibes the spirit of these laws. 
 
 Human laws, in fact, as we have already intimated in an- 
 other place, aim at objects entirely difierent from that of the 
 divine law. Their design is, not to distribute to every 
 man the just recompense which he deserves, nor to purify the 
 heart, and bring back the unhappy sinner to holiness and 
 peace. Their object is simply to protect the community 
 from the aggressions of evil men. Now a wicked feeling 
 merely, does, comparatively, no immediate injury to society ; 
 and as protection is the sole aim of law and government 
 among men, there are no enactments against wicked feelings, 
 or even against wicked intentions. Human codes give up 
 this ground altogether ; and taking their stand upon the 
 nearest limit of the open act, they say to human passions, 
 Hitherto shalt thou come, but wo farther. It is here alone 
 that human law arms itself with its penalties, and this is 
 the whole field of its conflict with the wickedness of man. 
 
238 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Consequences no criterion of guilt. The murderer. 
 
 The law of God has, however, a very different object. Its 
 design is not merely to repress the outbreaking of sin, so as 
 to protect men from its injuries, — but to remove and eradi- 
 cate forever the guilty spirit from his heart. It seeks not to 
 arrest the consequences, but to destroy the cause. Its design 
 is to ascertain the true character, to deal with every one as 
 his true character deserves, and, if possible, to bring the 
 wandering and miserable sinner back to duty and to happi- 
 ness. Human laws say therefore to man. Take care that you 
 never carry your sins so far as to encroach upon your neigh- 
 bor's rights, — we must secure protection. The law of God 
 says to him, You are forbidden to sin at all. The one de- 
 nounces punishments in proportion to the injury which is 
 done, — ^the other regulates its penalties by the exact meas- 
 ure of the secret guilt incurred. A human government 
 seizes a man who has plunged his knife into his neighbor's 
 bosom ; but if a skillful physician interposing can stop the 
 flowing blood, allay the rising fever, and save the endangered 
 life, it immediately relaxes its grasp, and says in spirit, " Go 
 free from the charge of murder ; the physician who arrested 
 the injury has saved your life. We look only at conse- 
 quences." But the divine government will arrest the crimi- 
 nal as he endeavors to move away, and say to him, " Stop, 
 you are a murderer. God looks not at the consequences, but 
 at the guilt. Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer." 
 
 For these, and perhaps other reasons, human law, and con- 
 sequently to a great extent, public sentiment, has condemned, 
 almost exclusively, in this world, the open acts of wicked- 
 ness ; and thus men are and always have been prone to con- 
 sider it as of very little consequence, so long as their outward 
 conduct is fair, what corrupt desires, or raging passions pos- 
 sess their hearts. If the fires do not flash out to view, they 
 care little how luridly they burn within. But God sees not 
 as man sees. He regards the heart as the true seat of virtue 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 239 
 
 The feelings of the heart and external conduct. The lady. The rude boy. 
 
 and of vice — and the external conduct, which we notice so 
 attentively, he almost passes by ; his eye looks through all 
 these exterior coverings, and penetrating to the inmost soul, 
 he comes to a contest with iniquity in the very heart and 
 center of its reign. 
 
 How obvious and unquestionable is the principle that the 
 external conduct is regulated quite as much by the circum- 
 stances in which one is placed, as by the true character ; and 
 that therefore external conduct is no safe criterion of charac- 
 ter. A thousand illustrations of this principle might be 
 drawn from among the most common occurrences of life. A 
 lady of elegance and refinement, moving in high rank in so- 
 ciety, surrounded by circumstances which most effectually 
 forbid the open exhibition of the evil passions of the heart by 
 any of the rough forms in which they often show themselves, 
 cherishes, we will suppose, a feeling of envy or jealousy, 
 which soon ripens into anger, against some one of her ac- 
 quaintance ; and in peculiar circumstances, it is possible that 
 she may be almost continually under the influence of these 
 feelings, so that she lies down at night, and rises in the morn- 
 ing, with these bad passions rankling in her bosom. But in 
 the presence of the object of her displeasure, and surrounded 
 by society, how possible is it for all external indication of her 
 feelings to be restrained. Her brow is smooth, her eye is 
 mild, her tone is gentle ; — and so completely have the cir- 
 cumstances in which Providence has placed her, trained her 
 to the necessity and to the habit of civility, that she dares not 
 transgress. A rude and savage boy, with the same passions, 
 and in precisely the same state of heart, not being controlled 
 by such circumstances of restraint, displays his passions by 
 open malediction, or by clubs and stones. Now how differ- 
 ent are the views which the world takes of such cases as 
 these. And I am far from saying that that they must neces- 
 sarily be equal in guilt. The passions which are the same 
 
240 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Application of these principles. 
 
 in kind, in both, may differ in degree. What I wish to say, 
 is, that God looks at the passions reigning in the heart, and 
 not at the open exhibitions of them, which the circumstances 
 of the individual may lead him to make. This is what is 
 meant by the passage, " Whoso hateth his brother is a mur- 
 derer." It is so with all other sins. A man's character for 
 honesty does not, in the eye of God, depend upon his not 
 stealing, but upon his being, in heart, cordially willing and 
 desirous that all around him should enjoy fully their rights ; his 
 character for benevolence, not upon his deeds of charity, but 
 upon his heartfelt desires that all connected with him should 
 be happy ; — his character for truth, not upon his refraining 
 from directly falsifying his word, but upon his being sincere 
 and honest in heart. Mankind do not consider these distinc- 
 tions. It happens, consequently, that a very large part of the 
 virtue of this world is the virtue of circumstances, not of 
 character ; that is, it is no virtue at all ; and yet it is 
 esteemed and applauded by men as if it originated in the 
 loftiest moral principle. 
 
 But the reader may perhaps inquire what connection these 
 remarks have with the crucifixion of the Savior, — the subject 
 announced at the commencement of this chapter. They 
 have this to do with it. The principles which we have been 
 considering show us that though the crucifixion, as an event, 
 — a transaction, may have been extraordinary and dreadful 
 in the extreme, it does not thence follow that as sm it was 
 very extraordinary. Certain sinful propensities and passions 
 led in that case to consequences which can not in ordinary 
 cases flow from them. But precisely the same principles and 
 passions may reign in the heart, and load it with an equal 
 burden of guilt, though the circumstances in which the actor 
 is placed may be such as entirely to modify, or even effect- 
 ually to restrain the natural and proper results. If we 
 wish then to derive the intended advantage from this portion 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 241 
 
 The characters of the crucifiers. Their characters common. Judas Jscariot. 
 
 of Scripture history, we must consider these things, — we 
 must make these discriminations between the sin itself and 
 the particular forms in which, from the peculiar circum- 
 stances of the case, it then assumed. We must look at the 
 characters of the actors, rather than their deeds ; for in char- 
 acter, we may ourselves be like those actors, though from the 
 entirely different circumstances in which we are placed, we 
 have not, and we never can have the opportunity to commit 
 the crimes that they perpetrated. I shall endeavor, therefore, 
 as I go on to the examination of the story, to bring to view as 
 clearly as possible the characters of those concerned in it : with 
 particular reference, too, to the aspects which similar charac- 
 ters would assume at the present day. If I am not very 
 greatly deceived, Pontius Pilate and Judas Iscariot, and even 
 the Roman soldiers, have far more imitators and followers 
 than is generally supposed, — and that, too, within the very 
 pale of the Christian church. 
 
 We left the Savior, at the close of the last chapter, going 
 out late at night with his disciples, from the place where 
 they had held their last assembly. They passed out of the 
 gate, and went down the hill and across the rivulet which 
 flowed through the valley, and thence ascended the Mount 
 of Olives on the other side. One however was absent. 
 
 Judas Iscariot, it will be recollected, had left the assembly 
 some time before. He had his arrangements to mature for 
 delivering the Savior to the soldiers appointed to make him 
 prisoner. It seems that the leading priests had been desirous 
 of making Jesus a prisoner, for the purpose of bringing him 
 to trial, but they did not dare to do it openly, for fear of an 
 uproar among the people ; their only other plan, therefore, 
 was to find out his private retreats, and send an armed band 
 for him at some time when he was alone with his friends. 
 This plan it was difficult to execute, for Jesus generally 
 
 L 
 
242 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 His probable character and plans. Trust conferred upon him. 
 
 withdrew himself very privately, when his work was done, 
 and they did not know how to find him. Judas relieved 
 them of the difficulty. 
 
 But who was Judas ? let us look a little at his history and 
 character. 
 
 There seems to be no evidence against the supposition that 
 he was just such a man as any other of those worldly profes- 
 sors of religion, which are to be found by thousands in the 
 Christian church at the present day. It is plain that he was 
 not that abandoned and hardened reprobate which he is 
 very generally supposed to have been : if so, he would not 
 have hung himself when he found what were the conse- 
 quences of his crime. It does not seem to be at all improb- 
 able, that when he joined the Savior's cause he thought he 
 was sincere. A man would not be likely to connect himself 
 with such a cause for the express purpose of obtaining money. 
 This is possible, but certainly very improbable. It seems far 
 more reasonable to suppose that he became a professed dis- 
 ciple, as thousands do at the present day, with his heart un- 
 changed and not aware of his own true character. 
 
 They who have a strong love for the world, have often no 
 uncommon share of worldly wisdom ; or, at least, those who 
 love money generally know well how to take care of it ; and 
 Judas, like many others since his day, was appointed to a 
 trust which proved a very dangerous one to him. In fact, 
 the very love for such a trust which fitted him to discharge 
 the duties of it successfully, made those duties very danger- 
 ous to him. It is altogether probable that love of money ac- 
 quired its ascendency over him very gradually. It almost 
 always does. Very few persons have the hardihood to unite 
 themselves with the Christian church deliberately with the 
 design of making their connection with it a mere source of 
 profit ; but very many who join it professedly with other de- 
 signs do, in fact, gradually turn their connection with it to 
 
THE CRUOlFIEltS. 243 
 
 His present followers. The church. 
 
 this purpose. They are deceived at first about the sincerity 
 of their motives ; they feel some sort of interest in religion, 
 which interest they mistake for genuine piety ; but as it is 
 without foundation it soon disappears, the world gradually 
 regains its hold, and as it comes back and fixes its reign, it 
 leads the man to avail himself of every advantage which he 
 can derive from his new position, to increase his own earthly 
 stores. At first he does this without particular injury to the 
 cause which he has espoused, but soon the claims of interest 
 and of his Master's service come into slight collision. The 
 latter yields, though he is so blinded that he is not aware of 
 it. The cases become more frequent and more decided ; but 
 the progress of blindness goes on as fast as the progress of 
 sin, so that he continues undisturbed, though he is as really 
 betraying the cause of his Master, as if he were actually guid- 
 ing an armed band to his private retreat. 
 
 There is no end to the cases which might be stated in ex- 
 emplification of this. We will suppose one or two. A ques- 
 tion arises in a certain town about the erection of a place of 
 public worship. The situation of the building will affect the 
 value of the property in its vicinity, and a certain wealthy 
 professor of religion, with reference solely to this effect upon 
 his property, is determined that the building shall be in one 
 place, while the rest of the church are determined it shall be 
 in another. To make the case simple, we will suppose that 
 the majority are guided by good principles in their selection, 
 that they consult the best interests of the Savior's cause in 
 the decision that they have made, and consequently that the 
 fault is on the side of the single wealthy man. Such is how- 
 ever his influence that he can throw embarrassment and in- 
 superable difficulty in the way of the rest. He divides the 
 Savior's friends, alienates one from another, and is thus the 
 instrument of destroying the peace of the church, and extin- 
 guishing the light of its piety. Years do not heal the injuries 
 
244 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Various ways of betraying Clirist's cause. The worldly pastor. 
 
 which he inflicts upon the Savior's cause. He betrays it, 
 and he betrays it for money, — -just as truly as if he had been 
 directly bribed by thirty pieces of silver to deliver up his 
 Lord. In fact he does even a greater injury than that ; and 
 it is by no means certain which will at last be found to have 
 incurred the heaviest doom, he who sold the Savior's life to 
 Roman soldiers, or he who, from the same motive, turns 
 traitor to the church, and breaks down its barriers against 
 the admission of spiritual foes. The latter certainly betrays 
 a more valued object, and delivers it, too, to more dreadful 
 foes ; for Jesus Christ has given most abundant proof that he 
 loves the church far more than his own personal safety, and 
 that he fears discord and hatred and spiritual death, far 
 more than the insults and injuries of Roman soldiers, or even 
 than the unutterable sufferings of the cross. 
 
 But let us take another case. It is that of a worldly 
 pastor, who consents to receive in charge a branch of his 
 Master's church, when his motive is his pay. He neglects 
 his appropriate work, and devotes his time and his attention, 
 and gives all his heart, to the work of increasing his stores. 
 He does it privately and silently, but the world around him 
 soon understand it. They are quick to perceive hypocrisy, 
 and to detect the true character of worldliness, however 
 dexterously it may clothe itself in the garb of piety. The 
 meney-getting disciple thinks, perhaps, that all is going on 
 well. He performs his duties with punctilious formality, but 
 his heart is not in the work, and the souls within his 
 influence are only chilled by the coldness of the form. In a 
 word, the cause committed to him is betrayed, — it is betrayed, 
 too, for money ; and if it is true that in the sight of God, the 
 heart, and not the particular acts by which the heart may 
 manifest itself, is the criterion of character, he must expect 
 to stand with Judas when the time of reckoning shall come. 
 
 How many times has a man of business, while professing 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 246 
 
 The merchant. The probable intentions of Judas. Judas's excuses. 
 
 to love the Savior, betrayed his Master's cause by violating 
 its principles, and thus brought open disgrace upon it, in 
 the eyes of the vt'orld. He deals in conmmodities which are 
 destructive to the souls and bodies of men, or he acts on 
 principles which are entirely inconsistent with Christian 
 character. Unjust, oppressive, and miserly, he disgraces the 
 name which he has hypocritically assumed. But he accom- 
 plishes his object ; — he acquires the money for whiqh he is 
 willing to sell his Master. Even Judas was paid. He 
 secures also his other object, that of being called a Christian. 
 He is however a betrayer. For the mass of mankind bring 
 down their conceptions of religion to the rank of the lowest 
 pretender to it whom they can find ; so that he v/ho serves 
 the world and sin, while he pretends to be a Christian, does 
 not generally disgrace himself, he degrades Christianity. 
 Still he accomplishes his objects. He is called a Christian, 
 and makes his money ; but he must rank among the traitors 
 at last. 
 
 Judas had no idea, probably, that any very serious con- 
 sequences would have resulted from what he was about to do. 
 He might have known, indeed, had he thought about it, but 
 he probably thought of little but his thirty pieces of silver. 
 If he did reflect at all, it was probably only to quiet himself 
 with the excuses, which, in similar circumstances, men 
 always make ; such as that it was his duty to increase his 
 property by all honest means, — that there could be no great 
 harm in merely introducing the soldiers to the Savior — that 
 if he did not give them the information they desired, some- 
 body else certainly would. All the ordinary excuses would 
 have applied perfectly here. 
 
 It is highly probable therefore that Judas, notwithstanding 
 the pre-eminence in sin which is generally assigned to him, 
 will appear at the great day only as an ordinary type and 
 example of an immense class of offenders. 
 
246 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The midnight scene. Jerusalem. The garden. The coming forth of the soldiers. 
 
 However this might be, the wretched man went at mid- 
 night to the place of rendezvous ; and while he and the sol- 
 diers who were to accompany him, were receiving their direc- 
 tions and forming their plans in the city, the Savior was bend- 
 ing under the burden of those intolerable but mysterious suf- 
 ferings, which have thrown an eternal gloom over the garden 
 of Gethsemane. Upon what a scene the moon, which was 
 always 4ull at the time of the Jewish passover, must have 
 looked down, at this sad hour. 
 
 It is midnight ; the moon is high, and the streets of Jeru- 
 salem are deserted and still, except when the footsteps of 
 some solitary passenger re-echo a moment upon the ear, and 
 then die away. Beyond the walls, even deeper silence and 
 solitude reign ; every bird is at its rest, and in the still 
 night air, we can hear the brook murmuring through the 
 valley. In the garden on the other side too, the consecrated 
 place of prayer, every zephyr is hushed, every leaf is in 
 repose, and the moon is silvering, with its cold light, the 
 outlines of the foliage, and brightening on the distant hills. 
 
 It is midnight, the hour of stillness and rest, but yet the 
 whole scene is not one of repose. The scattered disciples of 
 Jesus wait for their Master, who is bending down in his 
 lonely retreat, under a burden of suffering which we can 
 neither appreciate nor comprehend. And in some lurking 
 place in the silent city, the rough soldiers are lighting their 
 lanterns, and girding on their weapons, and forming their 
 plans. Presently they issue forth, and pass on from street to 
 street, now in light and now in shadow, stealing along prob- 
 ably in careful silence, lest they might arouse some of the 
 people, and provoke the interference which their masters 
 dreaded. At this moment, what a spectacle must the whole 
 scene have presented to a^iy one who could have looked 
 down upon the whole. The dark betrayer, walking in 
 advance of his band with cautious steps, half fearing, and 
 
IHE CKUCIFIERS. 
 
 247 
 
 The betrayer. Apparent discrepancy. 
 
 half rejoicing in his anticipated success ; — the careless sol- 
 diers following, to execute a work which they probably did 
 not distinguish from any other similar deed which they often 
 performed ; — the disciples, scattered through the valley, and 
 in the garden, some probably anxious and unhappy, and 
 others, overcome with bodily and mental exhaustion, sunk in 
 sleep ; — Jesus Christ, struggling in solitude, under the pres- 
 sure of sufferings which overwhelmed him with indescribable 
 agitation, and almost unnerved his soul. There must have 
 been something uncommon in an anguish which could carry 
 the Savior's fortitude to its utmost limit. On the cross he 
 was calm. 
 
 One of the most striking proofs of the genuineness and truth 
 of the narratives of this transaction which are recorded in 
 
248 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The two accounts. 
 
 Fearlessness of truth. 
 
 the New Testament, is the apparent discrepancy between 
 the two accounts of the scene which occurred, when Judas 
 and his band arrived at the place to which Jesus had 
 retired. That this discrepancy may be the better under- 
 stood, we place the two accounts in opposite columns. 
 
 Matt. xxvi. 47-50. 
 
 And while he yet spake, lo, 
 Judas, one of the twelve, came, 
 and with him a great multitude, 
 with swords and staves, from the 
 chief priests and elders of the 
 people. 
 
 Now he that betrayed him gave 
 them a sign, saying, Whomsoever 
 I shall kiss, that same is he ; hold 
 him fast. And forthwith he came 
 to Jesus and said, Hail Master, 
 and kissed him. 
 
 And Jesus said unto him. 
 Friend, wherefore art thou come ? 
 Then came they and laid hands 
 on Jesus and took him. 
 
 John xviii. 3-8. 
 
 Judas then, having received a 
 band of men and officers from the 
 chief priests and Pharisees, cometh 
 thither with lantern-! and torches 
 and weapons. 
 
 Jesus, therefore, knowing all 
 things that should come upon him, 
 went forth, and said unto them, 
 Whom seek ye ? 
 
 They answered him, Jesus of 
 Nazareth. Jesus saith unto them, 
 I am he. And Judas also, which 
 betrayed him, stood with them. 
 
 As soon then as he had said 
 unto them, I am he, they went 
 backward, and fell to the ground. 
 
 Then asked he them again, 
 Whom seek ye ? And they said, 
 Jesus of Nazareth. 
 
 Jesus answered, I have told 
 you that 1 am he. If therefore 
 ye seek me, let these go their way. 
 
 Fabricators of a story would never have left such a dis- 
 crepancy as this ; and yet it is precisely such an one as two 
 original witnesses would have been almost certain to have 
 fallen into, in narrating the circumstances of such a case. 
 Scenes of calm and quiet action, where but few individuals 
 are concerned, and incidents succeed each other with quiet 
 regularity, may be described perhaps in nearly the same Ian- 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 24S 
 
 Explanation. The encounter. Resistance. 
 
 guage by different and independent observers — but in a scene 
 of tumult and confusion, where many are acting and talking 
 together, each in a great degree regardless of the rest, faith- 
 ful witnesses who describe what they actually see, will tell 
 very different stories. A large number of the discrepancies 
 of the Bible are of this character, and they are the most 
 striking proofs of the fearless honesty of the witnesses who 
 recorded the facts. 
 
 Judas came with a preconcerted part to perform. He had 
 arranged every thing beforehand, and probably he had, as it 
 were, every look and action committed to memory. He had 
 braced himself up to his work, and had fixed its details with 
 so much minuteness, that he could perform his part almost 
 mechanically, as soon as the proper moment should arrive. 
 This is human nature as it shows itself on all such occasions. 
 It learns its task, when it has one of an agitating nature to 
 perform, or is to act in any extraordinary emergency ; and 
 then it comes up to the moment of action with a sort of men- 
 tal momentum which carries it through, right or wrong, and 
 leaves it very little power to modify its course, or to adapt it 
 to any new or unexpected circumstances. Judas came with 
 his plan thus formed ; Jesus had also his own course marked 
 out, and the almost mechanical determination of the one, 
 came into collision with the fearless and lofty energy of the 
 other. The soldiers fell back ; perhaps they did not know 
 till they saw him, who it was whom they were to bring ; 
 and in the confusion of the encounter, each witness has re- 
 corded what struck most forcibly his own observation. 
 
 There was a slight resistance, but Jesus stopped it, and 
 surrendered himself a prisoner. The soldiers regained their 
 courage, after the momentary alarm excited by the Savior's 
 sudden appearance, and began to secure their victim. There 
 was enough in their rough ferocity to terrify the disciples, 
 and they fled. The soldiers made perhaps some eflbrt to 
 
260 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Binding the prisonor. Jesus before the priests. Their two charges. 
 
 secure them too. They certainly endeavored a short time 
 after, to seize a young man, on their way, who came out in 
 his night dress, to ascertain the cause of the commotion 
 which he heard. At any rate the disciples fled, and the 
 soldiers had nothing to do but to secure their prisoner. 
 
 They bound him ; — and binding, under such circumstances, 
 is a very different thing from what most of our readers would 
 suppose. The cords are not drawn lightly around the wrists 
 of a military prisoner. They secured him, and returned to- 
 ward the city. The priests were too deeply interested in the 
 triumphs they were about to enjoy, to wait quietly for the 
 regular time of trial. Some of them even came out with the 
 soldiers toward the place where Jesus was taken, and others 
 assembled in the palace of the High Priest, and Jesus was 
 taken directly into the midst of them. Here they spent 
 some time in collecting their testimony, and framing their 
 charges, and urging each other on to a higher pitch of ex- 
 citement, and to more determined and inveterate hostility. 
 
 There might possibly be a case in which men might be 
 deceived in regard to the character of a good man, and might 
 press him very severely with the effects of their displeasure, 
 from honest, though mistaken convictions of his guilt. That 
 this, however, was not the case here, is very certain from the 
 nature of the charges brought against the Savior at the differ- 
 ent tribunals where he was successively brought to trial. 
 These charges were varied to suit circumstances, and there- 
 fore could not have been honest. In this case, he was before 
 the Jewish priests, and the accusation brought against him was, 
 irreverence in speaking of what their religion taught them to 
 hold sacred ; — ^they called it blasphemy. This charge they 
 attempted to prove from some expressions, perfectly innocent 
 in the sense in which he had used them, and almost perfectly 
 so, even with the meaning which they pretended to attach 
 to them. They found it difficult to establish their charges 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 251 
 
 Blasphemy. Political condition of the Jews. Capital pimishment. 
 
 by any honest witnesses that they could procure, but they 
 were soon satisfied in another way. When he began to 
 speak of himself they seized upon the innocent expressions 
 which he used, and perverting them from their real import, 
 they called what he uttered blasphemy, and the High Priest 
 rent his clothes with affected horror. They spent some time 
 in gratifying their resentment and hatred, by insulting and 
 tormenting their victim in every possible way. He had pre- 
 tended to be a prophet, and they accordingly blindfolded him, 
 and then beat him, asking him to prophesy who it was that 
 struck the blow. Jesus suffered it all in silence. 
 
 The conclusion of their deliberation, if such treatment of a 
 helpless prisoner could be called deliberation, was, that he 
 ought to die. But in effecting his death there was a very 
 formidable difficulty in their way, which must be particularly 
 described. 
 
 Judea was, at this time, a Roman province. It had been 
 conquered by the armies of the empire some years before, and 
 was accordingly now under Roman government. The policy 
 which the Romans seemed to have pursued, in maintaining 
 their power over the countries which they had conquered, 
 was to leave the inhabitants as much as possible to their 
 own customs and laws, interfering only in respect to certain 
 great and important points, which could not safely be left to 
 the vanquished people. The command of all the forts, and 
 of all the soldiers, they of course assumed themselves. They 
 took the direction of all the important public measures, and 
 they reserved, too, a control over the higher criminal cases 
 which might occur in the administration of justice. This 
 policy now had been adopted in respect to the Jews : in re- 
 gard to the administration of criminal justice it had been 
 decreed that all inferior punishments the Jews might inflict 
 themselves, but they were not permitted to take life in retri- 
 bution for crime, without the permission of their conquerors 
 
252 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The Roman governor. His hall. The priests remain in the street. 
 
 Of course, then, there was no way by which they could pro- 
 cure the exeecution of Jesus, but by carrying him to the 
 Roman government, and obtaining the sentence of death 
 there. 
 
 But how could they do this ? Their charge against him 
 was blasphemy, and what interest could Roman officers be 
 expected to take in a case of blasphemy ? The governor 
 was comparatively a stranger there, having been in posses- 
 sion of the government only six or eight years. He was a 
 Roman, not a Jew ; he felt consequently little interest in 
 Jewish feelings, and no reverence for what the Jews held 
 sacred. How to get a sentence of death confirmed by such 
 a man, against a criminal charged with such a crime as 
 blasphemy, was the question. 
 
 It could not be done. They knew that it could not be 
 done ; for a Roman officer, as the event in this case showed, 
 could understand the claims of justice, when his own interest 
 or ambition did not interfere with them. If they go to Pilate 
 therefore with their persecuted prisoner, they must have 
 some more plausible pretext than the story of the blas- 
 phemy. 
 
 By this time their number had probably much increased ; 
 and when the hour arrived at which they could obtain ad- 
 mission at the Roman hall, they bound their prisoner again, 
 and led him forth into the street. Attended and followed by 
 a throng of his Jewish enemies, the Savior walked quietly 
 on until he arrived in front of the palace occupied by the 
 Roman. When they arrived the Jews sent Jesus in, re- 
 maining outside in the street themselves, — lest they should 
 be defiled! What perfectly good friends are superstition 
 and sin, and with how little interference will they share 
 the dominion of the heart. Here is a savage crowd, tyr- 
 annizing over a defenseless and helpless man, in the extreme 
 of injustice and cruelty ; their blood is boiling with angry 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 
 
 253 
 
 Scruples of the Jews. 
 
 Another apparent discrepancy. 
 
 passions, and no ob 
 stacles or difficulties 
 are sufficient to restrain 
 them in their eager- 
 ness to secure the de- 
 struction of their vic- 
 tim ; — and yet, thus 
 excited, thus inflamed, 
 and thus destitute of 
 all right principle to 
 restrain them, they 
 stop at once when they 
 come to the doors of 
 a Roman building, and 
 will not enter it, for 
 fear that they shall he 
 
 THE PALACE. 
 
 The Roman was a pagan, and his apartments were for- 
 bidden ground to them. The strictness of their law had pro- 
 hibited even so slight a connection as this with idolatry ; es- 
 pecially when they were about to celebrate any of the more 
 solemn ordinances of the law. The passover was at hand, 
 and they must eat it. They could insult and torture an in- 
 nocent victim, but they must not omit to eat the paschal 
 lamb ! They could stand burning with malice and rage in 
 a Jewish street ; but to cross the threshold of a pagan dwell- 
 ing, — would never do. Every man there probably prided 
 himself on his scruples, — his inflexible precision in obeying 
 the law ; but thought nothing of the loathsome and terrible 
 corruption which had full possession of his heart. Whited 
 sepulchers the Savior had called them. What an exact 
 comparison ! 
 
 They were particularly scrupulous at this time, on account 
 of the approaching passover, as the narrative informs us ; but 
 
254 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Truth and fabrication. Explanation. 
 
 the same narrative states that the passover had been cele- 
 brated the evenmg before ; for it was to keep this feast that 
 Jesus and his disciples had met on the preceding evening. 
 The apparent discrepancy is another of those marks of genu- 
 ineness, which no skill can ever counterfeit. The occur- 
 rences of real life constitute a most complicated web, where 
 a thousand actors, and a thousand events mingle and inter- 
 twine in the most intricate confusion. All is however, in 
 fact, consistent, though no one eye can take in the whole. 
 Through this congeries, truth takes its bold and unhesitating 
 way, confident that it can not find at any one point any 
 thing which is really inconsistent with what it is to meet 
 with at another, and therefore it speaks freely of what it sees, 
 and boldly exhibits every object which may lie in its track. 
 It runs of course into apparent difficulties. It leaves inter- 
 ruptions and chasms, which additional light must correct 
 and explain, and it is only when that additional hght is fully 
 furnished that we see, in all its perfection, the consistency 
 and harmony of the whole. Fabrication can not take such 
 a course. She must make things consistent and plain, as 
 she goes on ; or if she leaves an apparent difficulty, there 
 must be an explanation at hand. 
 
 The researches of scholars have reconciled this apparent 
 disagreement ; in fact there are several considerations, each 
 of which is sufficient to account for the language used. Per- 
 haps the most important is, that there was a dispute at that 
 time in regard to the day on which the passover should be 
 kept ; — some, relying simply on the declarations of Scripture, 
 celebrated it on one evening, and the priests and pharisees, 
 following certain traditions, preferred the next. It is not ne- 
 cessary, however, for our purpose to dwell on this subject 
 here. 
 
 The character exhibited by these priests is the second great 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 255 
 
 Judas and the priests compared. The spirit of the priests. 
 
 variety which this whole transaction brings to view. Enmity 
 to the Savior appears in them in very different forms from 
 that which it assumed in Judas. His ruling passion, was 
 love of money, — theirs was love of place and power. They 
 were priests ; all their estimation in society, and all the vir- 
 tue, on which they so confidently prided themselves, depended 
 on the ceremonies of the Jewish law. Undermine these, and 
 call public attention from ceremonial exactness to internal 
 purity, and such an influence and such characters as theirs 
 would be ruined. Jesus Christ had been doing this most 
 effectually, and all their spiritual pride, ambition, and every 
 worldly feeling was roused. 
 
 There is a great difierence, also, between the actual ap- 
 pearances which were exhibited in the two cases. Judas 
 was calm, the priests were furious. Judas endangered his 
 Master's life by cool, calculating treachery ; the priests were 
 loud and boisterous and urgent, in effecting his destruction. 
 The former was the accessory, assisting others in what he 
 never would have undertaken himself. The latter were the 
 principals, originating every plan, and pressing it forward 
 wdth the most open and determined energy. 
 
 The reason for this difference is, that the principles w^hich 
 Jesus Christ was publishing came at once into inevitable 
 and direct collision with the ambitious views and feelings of 
 the priests, while they were not thus aggressive in respect to 
 the avarice of Judas. The Savior's principles did indeed as 
 plainly forbid the avarice, but his acts did not come so directly 
 in the way of its gratification. Judas was left to pursue un- 
 interrupted his own plans, but the hollow hypocrisy of the 
 Jews was not thus left. Every public address made by the 
 Savior was most directly exposing it. Judas, therefore, re- 
 mained quiet and und sturbed, while the priests were goaded 
 on to fury. The ruling passion was gently drawn out of its 
 retreat, in the former case, allured by the opportunity of grati- 
 
256 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Contentions among denominations. Peter. 
 
 fying itself by the ruin of its victim ; in the latter, it was 
 boldly assaulted in its den, and the contest was, of course, a 
 desperate struggle for existence. 
 
 The spirit of the high priests exists still in the world, — 
 reigning in many a heart which puts the splendor of forms, 
 or the stability of an ecclesiastical organization, in place of 
 the progress of pure, heartfelt piety. Many a pastor would 
 prefer having a man in his congregation, rather than in 
 another's church, and will really regret the progress of re- 
 ligion, if he sees its current flowing out of his own commu- 
 nion. How many times have professed friends of God stopped 
 suddenly the progress of his cause, by contending about a 
 division of the fruits of its success. They think that they are 
 punctilious for the order and regularity of the church. So 
 did Caiaphas. They sacrifice the interests of the soul, for 
 the sake of scrupulous adherence to what they deem the letter 
 of the law. This was exactly the sin of the priests and 
 Pharisees. The law of God, and attachment to his pre- 
 scribed ordinances, is their pretended motive, while love of 
 personal influence or denominational ascendency is the real 
 one. So it was with these crucifiers of the Savior. There 
 may be a great difference in the degree in which these feel- 
 ings are exhibited, but let those who cherish them study the 
 case, and see if they can find any difference in kind. We 
 can find none. Whoever puts his rank and station, and the 
 interests of that division of the church to which he belongs, 
 on which perhaps his rank and station depend, in competi- 
 tion with the progress of real, heartfelt, genuine piety in the 
 world, will find, if he is honest, that the spirit of the Jewish 
 Sanhedrim is precisely his. 
 
 But now comes a new character still, upon this ever- 
 varying stage. At the door of the hall where this trial is 
 going on, stands a man who is watching, with eager in- 
 terest, every thing which takes place. He seems to be a 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 257 
 
 His appearance at the hall. Character of Peter and John. 
 
 stranger. He endeavors to affect unconcern, but he plainly 
 is not one of the common bystanders there. Presently 
 some one comes down to the door, and procures admission 
 for him, and he takes his place by the fire with the others, 
 who are waiting to see the end. He is accused several times, 
 by persons who notice his appearance, of being one of the 
 friends of the prisoner, but he is afraid to admit it. An hour 
 ago he drew his sword in his master's defense, — now he dares 
 not admit that he knows him. Perhaps he was afraid that 
 Malchus would remember, against him, his wounded ear. 
 He had, in fact, more reason to fear than any other disciple ; 
 and, as human nature is, it is not surprising that he should 
 be overcome by the greatness of the danger. 
 
 If this scene were fiction, one of its highest beauties would 
 be the contrast of character between Peter and John. A 
 superficial observer, drawing from imagination, would have 
 made Peter, in all respects, bold and undaunted ; and in ex- 
 hibiting John as mild and gentle, would have made him 
 timid and yielding. But history, in this case, as she is re- 
 cording facts, is true to nature, and while she gives to Petei 
 physical boldness and constitutional ardor, she gives the calm, 
 steady, lofty moral courage to the gentle John. At mid- 
 night, among lanterns, and torches, and weapons, and an 
 armed band, Peter rushes on with his sword ; but when the 
 hour of physical excitement has passed, he turns pale at the 
 question of a maid-servant, and denies his Lord. John has 
 no resistance to offer to a soldier ; but amid all his Master's 
 dangers, he keeps close to his side, his known and acknowl- 
 edged friend ; attending him faithfully on his trial, and do- 
 ing all he can by his presence and sympathy to soothe his 
 last moments upon the cross. 
 
 Reader, if you had been in Peter's case, should you have 
 denied your Master as he did ? Were this question to be 
 proposed to any assembly of Christians, and if an answer 
 
258 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Peter's sin very common. Hia temptations compared with ours. 
 
 were to be immediately given, according to the spontaneous 
 feelings of the heart, it would be, perhaps, one universal 
 negative. You think that you yourself would certainly never 
 have committed so great a sin ; and still it is not at all im- 
 probable that you are cherishing a secret hope that your sins 
 are forgiven, and are yet concealing it from others. You 
 hope that you are the Savior's friend, but you are afraid or 
 ashamed to have it known to others that you are so. You 
 wish to make secret peace ; and are unwilling to repair open- 
 ly, the injury which you have openly done. 
 
 Still, you will say perhaps, that, though this may be 
 wrong, there is a great difference between such a conceal- 
 ment, and repeatedly and plainly denying the Savior in ex- 
 press assertions. 
 
 True. And so there is a great difference between the de- 
 gree of danger which leads you to deny your Master, and that 
 which overwhelmed Peter. You are afraid of a taunt, or of 
 some harmless sarcasm ; scourging and crucifixion threatened 
 him. You are afraid of the looks and words of a few of your 
 own companions ; he quailed before weapons of torture and 
 death, in the hands of a ferocious soldiery ; if you consider, 
 therefore, the difference between the modes by which your 
 practical denial of Christ, and his, are exhibited, you must 
 also consider the difference in the strength of the tempta- 
 tions by which you are respectively overcome. The sin is the 
 same in its nature in both cases, and though yours is less con- 
 spicuous, it may be even more rather than less aggravated 
 than his. 
 
 The sin of Peter is, in all essential characteristics, very 
 often committed by those who profess to abhor it. Brought 
 as we are, in such a world as this, into perpetual connection 
 with the influences of sin, we are very often thrown into cir- 
 cumstances where we think it most prudent, for a time, to 
 conceal the flag under which we profess to sail. There is 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 
 
 259 
 
 Denying Christ at the present day. The narrative resumed. 
 
 no great danger which we dread ; but when we come into 
 scenes where Jesus Christ is not honored, and where his prin- 
 ciples are in disrepute, we quietly conceal our attachment to 
 him ; and while we perhaps say nothing that is false, we 
 allow ourselves to pass for worldly men, by speaking in their 
 tone, and displaying, so far as we can, their spirit. We are 
 ashamed or ai'raid to avow our principles, and, consequently, 
 we stand substantially where Peter did. There is, in fact, 
 no essential difference between his case and ours. The cir- 
 cumstances are altered, but the spirit is the same. 
 
 But we must go on with our story. The Jews, too punc- 
 tilious to go themselves into the judgment hall, waited in the 
 street and sent their prisoner in. The conversation which 
 ensued is one of the most striking examples which the Bible 
 contains ; — every incident being so true to nature, and every 
 word so exactly in keeping with the character and circum- 
 stances of the individual who utters it. It was substan- 
 tially as follows. While reviewing it, however, we must 
 keep in mind the strongly-marked characteristics of the three 
 great parties in the transaction. Jesus the victim, patient, 
 quiet, and submissive, ready to bear and to suffer every thing ; 
 silent under mere taunts, but ready to explain, when any one 
 shall honestly ask for explanation. The crowd in the street, 
 eager for his destruction, but without power to effect it, un- 
 less they can obtain permission from the governor, before 
 whose palace they have assembled ; and the governor himself 
 caring nothing about the Jews or their pretended criminal ; 
 but unwilling either to put an innocent man to death, or to 
 displease the people under his command, and standing espe- 
 cially in awe of any thing which might hazard his political 
 character in the estimation of the emperor at Rome. Agi- 
 tated and distracted by the contrary impulses of these feel- 
 
260 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The dialogue in the street. Charge of treason. 
 
 ings, he vacillates and wavers, and tries every way to escape 
 the responsibility of a decision. 
 
 The reader must bear in mind that the conversation and 
 the incidents, as we proceed to relate them, are not pictures 
 of the writer's imagination, but that the account is faithfully 
 transcribed from that of the sacred writers, with no change, 
 except the adaptation of the language to the purposes of this 
 narrative. 
 
 "What accusation do you bring against this man?" was 
 the first and most natural question. Pilate came out to ask 
 it of those who had assembled at the door. 
 
 They answered that he was a malefactor. Perhaps they 
 had not decided upon the precise charge which they should 
 bring against him. 
 
 " Very well," was the reply, " take him then and judge 
 him according to your law." 
 
 " He deserves death, and that it is not lawful for us to 
 inflict," they replied. "We have, therefore, brought him 
 to you." 
 
 A conversation now ensued, in which they produced a new 
 charge, one adapted to the feelings of the new judge. The 
 old accusation was blasphemy. Now it is treason. Treason 
 against the Roman government. This, too, when every Jew, 
 from Gahlee to Gaza, abhorred the Roman yoke, and would 
 have almost deified any one who would have raised success- 
 fully the standard of rebellion. Every Roman tax-gatherer 
 was hated, and every mark of the political subjection of the 
 country was odious in the extreme ; and they had them- 
 selves attempted in vain to lead Jesus to say something 
 against the Roman government, supposing that he would not 
 dare to brave public opinion so far as to speak in its favor. 
 In the face of all this, they come, heartless pretenders to an 
 allegiance which they did not feel, to denounce him to their 
 common enemy, for what they would, every man of them, 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 261 
 
 Pilate and the Savior in the hall. 
 
 have been glad to have had done. It was the basest of all 
 charges ever brought against the victim of any oppression. 
 They accused him, before their common enemy, of being 
 their own friend ; for treason against Csesar would have 
 been political attachment to them ; so that if he had uttered 
 sentiments hostile to the powerful foe which had brought 
 one common oppression over the land of their fathers, it 
 would have been base treachery for them, to have dis- 
 closed it. 
 
 But he had not. They took some of his metaphorical 
 expressions, and perverted them to a meaning which they 
 were never intended to convey ; and endeavored from these 
 to maintain their charge of treason against Csesar. 
 
 The charge was well calculated to produce some effect. 
 It evidently arrested the attention of the Roman, and he went 
 into the hall, where Jesus stood waiting, to ask for his defense. 
 
 The manner in which he accosted him seems to imply that 
 Pilate thought it probable that his prisoner was some insane 
 or at least eccentric man, against whom his countrymen had 
 been for some reason exasperated ; for he does not put the 
 charge of treason to him as an accusation against which he 
 wished to hear his defense ; " Art thou the king of the Jews ?" 
 said he ; as if his object were to put him off his guard, by 
 saying nothing which implied reproach, but only endeavoring 
 to draw him into conversation. 
 
 "Do you ask the question of your ovm. accord ?" was the 
 Savior's reply, " or is that the charge which they bring against 
 me." It must be remembered, that Jesus, having remained 
 within the hall, had not heard the conversation which Pilate 
 had held with his enemies in the street. 
 
 "Am I a Jew?" asked Pilate in reply. " What interest 
 should I take in the affairs of your people ? Your own coun- 
 trymen have brought you here to me, as a criminal : what 
 is it that you have done ?" 
 
262 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Pilate's efforts. His inquiries. His plan for avoiding a decision 
 
 " They accuse me then of trying to be a king. I have 
 spoken sometimes of a kingdom, but it is not of this world- 
 It is evident that I have not aimed at poUtical power ; if I 
 had, I should never have yielded up myself to my enemies 
 without a struggle. My friends would have fought for me 
 if this had been the nature of my aim. No : the kingdom 
 which I have spoken of is not of this world." 
 
 " Are you a king, then, in any sense ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am. I came into the world to found a new 
 moral kingdom here, by bearing witness to the truth." 
 
 " What is your truth ?" asked the Roman ; but apparently 
 not waiting for a reply, he went out to the door again, and 
 told the multitude there, that he found no fault in the man. 
 He probably supposed that he was some ignorant and deluded, 
 but harmless enthusiast, Avhose case deserved no serious 
 notice. 
 
 The priests, however, renewed their charges. They 
 assured the governor that their prisoner was really a dan- 
 gerous man, that he had been exciting sedition, and teaching 
 the people treason against the Roman government, all over 
 the land, from Galilee to Jerusalem. 
 
 The word Galilee suggested to the perplexed Roman a 
 new way of extricating himself from the difficulty, for it was 
 fast becoming quite a serious difficulty to him. His sense of 
 justice would not allow him to condemn an innocent man, 
 but he could not resist the clamor which demanded his 
 death. The word Galilee reminded him that he might 
 throw off the responsibility of the decision upon Herod, who 
 had jurisdiction over that province, and who was, at this 
 time, accidentally at Jerusalem. He sent Jesus therefore to 
 Herod, his accusers following in the train. 
 
 Herod was glad to see them come, when he heard who it 
 was that they were bringing. He did not wish, like Pilate, 
 honestly to examine the case, but hoped for amusement 
 
THE CRUCIFIEHS. 263 
 
 Herod. The Savior's silence. Another plan. 
 
 from his prisoner. Jesus perceived it at once ; and though 
 he frankly explained to Pilate his character and plans, to 
 Herod's questions of curiosity and insult he deigned no reply. 
 The priests and scribes accused him vehemently, but he was 
 silent. They clothed him in a gorgeous robe, in ridicule 
 of his supposed pretensions, and then sent him back to 
 Pilate. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the Procurator was much per- 
 plexed to know what to do. Duty was on the one side, and 
 strong inducement to do wrong on the other, and he wavered, 
 and hesitated, and resisted, and inclined now to this side, and 
 now to that, just as the human mind so often does, in cir- 
 cumstances substantially the same. Millions of men, who 
 struggle ineffectually with temptation to do acknowledged 
 wrong, may see their own story told, and almost their own 
 hearts reflected in this scene. 
 
 His first plan was, to compromise the difficulty. 
 
 " You have brought me this man," said he, " as one that 
 is exciting the people against my government. I have 
 examined him, here before you, and can not find any 
 evidence of his guilt. I have sent him to Herod too, and 
 he finds no more evidence than I. Now I am willing to 
 inflict some moderate punishment upon him, but he has 
 done nothing worthy of death." 
 
 This of course did not satisfy the Jews. They were deter- 
 mined, if the most urgent demands on their part could pre- 
 vent it, that he should not escape so. 
 
 Pilate then thought of another proposal, It had been 
 customary for him at the great festival of the Jews to 
 release some public criminal, as a favor to them. In a 
 conquered country the interests of the government are gen- 
 erally regarded as so distinct from those of the people, that 
 even the punishment of criminals, especially those guilty of 
 political crimes, is regarded as in some sense, an injury to 
 
2C4 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Barabbas called for. 
 
 The excitement. 
 
 Pilate's perplex! .y. 
 
 the community. A foreign power comes and establishes 
 itself over them, and it is not surprising that even wholesome 
 control should be unpopular, and that the pardon of a state 
 criminal should be regarded as a boon from the authorities, — 
 a suitable contribution from the government, to the means of 
 rejoicing at a great public festival. 
 
 The Roman proposed, then, since the Jews insisted that 
 Jesus should be condemned to die, to consider him as thus 
 condemned, and then to pardon him, as it was usual to par- 
 don one on the occasion which had now arrived. He might 
 have known that this proposition would not satisfy them. 
 The crowd were all ready with their reply. " Release 
 Barabbas ;' 
 
 Barabbas ;" " Pardon 
 from a hundred voices. 
 
 " Barabbas," came up 
 
 "What shall I do 
 then with this Jesus ?" 
 " Crucify him ; — Cru- 
 cify him." 
 
 " Why, what evil 
 hath he done ? He is 
 not guilty." 
 
 " Crucify him ; — Cru- 
 cify him ;" was the uni- 
 versal reply. 
 
 The perplexed and 
 distressed Procurator 
 seems scarcely to have 
 known what to do. 
 The crowd must at this 
 time have become very 
 great, and was proba- 
 bly every moment increasing. Passions were rising, — violent 
 gesticulations, and ferocious looks, spoke the intense excitement 
 which prevailed, — and he must have seen that there was 
 
 CRUCIFY HIM. 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 265 
 
 The scourging. The crown of thorns. 
 
 the most imminent danger of a riot, perhaps an insurrection, 
 which would involve him in lasting difficulty, or might even 
 ruin forever his political hopes. He could allay the whole 
 by giving up the defenseless and innocent object of their 
 fury. But when he looked upon him, patient, mild, sub- 
 missive, waiting in silence to learn what was to be his 
 fate, he could not do it. He was a Roman, and he knew 
 his duty. 
 
 It was very plain, however, from the course that he had 
 taken thus far, what would be the ultimate decision. He 
 began to yield at last, and when a man proposes terms with 
 sin of any kind, it is not difficult to foresee which will con- 
 quer. Pilate concluded to go one step farther ; to scourge 
 the prisoner, in hopes, perhaps, that when his enemies came 
 to witness his sufferings under the lash, their hearts would 
 relent, or at least that their anger would be satisfied. He 
 gave him up to the soldiers therefore, and ordered him to be 
 scourged. 
 
 Scourging ! How few of those who have read this story 
 have any idea what a military scourging is. I might give 
 a description from the narratives of witnesses, for the horrid 
 sufiering is still inflicted as a siipposed essential part of mili- 
 tary discipline. But it must not be done ; I could not intro- 
 duce to my readers, by distinct description, a hardy soldier, 
 writhing and shrieking under such an infliction, without 
 passing those limits in the detail of physical suffering, beyond 
 which, such a work as this ought not to go. How Jesus bore 
 it, we are not told. Pilate hoped it would satisfy his mur- 
 derers. It would have satisfied any common murderers. 
 
 The scourging finished, — the bleeding sufferer was retain- 
 ed some time by the soldiers, for their amusement. A larger 
 number, perhaps nearly the whole garrison of Fort Antonia, 
 were called to enjoy the sport. They crowned him with 
 thorns, and gave him a reed for a scepter, and then with the 
 
 M 
 
266 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 One more appeal to the Savior's enemies. 
 
 The decision. 
 
 gorgeous robe which Herod had found for him, they held him 
 
 up as an object of universal derision. 
 
 Pilate at length came forth again, to make a last effort to 
 
 save the prisoner. 
 
 " Here," said he, " I 
 have brought him forth 
 again, to tell you once 
 more, that he is not 
 guilty. Behold the 
 man," said he, as he 
 pointed to the prisoner, 
 covered with marks of 
 the sufferings and in- 
 dignities he had borne. 
 The reed was in his 
 hands, the purple robe 
 around him, and the 
 thorns were in his 
 bleeding temples. No 
 wonder Pilate thought 
 his enemies would have 
 
 BKHOLD THE MAN. 
 
 been moved. 
 
 " Crucify him," " Crucify him ;" was the universal reply. 
 
 " You must take him then and crucify him yourselves, for 
 I can not find any fault in him. He has not been guilty of 
 treason." 
 
 But why go on to detail the faltering, failing efforts, which 
 the E-oman officer made to save his prisoner. He had begun 
 to yield, and though he continued to dispute the ground, at 
 every step he gave way more and more, until, finding that 
 riot and tumult were inevitable, and when it was pretty dis- 
 tinctly intimated that he might be denounced at Rome, as a 
 traitor himself, if he allowed this supposed traitor to go free, 
 he finally yielded. Before giving, however, the orders for 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 267 
 
 Character of Pontius Pilate. The soldiers. 
 
 the crucifixion, he came out before the multitude, and in the 
 most solemn manner assured them, that the man was inno- 
 cent, and that if they crucified him, they must answer for 
 his blood. 
 
 " His blood be on us, and on our children," was the awful 
 reply. 
 
 Very few men ever think of comparing themselves with 
 Pontius Pilate, or with the soldiers who executed his orders ; 
 when perhaps there are not anyM'^here in the Bible, delinea- 
 tions of character which might be more universally appro- 
 priated than these. Neither of them felt any special hostility 
 for the Savior. Pilate would have done his duty if he could 
 have done it by any common sacrifice ; but like multitudes, 
 probably, who will read this examination of his character, 
 he was not willing to make the sacrifice which was neces- 
 sary, in taking the right side. The reader fluctuates, per- 
 haps, just as he did, between conscience and temptation, 
 yielding more and more to sin, and finding the struggle more 
 hopeless the longer it is continued. A religious book, an 
 afflictive or a warning providence, or an hour of solitude, 
 quickens conscience, and renews the combat ; but the world 
 comes in with its clamors, and, after a feeble resistance, he 
 gives way again, — a Pilate exactly, in every thing but the 
 mere form in which the question of duty comes before him. 
 
 And the Roman soldiers too ; they would have said if they 
 had been charged with doing wrong, that they were soldiers, 
 and that they must do as they were ordered. They executed 
 Christ as they would have executed any other man at their 
 centurion's command. Such work was their business, and 
 the part which they performed in the sad tragedy was, as 
 they considered it, an act simply of official duty ; they felt, 
 probably, that there devolved upon them personally no re- 
 sponsibility whatever for the deed. The excuse was, to say 
 
268 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Sitming in the way of business. Various characters exhibited at the cross. 
 
 the least, as good then as it is now, and it will be allowed as 
 much weight at the judgment day in the case of the ignorant 
 and degraded soldier, as in that of the enlightened and culti- 
 vated member of a Christian community. In other words, 
 it is no excuse for either. The bookseller who has circulated 
 a pernicious book, the lawyer who has fomented the quarrels 
 which he* ought to have healed, the merchant who has dis- 
 tributed over the community the temptations to vice, or the 
 means of gratifying unholy passions, and the soldiers who 
 insulted and tortured their victim in obedience to their com- 
 manders, will all find at last, that the customs or regulations 
 of business among men, will never justify doing what con- 
 science declares to be wrong. 
 
 Such is the marked and striking variety of character which 
 is exhibited in this extraordinary scene. We have the sol- 
 diers and the bystanders, like the mass of mankind, uncon- 
 cerned and reckless, caring little about right and wrong, and 
 controlled in their conduct by the accidental influence of 
 circumstances, — ^neither fearing God, nor regarding duty; 
 and we have Pilate, doubting and hesitating in the struggle 
 against sin, — conscience awake, and yet temptation power- 
 ful, and the contest ending, as such contests usually do, in 
 the victory of sin. They are fair examples of the two great 
 forms of open wickedness ; hardened reprobates sinning with- 
 out compunction, and the wavering and miserable soul doing 
 wrong in spite of it. It is hard to tell which God regards 
 a& most guilty. We have hypocrisy, also, in its two leading 
 forms ; Judas, a hypocrite for money, and the priests, hypo- 
 crites for place and power. To complete the collection, we 
 have piety in its two leading forms ; the wandering, sinning, 
 and broken-hearted Peter ; and Mary and John, firm in their 
 duty, and unwavering in their afiection, to the last ; sharing 
 the opprobrium and the danger of their Master, and keeping 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 269 
 
 His numerous friends. Crucifixion. Inflammation. 
 
 closely at his side ; giving him all that human sympathy can 
 give, and receiving his dying charge. 
 
 It is a very common impression that the populace, gener- 
 ally, were against the Savior, at this time ; but the narrative 
 does not seem to countenance this idea. The priests were 
 against him, and they seem to have been the chief, if not the 
 only agents. They contrived their plans secretly, in order 
 to get him apprehended, and to procure sentence against him 
 by the Roman governor, before there should be any opportu- 
 nity for a rescue by the people ; after this, they knew that 
 he would be secure ; and now when he was led away, under 
 E-oman authority, to execution, they seem not to have feared 
 any interruption. A great company of friends did, however, 
 follow him, lamenting his cruel fate. He once turned to 
 address them on his way, asking them to weep not for him, 
 but for themselves and their children. 
 
 They came to the place of execution, and painful as it is, 
 we must dwell a few moments upon the scene that was pre- 
 sented there. Jesus was to be crucified ; and crucifixion is 
 perhaps the most ingenious and the most perfect invention 
 for mingling torture and death which was ever contrived. 
 It is the very master-piece of cruelty. Life is to be destroy- 
 ed ; but in this way of destroying it, it is arranged with sav- 
 age ingenuity that no vital part shall be touched : the tor- 
 turer goes to the very extremities, — to the hands and to the 
 feet, and fixes his rough and rusty iron among the nerves 
 and tendons there ; and the poor sufferer hangs in a position 
 which admits of no change and no rest, until burning and 
 torturing inflammation can work its way slowly to the seat 
 of life, and extinguish it by the simple power of suffering. 
 
 They laid the Savior down upon the cross, and extended 
 his arms ; a soldier on each side holds the hand down in its 
 assigned position, and then presses the point of his iron spike 
 
270 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 TLirst. Suffering. Death. 
 
 upon the proper place in the palm. He raises his hammer, 
 — the patient sufferer waiting calmly for the blow : — 
 
 But we must stop ; — we are going beyond those limits in 
 the detail of physical suffering, which we have said that a 
 writer in such a work as this, should not pass over. We 
 leave the rest, and the reader must conceive, if he can, of the 
 first sharp piercing agony, and the excruciating pains then 
 shooting through the frame ; — the rising inflammation, and 
 the intolerable thirst, — the dreadful thirst of the wounded, — 
 that thirst which brings up from a field of battle, a few hours 
 after the contest, one universal cry for water, from the thou- 
 sands who lie dying upon the ground. As the Savior hangs, 
 too, by such a suspension, hour after hour, we must remember 
 that he hod been scourged. Perhaps this was in mercy how- 
 ever. He died sooner than the malefactors. 
 
 But it is too awful a scene to dwell upon. We may read 
 the narrative in the gospels, without much feeling, because 
 we have long been familiar with the words, and they cease 
 to affect us. But if the imagination really enters into the 
 scene, she recoils, awed and terrified, from the contemplation 
 of such sufferings. 
 
 Life was slow in relinquishing its hold, attacked thus, as 
 it was, in the remote extremities. It sunk at last, however, 
 under the power of protracted pain. The sufferer ceased 
 to speak; his head dropped upon his breast; and as they 
 looked up to his face from below, the rigid fixedness of 
 feature, and the half closed and glassy eye told them that all 
 was over. 
 
 In crucifixion, ingenious and savage cruelty maintains her 
 ground to the very last ; for when the executioner gets tired 
 of waiting for the miserable sufferer to die, and time compels 
 him to do something to accelerate the work, he has not the 
 mercy to destroy the sad remnant of vitality at a blow. He 
 
THE CRUCIFIERS. 271 
 
 The soldiera' visit at sunset. The body taken down. The disciples. 
 
 keeps, still, as far as possible, away from the seat of life, and 
 by new violence inflicted on the limbs, endeavors simply to 
 send a new pang, as a reinforcement to the assailant, in the 
 protracted contest between life and sufiering. It is the very 
 object and aim of crucifixion to kill by pain, and with savage 
 consistency they will employ no other agent to speed the 
 work. Accordingly when, at sunset, the soldiers came to the 
 place of execution, to see how the fatal process was going 
 on, they broke the malefactors' legs to quicken their dying 
 struggles. 
 
 " He is dead already," said they, when they came to the 
 Savior's cross, and looked at the body hanging passive and 
 lifeless upon it ; and one of them thrust his long iron-pointed 
 spear up into his side, to prove that there was no sense or 
 feeling there. 
 
 The ferocious executioners then went away and left the 
 disciples to take the body gently down, and bear it away to 
 the tomb. As they carried it to what they supposed would 
 be its long home, the limbs hung relaxed and passive ; the 
 tongue, to whose words of kindness and instruction they 
 had so often listened, was silent ; the eye fixed, — the cheek 
 pale, — the hand cold. The soldiers had done their worlc 
 effectually ; and though the disciples could not have noticed 
 these proofs that their Master had really gone, without tears, 
 they must still have rejoiced that the poor sufferer's agonies 
 were over. 
 
 As to themselves, all their hopes were blasted, and all their 
 plans destroyed. They had firmly believed that their Mas- 
 ter was to have been the Savior of his nation ; instead of 
 that, he had been himself destroyed. The day before, every 
 thing had looked bright and promising in their prospects ; 
 but this sudden storm had come on, and in twenty- four liours 
 it had swept every thing away. They placed the body in 
 the tomb, and, disappointed, broken-hearted, and overwhelm- 
 
272 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral effect of the scene. 
 
 ed with sorrow, they went to their homes. They knew noth- 
 ing about the design and nature of these sufferings, — and we 
 know, after all, but little ; but who can be so insensible as 
 not to seo, that this transaction, exhibiting on so conspicuous 
 a stage all the forms and degrees both of holiness and sin, 
 and especially when seen in the light in which the sacred 
 writers subsequently exhibited it, goes very far toward mak- 
 ing the same moral impression, as would be made by the just 
 punishment of sin. Who can read the story, without loving 
 purity and holiness, and abhorring and dreading guilt. 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 273 
 
 Plan of the work. Human life. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PARTING COMMAND, OR THE MEANS OF SPREADING THE 
 GOSPEL. 
 
 " Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." 
 
 Were we to follow inclination, we should not pass over 
 those most interesting events, which occurred during the in- 
 terval between the Savior's death and ascension. But it is 
 not the design of this work, as the reader will have already 
 perceived, to give a connected and continuous history of 
 Jesus Christ, but to bring forward the leading principles of 
 religious truth, as they are naturally connected with the 
 various points of this history. Fidelity to our plan therefore 
 seems to require, that after having considered the sufferings 
 which our Savior endured for us, we should pass on to the 
 consideration of the great work which he wishes us now to 
 do for him. He assigned this work to his disciples by his 
 last words. 
 
 The objects and the pursuits of human life are entirely 
 changed, by the view which the gospel takes of the human 
 condition and character. Without the light which Chris- 
 tianity sheds upon it, life is a dull and wearisome path, a 
 routine of tiresome duties, or heartless pleasures. Every one 
 will admit that it has been so with him, in respect to the 
 past, though his future way seems gilded with new promises 
 of enjoyment. These, however, will certainly fade away, 
 when he approaches them, as all the rest have done. 
 
 M* 
 
274 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Anticipated happiness. What have I to live for. 
 
 The mass of mankind never see this. They know, it is 
 true, that they have never been really contented and happy, 
 and are not so now ; but just before them, in the voyage of 
 life, they see a bright spot upon the waters, which they ex- 
 pect soon to reach, and where their bark will float, they 
 think, in a golden sea of light and glory. That spot has been 
 just as far from them, and has looked just as bright and al- 
 luring for years, — and as they have approached it, the splen- 
 did reflection has fled, and the waters have returned to dark- 
 ness and gloom, before the keel of their bark could plow 
 them. Still they have not discovered this illusion, but they 
 give themselves up, again and again, to the influence of these 
 deceitful hopes, and press forward as eagerly to the spot of 
 imagined happiness, as if it had now just for the first time 
 burst upon their view. 
 
 The more thinking and serious, however, see the truth, 
 and feel it deeply. It seems to them discouraging to toil on 
 in duties which return every day the same, and the perform- 
 ance of which leaves behind no permanent effects ; or to seek 
 for pleasures which the experience of years has proved can 
 seldom be attained, and which, when they are attained, do 
 not satisfy. These feelings have oppressed many a sensitive 
 and reflecting spirit, as it has looked forward to the years 
 of life that remain, and thought how soon they would be 
 gone, and has asked with a desponding sigh, " What have 
 I to live for ?" 
 
 The true followers of Jesus Christ are raised at once above 
 the vacuity and inanity which characterize a life spent with- 
 out God. Their Master did not leave the world without 
 giving them something to do. Something, at once pleasant, 
 and useful, and ennobling. It is pleasant, because it interests 
 all the feelings of the heart, and carries the soul on to peace- 
 ful, but rich enjoyments, of the very highest character. It 
 is useful ; it seeks directly the highest good, aiming at happi- 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 275 
 
 The work of a Christian. Means of doing it. Holy life. 
 
 ness present and future, and attaching its own proper share 
 of importance to every means of attaining it. It is enno- 
 hling ; for it sinks all the base passions of selfishness and sin, 
 it breaks over the barriers and limits of time and sense, and 
 expands the views and widens the field of effort, — and by 
 linking man with God, in one great and common enterprise, 
 it raises him almost out of the sphere of human action, and 
 gives him an employment eternal in duration, and unbounded 
 in the wide-spread extension of its aims. 
 
 The work which Christ has given us to do is the promo- 
 tion of his kingdom here ; and it is the work of all . If there 
 is any thing clearly asserted in the New Testament it is that 
 the followers of the Savior are not their own, but his ; that 
 they are bought with a price, and are bound to be devoted 
 to their Maker's service. The great work, too, which in his 
 service they are called upon to perform, is establishing and 
 spreading the reign of holiness in this world ; and it is of 
 such fundamental importance that every Christian should 
 understand clearly his duty in this respect that a chapter 
 ought to be devoted to it ; and as it is a subject which re- 
 lates exclusively to personal duty, I shall adopt the form of 
 direct address to my reader. 
 
 When you give yourself up to the service of Jesus Christ, 
 then, consider how much is meant by it. It involves, among 
 other things which have already been considered, devoting 
 yourself to his work. To bring men to repentance and holi- 
 ness was the work of his life ; if you follow him, then, it 
 must be yours. This point, however, was considered more 
 fully in a preceding chapter. Our object is now not to en- 
 force the duty, but to show rather by what means it is to be 
 performed. These we shall consider in order. 
 
 I. A HOLY LIFE. 
 
 The most direct and powerful means of promoting the 
 
276 THE CORKER-STONE. 
 
 Two kinda of influence. The salt of the earth. 
 
 Savior's kingdom, is the vigorous cultivation of your own 
 growth in grace. There is a great tendency among Chris- 
 tians to look too much away from themselves, and to suppose 
 that they are to do good to their fellow-rtien by bustling 
 efforts, bearing directly upon them, without the light of a 
 high and consistent and unsullied example of holiness. " Ye 
 are the salt of the earth," said our Savior, and the very ex- 
 pressive metaphor seems to imply that Christianity is to in- 
 fluence mankind not so much by its outward and open tri- 
 umphs in the world, as by the silent and unseen, and yet 
 most powerful operation of its principles, in the hearts and 
 lives of its professors. The thousands of individual Christians 
 are surrounded, each in his own little sphere, with a circle 
 upon whom they exert a constant influence. The aggre- 
 gate of this influence is immense. Each individual, how- 
 ever, is responsible only for his own comparatively minute 
 and separate share ; but success in securing it, in every part, 
 and consequently in the whole, depends on personal Chris- 
 tian character. 
 
 To show this, let us consider the amount of influence of 
 two distinct kinds, which may be exerted by a particular 
 church. The church consists, we will suppose, of a hundred 
 members ; and in the daily business and pursuits of life, these 
 members are connected, probably, more or less directly with 
 two thousand persons. That is, there are two thousand per- 
 sons, at least, who are acquainted with some one or more of 
 them. One kind of influence, then, exerted by these Chris- 
 tians is, that of their private character and conduct, and the 
 spirit manifested in their dealings, as they affect these two 
 thousand. Again, they are interested, we will suppose, in 
 the spread of religion, and they contribute a considerable sum 
 of money to circulate Bibles or tracts, or to support mission- 
 aries in foreign lands. Now the point is, that the former, 
 namely, the private influence, exerted over those with whom 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 277 
 
 Duties to ourselves. Common danger. Looking to others. 
 
 they come into immediate connection, is far more important 
 than the other. It is this kind of influence which is more 
 frequently spoken of in the New Testament than the other ; 
 and if the church felt the importance of it, and universally 
 acted accordingly, the Gospel would make far more rapid 
 progress in the world than it now does. The reader will 
 see in the sequel that I do not mean to undervalue the second 
 mode of promoting Christ's kingdom. It should have its 
 proper place ; but the first and great duty of every Christian 
 is to see that his own heart is right, and that the light of 
 the glory of God shines in all his private conduct. 
 
 And yet this is very often forgotten. The heart, deceitful 
 and hard toward God, loves to forget it. We seek moral 
 renewal for ourselves, and we feel, at first, a strong interest 
 in our Maker's service ; but the world comes in again and 
 gets the victory ; and since we do not like to renew the pain- 
 ful struggle necessary to overthrow it once more, we leave 
 ourselves, and endeavor to quiet conscience by activity in our 
 efforts to save others from their sins. Our pride is gratified 
 by the thought that we stand on safer and better ground 
 than those for whom we labor, and there are many other 
 worldly feelings that we gratify, in devising and executing 
 our plans. In the mean time our own hearts remain cold 
 and dead ; our petitions become feeble, our prayers formal ; 
 desires for real spiritual blessings for our own souls are gone, 
 and we work industriously, with the pretense of endeavoring 
 to procure for others what we do not really desire for our- 
 selves. 
 
 This must not be so, if we wish to do any good to the 
 cause of Christ. We must look within, and seek first to 
 eradicate our own sins, and have our own hearts right. We 
 should pray for spiritual blessings for ourselves, and see that 
 we do it sincerely. Many and many a night when the 
 Christian kneels for his evening prayers, he can not honestly 
 
276 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Watching one's self. Common way of evading duty. 
 
 ask God to come and be with him. The world has full pos- 
 session ; and if he prays in words that God would come and 
 break its chains, it is with a secret wish that he may not be 
 heard. If we examine ourselves with careful scrutiny, we 
 shall often find that this is really the case. The Christian, 
 therefore, who wishes to be at his post, and to act efficiently 
 for his Master, should pray for himself, and see that he can 
 pray honestly. 
 
 Again, he should watch himself. We are all far more 
 willing to watch one another than to watch ourselves. It is 
 easier, and more pleasant to see the faults of others than our 
 own. We like to think of the obstinacy, and ingratitude, 
 and folly of those that are entirely without God in the world, 
 far better than to see the same qualities in ourselves. Now 
 there is, unquestionably, such a fault as turning our thoughts 
 too exclusively to ourselves. Many persons err in this way, 
 and to them, advice contrary to this should be given. But 
 such cases are rare. The mass of Christians, especially in 
 this busy age, are far more inclined to be watchful over all 
 their neighbors, than over themselves, and especially to see 
 the hardness of heart, and the base ingratitude exhibited by 
 sinners, while they entirely overlook their own. 
 
 Once more ; we should labor for our own spiritual good. 
 In religious action, the natural law in respect to selfishness 
 seems to be reversed. We are far more ready to toil for 
 others, than for ourselves ; we had rather that they would 
 repent, than that we ourselves should grow in grace ; — we 
 prefer buying and distributing a dozen tracts for the unre- 
 generate, to reading attentively and prayerfully a treatise 
 designed to promote our own progress in holiness. 
 
 This is not surprising, though it is very wrong. Unhappi- 
 ly for us, moral renovation leaves sin in our hearts, wounded, 
 indeed, but very imperfectly subdued ; and this is one of the 
 forms, which, forever deceitful, it continually assumes ; but 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 279 
 
 Influence of personal holiness. Influence of action. 
 
 it must not be so. The best way to spread religion, is to 
 exemplify it. A pure church is the most powerful army ; 
 the Christian armor consists of the Christian graces, and it 
 is with these, that victories really valuable are alone to be 
 won. 
 
 But it is not my intention here, to point out the means of 
 growing in grace, but only to bring to view the importance 
 of a high standard of personal holiness among believers, as a 
 means of spreading the religion of the Savior. There is a 
 great tendency to look with too exclusive an interest at the 
 public movements of the church in its efforts to extend its 
 boundaries, while the far more powerful influences which 
 might be exerted by piety and holiness within, are compara- 
 tively neglected. The interest felt, however, in the public 
 movements of the church, is not yet half what it ought to be. 
 I do not wish to depress the one, but to raise the other. In 
 fact they generally go hand in hand. Right efforts, made in 
 the right spirit, are among the very best means of promoting 
 piety and spiritual progress, in the individual who makes 
 them ; there is a sort of reflex action that brings to his own 
 heart, the blessings which he seeks to bring down upon 
 others. But to accomplish this object, they must be right 
 efforts, made in the right spirit : and here is the danger. 
 
 In fact there is no question that a man may be led to the 
 most vigorous efforts to promote the cause of religion from 
 motives which are altogether distinct from those which the 
 Savior requires. Self-interest, party spirit, love of honor, 
 spiritual pride, and a thousand other motives animate a vast 
 proportion of the zeal which is professedly expended in the 
 cause of Christ. One man, a professor of religion, and in 
 fact a sincere Christian, is very much engaged in promoting 
 the building of a church. The cause of Christ, he thinks, 
 requires it So it does, and so will the value of his property 
 be increased by its being placed in his vicinity ; and it will 
 
280 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Doable motives. Bad principles cultivated by religious acts. 
 
 require a great deal of careful self-examination, for him to 
 ascertain in precisely what proportion these two motives act 
 upon him. In fact, if a destroying angel were commissioned 
 to pass over our land, and apply the torch to every church 
 which pride, or interest, or love of honor had erected, and 
 leave those only which are the monuments of sincere and 
 honest love to the Savior, we fear that the smoke of a great 
 many conflagrations would ascend. 
 
 In the same manner, a minister will be active and ardent 
 in his efforts to awaken religious interest among his people ; 
 or, an author may write a book, ostensibly to give religious 
 instruction. Now they both may be led forward in their 
 work by a desire to do good ; but it must not be forgotten 
 that the very same success which accomplishes good for the 
 cause, brings honor to the laborer ; and many an enterprising 
 and zealous workman will find, if he looks honestly at his 
 heart, that the worldly feeling has far more than its fair 
 share in the work. 
 
 It is the same with all the open and active means of 
 endeavoring to promote the Savior's cause. There is so 
 much mingling of motives in them, that it is difficult to tell, 
 in many cases, whether the natural or the renewed feelings 
 are most cultivated by such efforts. If these things are done 
 in the right spirit, they cultivate that spirit ; — and on the 
 other hand, the feelings which prompt them are strengthened, 
 if they are wrong. Bad passions as well as good thrive under 
 the influence of indulgence, and consequently the very same 
 act, such as contributing money for any religious or charita- 
 ble purpose, may be the means of awakening and cherishing 
 in the heart of the Christian who makes it, love to God, and 
 a warm desird for the salvation of men. It may wean him 
 from the world, and link him to his Savior by a bond closer 
 than before. On the other hand, it may give the reins to 
 selfishness and passion, and banish spiritual peace and joy, 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 281 
 
 Influence of the heart greater than that of the conduct. 
 
 and bring back the soul very far in its sad return to the 
 dominion of sin. 
 
 It is therefore unsafe to depend, as too many do, on mere 
 Christian action, for their growth in grace. It is sometimes 
 unquestionably wise, to turn the thoughts of some dejected 
 desponding Christian away from himself, in the hope that he 
 may find cheerfulness and enjoyment in doing work for his 
 Master. It is, in many cases, the very best advice which 
 can be given. Still those instances, though many in the 
 aggregate, are individually rare. In all ordinary cases, the 
 great danger is the other way, — of going out of ourselves, 
 and seeking to win God's favor by outward diligence and 
 zeal — what we call Christian action, — while the passions of 
 the heart remain unsubdued, and its recesses of hidden guilt 
 unexplored. It is a great deal easier, with hearts such as 
 ours, to give money, or to erect a church, or to exhort in a 
 religious assembly, or to write good advice for others, than to 
 come and humble our own selves, and to crucify the flesh 
 with its affections and lusts. 
 
 The advantage of making more direct and special efforts 
 to induce Christians to cultivate the right spirit of piety, than 
 to induce them to go forward in Christian action, is manifest 
 from the consideration that warm piety in the heart will 
 almost spontaneously go forth into Christian action, whether 
 you urge it on or not : but the most uninterrupted and ener- 
 getic Christian action will not necessarily produce the right 
 state of heart. It may only foster and strengthen the bad 
 principles of action from which it springs. Besides, the light 
 of a pure and honest Christian character must of itself do 
 good among men. It exerts an influence which they can not 
 but feel, and it is an influence far more powerful than any 
 other. Suppose we could station in any community in our 
 country, a little band oi perfect Christians, and leave them 
 there, merely as specimens of the practical effects of Chris- 
 
282 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Holy example. Unholy example. The latter common. 
 
 tianity. Connect them by the ordinary pursuits of business 
 with the mass of society, but cut them ofi^, if you please, from 
 all opportunity to make direct efforts to inculcate the princi- 
 ples of religion upon others. What an effect their simple 
 presence would produce I Pure, holy, harmless and unde- 
 filed, weaned entirely from this world, and living entirely for 
 another. Hearts warm with love to God, and ardent affec- 
 tion for one another, and untiring benevolence toward all 
 around them ; selfishness gone, — pride, censoriousness, resent- 
 ment, all gone ; and instead of the base passions of human 
 nature, the whole soul filled with the noble and generous 
 and exalted sentiments which Christianity tends to inspire. 
 What an influence would be exerted by such a church, even 
 if the members of it were deprived of all those means of 
 influence on which we ordinarily depend ; and how different 
 would it be in its nature, from that which is now too often 
 exerted in the towns and villages of our land, by those who 
 have in charge the cause of the Savior there. The minister, 
 cold and heartless, — close and selfish in his dealings during 
 the week, — and then preaching, on the Sabbath, in the per- 
 formance of a dull routine of duty, or to gratify the vanity 
 of rhetorical or theological display ; — the father, worldly and 
 selfish, — devoted, with his whole soul, to the work of making 
 a fortune, — and now and then adding his name to a subscrip- 
 tion, to keep up his credit as a benevolent man, or perhaps 
 to be relieved of unpleasant importunity ; — and a mother, 
 scolding and fretting among her children and domestics all 
 the morning, and then decking her face in assumed and 
 heartless smiles, or in an expression of affected solemnity, to 
 go to a religious or charitable meeting in the afternoon. My 
 description may seem unnecessarily severe : I hope it is so. 
 At all events, one thing is certain, that Christians can not 
 hope thai God will bless them, and prosper his cause in their 
 hearts, unless their hearts are right, and their efforts in his 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 283 
 
 Personal influence. Its value as a means of doing good. 
 
 service are made from honest dessires to promote their Savior's 
 cause. And this will not be the case, unless the spirit of 
 religion, which is the spirit of peace, love and joy, reign 
 habitually and incessantly at home, as well as abroad, — in 
 retirement as well as in public : and if it really exists, it will 
 show itself as certainly in the tone and manner with which 
 we speak to our children, or bear the little trials of every-day 
 life, as in the most public acts performed in the face of the 
 world. 
 
 If, then, you wish. Christian, to do any thing effectual for 
 the Savior, look within : labor first and most constantly with 
 your own heart, so that the light of pure religion may beam 
 in beauty and gentleness there. The world around will see 
 and feel its moral power. Many will he led by it, to the 
 fountain which has purified you ; they will follow your ex- 
 ample, they will imbibe your spirit ; and thus, while coming 
 nearer and nearer to the Savior yourself, you will in the most 
 effectual manner extend his kingdom. 
 
 II. PERSONAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 Aim at acquiring as strong a personal influence as possible 
 over others. We put this next to the work of securing your 
 own progress in holiness, because we really believe it stands 
 next. The man whose own heart is right toward God, and 
 who has a strong influence over others, must inevitably do a 
 great deal toward promoting the Savior's cause. He may in 
 many cases mistake ; he may work to disadvantage ; but he 
 has the essentials, and to a great extent he must succeed. 
 But let us explain what we mean by personal influence. 
 
 Here are two Christians equally devoted to their Master's 
 cause. One, however, feels that next to his responsibility for 
 his own personal character, his highest trust is his direct in- 
 fluence over others. This influence he will steadily endeavor 
 both to preserve and to increase. In all his intercourse with 
 
284 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The contrast Repulsive piety. Its bad influence. 
 
 others he endeavors to acquire their good-will. To find his 
 way to their hearts, his benevolence is active, practical, 
 operating at all times, and diffusing enjoyment all around 
 him. He has regard for the rights and feelings of others, as 
 well as for. his own. He sympathizes with the difficulties 
 and trials of those who are connected with him ; and thus, 
 independently of the light which his character sheds around 
 him, he is the object of strong personal regard. 
 
 The other is a very different man. He cultivates the spirit 
 of piety, and bewails his sins before God. He is ready to 
 make even great sacrifices to do good, whenever the oppor- 
 tunity presents : but in all the thousand little connections 
 which bind him to society, he seems morose and stern. The 
 ordinary kindnesses and courtesies of life, he never exhibits. 
 He reserves his charity for masses of men, and his benevo- 
 lence for great occasions. In all the ordinary dealings, in 
 which he becomes connected from day to day with his 
 fellows, he is harsh and unconciliating ; firm in the defense 
 of all his rights, and inflexible in resisting every injury. He 
 means to do what is right ; but on the line which his eye 
 marks out as the line of rectitude, he stands firm and per- 
 pendicular. He ought to stand thus on the line of rectitude 
 in respect to moral principle, but not on that of justice in 
 regard to ''his own interests. He never sympathizes with 
 those who are dependent upon him. They find that he does 
 not think of their temptations, or feel for the trials which 
 they have to bear. If they are sick, he relieves their wants 
 perhaps with cold propriety, but gives no evidence of com- 
 passion, or of real good- will. 
 
 Now with the same degree of piety, if it is possible for the 
 piety to be the same in two such cases, and with the same 
 degree of wealth, and with the same influence of standing, 
 how different will be the amount of service which these two 
 individuals can render to their Master. The one is connect- 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 28t* 
 
 The fault generally Incurable. Unsound logic 
 
 ed, by the closest ties, to many human hearts ; and his senti- 
 ments, his feelings, his spirit are insensibly and continually 
 adopted by all around him. His light shines and allures. 
 The other not only can do no good, but is constantly though 
 insensibly doing harm. The world around consider his char- 
 acter as illustrating the natural tendencies of religion. Many 
 cases have occurred where a Christian of wealth and public 
 influence has had such a character that a whole community 
 has been seared in conscience, and alienated from the truth, 
 by the associations which such a spectacle constantly before 
 their eyes has led them to form. They would have disliked 
 the purity and spirituality of religion in some degree perhaps 
 without this, but they are led by it to dishke them still more. 
 They are thus driven farther and farther away from God, by 
 means of the influence of one of his friends. 
 
 Such characters, too, when once formed, seem to be incur- 
 able ; for as every mad projector defends himself against the 
 most convincing proof of the wildness and impracticability of 
 his schemes, by recollecting the opposition and incredulity 
 which Columbus had to contend with, so do these Christians 
 consider every difficulty which they incur, and every feeling 
 of opposition which they awaken in others, as proofs of their 
 fidelity in the cause of their Master. " He that lives godly, 
 will suffer persecution," says the apostle ; but they read it 
 the other way. All that suffer persecution must certainly 
 be godly. Not very sound logic, the impartial reader will 
 say ; but any logic is sound enough to convince, when it is 
 offered by interest or pride. 
 
 It is the duty then of every individual, who wishes to obey 
 the Savior's dying command, and in obedience to it, to assist 
 his Master in spreading the reign of piety among men, to 
 take care of his personal influence. 
 
 A very large number of the readers of this work will how- 
 ever, in all probability, attempt to place themselves out of 
 
2&6 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Supposed want of influence. Extent and power of influence. 
 
 the reach of all these remarks, by saying to themselves : 
 " This is all very true, but it does not apply to me. I have 
 no influence, and from the very circumstances in which 
 Providence has placed me, I can not have any." 
 
 While such readers have been perusing the preceding par- 
 agraphs, their thoughts have been fixed upon some influential 
 individuals whom they could call to mind, and they have con- 
 sidered these remarks as applicable only to them, or to persons 
 placed like them in stations of trust and responsibility in the 
 service of God. Perhaps some one who reads this may wish 
 he could apply the remarks to himself Sometimes, perhaps, iu 
 your hour of devotion, when your heart is warmed by reflect- 
 ing what the Savior has done for you, you sigh to reflect how 
 little you can do in return. You wish that you had some 
 public or general influence which you might devote to the 
 cause of the Savior. But you are alone ; your sphere of" duty 
 is limited to the little spot in which you move from day to 
 day, with very little influence over other minds ; so that 
 even when you wish to do good, it seems scarcely in your 
 power. 
 
 This feeling is one which very extensively prevails ; but 
 it is founded upon an entire mistake, in regard to the nature 
 of the influence which may be made most valuable for the 
 purpose of promoting the Savior's cause. You think that 
 you have no influence. You have on the contrary, in fact, 
 a very powerful influence. It is not extensive, but it is power- 
 ful, and this distinction you overlook. Let us consider it a 
 little. 
 
 The chief magistrate of a populous city has an extensive 
 influence. It reaches a great many minds. His plans and 
 his measures promote or injure the interests of thousands. 
 They are discussed, and approved or condemned, in many a 
 little group, and thus, out of all the multitudes around him, 
 there are very few who do not know his name at least, if 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 287 
 
 The chief magistrate. The two friends. Mutual influence. 
 
 they do not hear of his domgs. The influence of what 
 passes in that one man's mind extends, in this way, to tens of 
 thousands. But, after all, this official influence is not very 
 powerful in any individual case. In the aggregate, it is very 
 powerful, — but it is an aggregate made up of very small 
 items. Select from among the multitudes with whom he is 
 daily thrown into connection, the one to whom he is bound 
 most closely, — over whom he has the greatest ascendency ; 
 and how great an ascendency is it ? Why, it is a tie of 
 business. It is the influence of a slight interest in common, 
 and the chain will remain just so long as the business and 
 the common interest retain their hold. The power of heart 
 over heart, in such a case, is very small. The man, from 
 the eminence on which he is placed, holds a slight control, a 
 feeble influence, over many thousands. We gaze at the great- 
 ness of it, in amount, and forget how feeble it is in detail. 
 The very child, returning from school with the companion of 
 his studies and his plays, holds an ascendency and control 
 over the heart, to a degree which the statesman or the 
 magistrate never obtains. Now, it is influence over the 
 heart, which is most effectual in making friends for the 
 Savior. 
 
 Suppose that two obscure and solitary individuals live to- 
 gether in a retired dwelling among the mountains. Their 
 pursuits, their interests, their joys, and sorrows are common. 
 If one is cheerful and happy, the light of her smile is reflected 
 upon the countenance of the other. If one is gloomy or im- 
 patient, or sad, the sympathy which years have cherished, 
 transfers the emotion to the bosom of the other. However 
 dissimilar in disposition and character they may have been 
 in youth, every difference is gradually diminished or destroyed. 
 They come to be interested in the same pursuits, to fear the 
 same evils, and to have every wish and every emotion com- 
 mon. This process of assimilation goes on till the last, — and 
 
288 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Powerful but. not extensive. 
 
 THE FRIKNDS. 
 
 when one of them at length lies down in the grave, the 
 other is left to mourn the loss, with a feeling of irretriev- 
 ahle bereavement, to which human life can hardly afford a 
 parallel. 
 
 This, now, is a powerful influence ; — but it is not an ex- 
 tensive one. The influence of each could extend only to the 
 other. The world around was nothing to them. And what 
 is peculiar in this case is, that the greatness of the ascend- 
 ency would depend, most of all, upon the very fact that the rest 
 of mankind were removed beyond their reach. The fact that 
 they were nothing to all the world, was the very reason 
 why they were so much to one another. And it is so with 
 \Vi all. The more a man's influence is extended and diffused, 
 th 3 more is it ordinarily weakened, in its bearing upon indi- 
 viduals. The public officer, who reaches a hundred thou- 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 289 
 
 The child and his little brother. The Christian laborer. 
 
 sand minds, reaches them all feebly ; and if you wish to find 
 an example of the highest power exerted by one heart over 
 another, you must seek it in the case of some one secluded 
 from the world, and engaged in a round of duties which 
 bring him into contact with but few. 
 
 We may go farther than this, and say that there is scarce- 
 ly an example of influence to be found, so powerful as that 
 exerted by a little child just old enough to talk, over his 
 little brother or sister a year or two younger than himself. 
 He is in all things its leader, and guide, and oracle ; with 
 perhaps more power over its heart, than the world exhibits 
 in any other case. The little learner follows and imitates its 
 superior in almost every thing. He goes wherever his com- 
 panion leads, — and mimics all his actions, — and repeats, in 
 his imperfect and broken articulation, all his words ; and he 
 is thus led forward to almost all his knowledge, and guided, 
 in almost the whole formation of his character, by a child, 
 only a little older than himself, and who is almost entirely 
 unconscious of the influence which he is thus exerting over 
 an immortal mind. 
 
 Such is the distinction between the extent, and the indi- 
 vidual power of influence, and it does not require much rea- 
 soning to show which is most efficient as a means of promot- 
 ing the salvation of souls. Piety is a feeling of the heart, 
 and he who would promote it, must gain access to the heart. 
 Consequently, the more direct the access in the individual 
 case, the greater is the prospect of success. A Christian 
 laborer who is employed day after day by an irreligious man, 
 has a far greater influence over him in a religious point of 
 view, than the chief magistrate of the country can have. 
 The laborer must have a great influence in the formation of 
 the religious character of his employer. If he is gentle and 
 benevolent, and of unbending integrity and faithfulness, and 
 if it appears that these traits of character spring from his 
 
 N 
 
290 THE CORNER-STONE 
 
 None too young to do good. Influence over brothers and sisters. 
 
 Christian principle, tlie example thus set will speak with an 
 eloquence which words can seldom equal. 
 
 Perhaps this chapter is read by some one who has been ac- 
 customed to consider himself too young to do any good. You 
 look around you, and see others enjoying opportunities of 
 making direct efforts in the Savior's cause, and you think that 
 if you should enjoy such a privilege, you would highly prize 
 it. " Had I but a class in a Sabbath-school," you say, " how 
 happy should I be to endeavor to lead my pupils to the 
 Savior." 
 
 You have not, indeed, a class in the Sabbath-school, but 
 you have a little sister who is infinitely more under your in- 
 fluence than any class of Sabbath-school children could be. 
 You would see the class only on the Sabbath, and then but 
 for an hour, — ^that too, in a crowded room, and among mul- 
 titudes of strangers. Your brother and your sister, however, 
 are with you every day. They come to you for assistance in 
 a thousand difficulties, and for guidance in all their per- 
 plexities and cares. You can see them at all times ; you can 
 watch for opportunities to interest and attract them ; you 
 can help them to forsake their sins, and to watch against 
 temptation, by being at all times at hand ; and, above all, 
 you can set them a constant example of the power of piety 
 in making your own conduct what it ought to be, and your 
 own heart peaceful and happy. Now the inffuence which 
 you thus may possess is altogether greater than you could have 
 as a Sabbath-school teacher. It is not so extensive, but it is 
 more powerful in the individual case ; and this is what is to 
 be considered in judging of the opportunity you have to do 
 good. Improve first the little field which Providence has put 
 BO entirely into your power, before you look forward to 
 wider spheres. 
 
 There is not now a Christian on the globe who has not a 
 very powerful influence of the kind which I have described, 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 291 
 
 Every Christian has an influence. Effect of universal fidelity. 
 
 over one, two, or more minds around him. Providence has 
 placed us all in connection with our fellow-beings in such a 
 way that we must exert a great influence upon the formation 
 of their characters. The power which we thus hold is far 
 greater than we suppose, and until all within the circle of 
 our acquaintance, however narrow that circle may be, are 
 devoted and happy Christians, we must never say, and never 
 feel that God has placed us in circumstances in which we 
 have nothing to do for him. 
 
 It is on these principles, and for such purposes, that every 
 individual Christian should labor to deepen and extend the 
 influence in his hands ; and it is by means of this, mainly, 
 that he is to aim at building up the Savior's kingdom. If 
 every one would be faithful, in the sphere in which Provi- 
 dence has placed him, the most astonishing effects would be 
 immediately witnessed. Suppose that every Christian were 
 to come up at once to his duty as a follower of Christ, re- 
 nounce the world entirely, search his heart, and cultivate, by 
 every means in his power, his own spiritual progress, — and 
 then devote himself to the work of doing good in the narrow 
 sphere of his own personal influence. There would be no 
 splendid conquests achieved by any one ; but by the united 
 efforts of all, the work would go on with universal and almost 
 inconceivable power. No one who knows the effect of holi- 
 ness, when it appears in living and acting reality, in arrest- 
 ing attention and alarming the conscience, and in winning 
 those who witness it to penitence and faith, can doubt that 
 each individual who should thus live might hope to be the 
 means of bringing one, two, three, or four, every year, to the 
 service of his Master ; and to double or treble or quadruple 
 the church in a year, would be progress which would soon 
 change the face of things in such a world as this. 
 
 This is the way undoubtedly, that the principles of the 
 
292 THE GOllNEK-STOiSfE. 
 
 Future spread ot the gospel. Study of human nature. 
 
 gospel are ultimately to spread in the world, through the in- 
 fluence of the lives and efforts of private Christians. I speak 
 of course, now, of those countries where Christianity has 
 nominal possession. Private Christians look far too much 
 away from themselves, to ministers and missionaries, and 
 Bibles and tracts, — and imagine that their business is merely 
 to sustain the efforts made through these means. The far 
 more valuable and powerful influence, which might be 
 brought to bear upon a world lying in sin, from the light of 
 religion in the hearts and lives of the great mass of believers, 
 is lost sight of, and forgotten. But it is the church which is 
 the pillar and ground of the truth. It is the great mass of 
 disciples, which are the light of the world. Or rather it is 
 they who ought to be ; for a cold and worldly church, in- 
 stead of being the pillar of the truth, is a millstone about its 
 neck. Instead of casting around them the beams of heav- 
 enly light, its members shed abroad a darkness and a gloom 
 which there is nothing to dispel. 
 
 Be careful, then, not only to watch your own progress in 
 piety, but to seek influence over your fellow-men, — ^the influ- 
 ence of heart over heart ; and as far as you secure it, conse- 
 crate it all honestly and sincerely to the cause of Christ. 
 
 m. THE STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 Carefully study the powers and tendencies of the human 
 soul, especially in its religious aspects, and be prepared to 
 act intelligently in all that you do in attempting to influence 
 the heart. Most sad mistakes are made in this respect, by 
 many religious men, who make efforts blindly, and without 
 consideration, as if they imagined that religious truth was to 
 accomplish its object by some mere mechanical power which 
 it possesses, and as if it were of no consequence how it is ap- 
 plied. 
 
 In order to avoid this evil, it is necessary to consider, be- 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 293 
 
 Mistakes often made. Example of Paul. His preaching. 
 
 fore we attempt to act upon any heart, what is the real effect 
 which we wish to produce upon it, and then to adapt our 
 means to the production of the effect. Many persons err 
 very widely in this respect. A teacher, for example, offers a 
 prize to be awarded to the pupil who will commit to memory 
 the greatest number of verses in the Bible. Emulation and 
 jealous rivalry immediately take possession of the class, and 
 reign supreme. But the verses are committed. The boys 
 are indefatigable in their efforts, and if committing verses in 
 the Bible was the ultimate object in view, and was to be ac- 
 complished at any sacrifice, the plan might be considered 
 triumphantly successful. But committing passages of Scrip- 
 ture is not the end : it is only the means to an end. That 
 end is the moral renewal of the heart, and it is defeated en- 
 tirely by the mode taken to secure it. 
 
 Again, a religious man goes to converse with an unbe- 
 liever. I do not mean one who openly rejects Christianity 
 as a whole, but who denies its fundamental truths, and lives 
 in sin, sheltered by his unbelief Now the proper object of 
 a conversation with him is not to convince his intellect, but 
 to awaken his conscience. The difficulty is not with the un- 
 derstanding, but with the heart ; and instead of wasting time 
 in a fruitless attempt, by argument, to force upon his mind 
 evidence which he is fully determined not to see, the true 
 policy is to bring up, gently but clearly, questions of duty, 
 based on what he admits to be true. 
 
 The Apostle Paul understood this principle, and practised 
 upon it most perfectly. He adapted his discourses most 
 adroitly to the condition and wants of his auditory. When 
 he reasoned before Felix, it was upon righteousness, temper- 
 ance, and judgment to come ; topics which his distinguished 
 hearer could appreciate and understand. He based his ad- 
 dresses to the Jews on the sentiments of their own Scriptures. 
 At Athens he endeavored to awaken the conscience by ap- 
 
294 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Mistakes of Christians. Guides in iho study. Tlie Bible. Observation. 
 
 pealing to the few simple truths which his hearers there 
 could not deny ; and in his epistles to the Christian church, 
 he went at once into all the sublime and mysterious truths 
 which are revealed by' the full light of the Christian dispen- 
 sation. He studied human nature, and adapted what he 
 had to say to the moral condition and wants of those whom 
 he addressed ; always making it his great object to awaken 
 the slumbering conscience by the highest truths which his 
 audience were prepared to understand. 
 
 In their efforts to promote the cause of religion, Christians 
 often act as if they imagined that the great object was to 
 bring truth before the mind, whereas the real difficulty is to 
 gain influence for what is already there. The work which 
 we have to do is to touch the heart, not to pour cold light 
 upon the reason. Now to awaken warm feeling in the heart 
 is unquestionably the province of the Spirit of God. ' We can 
 not effect it alone, but we may adapt our efforts to this de- 
 sign, and at all events, we may so manage them as not to 
 thwart or oppose it. The reverse is often the fact. Many 
 and many a time is religious truth presented to a mind in 
 such a manner, and accompanied by such attending circum- 
 stances, as to destroy its effect. The various ways by which 
 this is done can not in such a chapter as this be pointed out. 
 What we wish is to put the Christian on his guard, that he 
 may watch his plans and methods, and see that he does not 
 defeat his own designs. 
 
 The proper guides, in such a study of the human heart, 
 are the Bible and observation, not theoretical books. Per- 
 haps a very large proportion of those who make human 
 character a study at all, go first to theoretical writers for 
 general views, and then just look into the conduct of men for 
 the mere purpose of finding illustrations or proofs of them. 
 They never go into the field as independent observers, ready 
 to notice whatever they may see, and to leave it to tell its 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 296 
 
 Books. Theories. Theological notions. 
 
 own plain story. Certain facts, which accord with their 
 adopted theories, stand out in bold and prominent relief, 
 while others are overlooked or forgotten ; or if they are too 
 conspicuous to be completely disregarded, they are warped 
 and twisted to suit the false conceptions of the mind. Such 
 a course* besides fixing error, is an insurmountable barrier to 
 progress. We notice and speculate upon human conduct 
 just so far as the ground is covered by our theological or 
 metaphysical opinions, and beyond that we do not go. 
 
 Books, and the opinions of great men on human nature, 
 may perhaps be guides, but they never should be trammels 
 and barriers. The field of observation is open before all ; and 
 Christianity, while it gives us the noblest work to do, gives 
 us also the loftiest science to study. It puts, too, all the 
 means and opportunities for observation fully before us, and 
 says in spirit, " You have a world of mind around you, open 
 to your influence and accessible to your observation. Make 
 it your great study to understand it, and your great work to 
 bring it home to God." 
 
 In regard, however, to the study of human nature, the 
 difiiculty with most persons is not that they do not make any 
 observations of their own, but that they do not connect the 
 results which they obtain by such observation with their 
 religious knowledge. Most men have in fact two entirely 
 distinct and independent sets of ideas in regard to human 
 character. One, obtained from metaphysical and theological 
 speculations, and the other from their own intercourse with 
 men in the common business and pursuits of life. These 
 two classes of ideas too, they keep distinct and separate. On 
 the Sabbath, and when reading religious books, or thinking 
 of the human soul in its theological aspects and relations, 
 they take one view, and in the ordinary business of life they 
 take another ; and the knowledge of human nature, and the 
 skill in influencing it^ which men so easily acquire in the 
 
296 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Want of skill. Careful study necessary. 
 
 latter case, very rarely extends itself to the former. It 
 accordingly very often happens, that a man will display an 
 unusual share of discrimination and delicacy of touch, so to 
 speak, in operating on the minds around him in respect 
 to the common affairs of the community, or to opinions 
 and customs relating to ordinary life, while he is awkward, 
 rough, and unsuccessful in every thing like the exertion of 
 religious influence. Here, he seems to act on new and 
 independent principles. He throws all the knowledge and 
 skill which had proved itself so valuable in the other case 
 utterly aside, and proceeds, if indeed he proceeds at all, in a 
 blind, mechanical, and formal manner, which is as unsuccess- 
 ful in religion as it would be in any thing else. 
 
 In truth, a great portion of the religious community would 
 acknowledge, if they would be honest, that they do not con- 
 sider the exertion of religious influence as coming under the 
 ordinary rules which should regulate the action of mind 
 upon mind. They justly attribute all hope of final success 
 to a divine influence upon the heart ; but this, though it 
 assigns a large part of the work to a higher power, does not at 
 all alter the nature of the other part of it, which remains 
 committed to us. We should always consider then, when 
 making any eflx)rts to bring a friend or a neighbor or a child 
 to God, whether we should take a similar course, or at least 
 one based on similar principles, or similar views of human 
 nature, to accomplish any other change in his feelings or 
 conduct. 
 
 Be careful also to make every experiment and effort, a 
 means of increasing your stock of knowledge of the human 
 mind, and of its tendencies and movements in respect to reli- 
 gious feeling. Watch the operation of causes and the nature 
 of effects. Look into the Bible for a standard of religious 
 duty, and for correct views of the nature and obligation of 
 God's law ; and then look into the wide field of action and 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 297 
 
 Use of property. Claims of Christianity. 
 
 character, which is developing itself all around you, and seek 
 practical knowledge of man there. When you fail of pro- 
 ducing a desired effect, investigate the cause of your failure ; 
 when causes from which you would have looked for one result, 
 produce a different or contrary one, examine the case and 
 ascertain the difficulty. When success attends your efforts, 
 analyze them with care, to discover what were the essential 
 conditions of success. In this way you can not but make 
 progress, and it is not at all necessary that acting thus faith- 
 fully and skillfully in doing your work, should lead you at 
 all to undervalue the necessity of most efficient and con- 
 tinued help from above. 
 
 IV. USE OF PROPERTY. 
 
 The Christian religion takes higher ground in respect to 
 human duty than any pretended message from heaven ever 
 dared to assume, and it makes claims, which for boldness 
 and authority stand entirely without a parallel. Its theory 
 is substantially this : That it is the great design of Jehovah 
 to establish an universal kingdom of benevolence, and conse- 
 quent happiness : — that this kingdom has been, in this world, 
 overturned and destroyed ; and that all who wish its restora- 
 tion are to come and give themselves 2vholly to the work of 
 promoting it. He does not require men to devote a part of 
 their time, and a part of their property, to his purposes, leav- 
 ing them to employ the rest for themselves. He claims the 
 whole, — or rather he invites men to come and consecrate the 
 whole to the work of co-operation with him. He allows no 
 distinction between his property and ours. He makes no 
 specification of the amount of time, or the extent of influence, 
 which we should devote to his cause : but, on the other hand, 
 he most distinctly says, that as he is devoting all his energies, 
 and employing all his time, in the promotion of universal 
 holiness and happiness, he expects all who wish to be con- 
 
 N* 
 
298 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 CJommon question. Case supposed. 
 
 sidered on his side to come and devote all theirs to this work 
 too. 
 
 The question is very often asked, " What proportion of a 
 man's income ought to be devoted to charitable purposes ?" 
 But the question itself seems to rest on an entire misconcep- 
 tion of the nature of the claim which God makes upon men. 
 It may have either of two meanings. In the first place, the 
 inquirer may mean to ask, what proportion of his means of 
 doing good in this world ought to be devoted to his Master's 
 service, and what to his own: — or, on the other hand, it may 
 mean this : when all that a man has, is consecrated to God, 
 what proportion of his means of influence should he employ 
 himself, and what portion should he commit to others to em- 
 ploy, in his Master's service, — for it will he seen by a very slight 
 examination, that when money is given for a charitable pur- 
 pose, it is generally a method of sustaining others in the work 
 of doing good, instead of doing it directly ourselves. Now 
 in the first of these two significations, the question is evi- 
 dently based on erroneous views. God will admit of no such 
 division of the heart, nor of the powers, of his creatures. In 
 the second, the question must be unanswerable ; that is, it 
 can receive no general answer, for the courses to be taken in 
 respect to it are as various as the conditions and circum- 
 stances of men. 
 
 But let us analyze a little more accurately the real nature 
 of doing good by means of money. It is called giving, but 
 strictly speaking it is not giving. It is simply a combina- 
 tion of men in one place, to produce a certain moral effect 
 in another ; and money is made use of, as the mere instru- 
 ment by which the object is accomplished. This we shall 
 easily see, by looking at a particular case. 
 
 To make the reasoning the more simple, we will suppose 
 a case which would never precisely occur, but we can easily 
 apply the principles which it illustrates to ordinary instances. 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 299 
 
 The rude Islanders. Ways of reaching them. Various plans. 
 
 We will suppose that, on some rude and inhospitable coast, 
 remote from the fertile and wealthy regions of the civilized 
 world, there is a community of hardy settlers, who are de- 
 voted and consistent Christians. They enjoy religious privi- 
 leges themselves, and at length they form the wish to do 
 something for the ignorant and vicious inhabitants of a small 
 island, a few miles from their coast. They are themselves 
 dependent upon their daily exertions for their daily bread, 
 and consequently, though they can all, besides discharging 
 the duties they owe to their families, and to the poor around 
 them, find an hour or two in each day, which they can de- 
 vote to God's service in some foreign field, no one of them 
 can gain time enough to go away from home, to visit the 
 destitute islanders. Now there are evidently two ways by 
 which they can surmount the difficulty. Any one of them 
 can lay by the proceeds of his labor during those hours which 
 are not required in the discharge of his duties at home, until 
 he has accumulated stores sufficient to supply his family and 
 himself during the time necessary for making a visit to the 
 island. The other plan is, for all to combine, and send one 
 of their number, by uniting their labors, during those extra 
 hours, to provide support for the one thus sent. Let us sup- 
 pose the latter plan to be adopted ; and to make the case 
 more distinct, we will imagine that one particular hour is 
 assigned at which, during each day, all who remain at home 
 shall be at work for the family of the one who was selected 
 to go. When the hour for this labor arrives, the missionary 
 is perhaps at the island, explaining to the inhabitants the 
 nature of rehgion, and the claims of duty, while his friends 
 and neighbors at home are each, in his own little garden, 
 laboring to provide food and clothing for their absent brother 
 and for his lonely family. They are all at work together, 
 and in one common cause. They are not, indeed, all in im- 
 mediate connection with the souls for whose benefit the enter- 
 
300 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 CJo-operation. Money. Its nature as a means of doing good. 
 
 prise was planned, but they who are at home, laboring to 
 sustain the absent one, are as really and effectually operating 
 upon the distant island, as he who has gone. They are all 
 engaged in one common enterprise, for the promotion of God's 
 cause, each doing his assigned part. Neither is giving to the 
 other, — unless indeed he who goes can claim some gratitude 
 from the rest, for having assumed the severer and more try- 
 ing portion. 
 
 Now money is only a representative of the proceeds of 
 labor, and if, instead of sending out to their missionary the 
 provisions and clothing that he would need when engaged in 
 his enterprise, his Christian friends at home should convert 
 those provisions and clothing into the form of money, and 
 send them to him in that form, it would not alter the case. 
 They would still all be laborers in one common cause, differ- 
 ent parts assigned to each, but all laboring together to spread 
 the gospel, according to the command of their Master. Nor 
 would the case be altered, if instead of working for this pur- 
 pose at some specified time, each one was to labor when he 
 pleased, in carrying forward this cause ; nor is it essential 
 that such labors should be kept distinct from the ordinary 
 labors of the day. All these incidental circumstances may 
 be almost endlessly varied, without at all altering the real 
 nature of the transaction, considered as a combination among 
 many Christians to effect a moral impression on human souls, 
 each taking his own appropriate part, but all engaged to- 
 gether, and all responsible directly to God. 
 
 Such substantially is, in all cases, the nature of the em- 
 ployment of money in spreading the gospel. One man by his 
 own unaided efforts can not give the Bible to a nation, or 
 Dreach the gospel in a half-civilized province, or upon an 
 island of tawny savages, half round the globe. There must 
 be a great combination to effect objects which are so great, 
 compared with the narrow limits of individual power. In 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 
 
 301 
 
 Examples of its power. 
 
 this great combination, the various individuals have entirely 
 different parts to perform, but all are really united in heart, 
 and all their separate and distinct labors tend to the accom- 
 plishment of one common result. Money is made use of as 
 the instrument, but it is only an instrument for bringing all 
 these scattered labors to bear on the proper point. In the 
 great union, too, no one is under obligation to the others. 
 The account is between each individual and God. 
 
 How wonderful are 
 the results secured by 
 the contrivances and 
 arts of life. A soli- 
 tary widow, in her 
 home among the dis- 
 tant forests, knits an 
 hour or two at her 
 lonely fireside, in order 
 to contribute her little 
 share to the spread of 
 the gospel ; her work 
 tells on the minds of 
 savages ten thousand 
 miles from her humble 
 dwelling. A farmer'fe 
 children cultivate a lit- 
 tle piece of ground in their father's garden, and change its 
 products in the autumn for a dollar. It passes from their 
 hands and they see it no more ; but in a few months, the 
 magic metal comes out in the shape of a thousand pages of 
 the word of God, and lives for half a century to tell its 
 message to the benighted people of some foreign land. A 
 timid, and retiring, and fearful daughter of Zion wishes to 
 do something for her Master, and she industriously plies her 
 needle during the long winter evenings of a single season, and 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
302 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Radiant points of piety. 
 
 a few months afterward, in consequence of it, a miserable 
 and suffering child, whom she never saw, in a country which 
 she has scarcely heard of, is told that he can be clothed, and 
 fed, and taught, through the instrumentality of a love which 
 has reached half round the globe to bring him relief from his 
 misery. 
 
 It is important to be noticed here, too, that in one respect, 
 the more remote from ourselves is the place where we can 
 make any moral impression, the more valuable it will be ; for 
 piety, when pure, tends, from its very nature, to spread and 
 propagate itself, and therefore, from every point among the 
 population of this world, at which we can once give it a foot- 
 ing, we may hope it will extend in a wider and wider circle. 
 It is a light which will be the more universally diffused, the 
 more its radiant points are multiplied. And yet no error can 
 possibly be more fatal than for a Christian to suppose that 
 he could atone for the want of heartfelt and efficient piety in 
 his own quiet sphere, by magnificent plans of remote and 
 doubtful good. The first duty of every follower of the Savior 
 is, unquestionably, as we have already shown, at home, — in 
 his own inmost soul ; — his next, in his own narrow circle of 
 personal influence. These posts must be guarded well by 
 every Christian, or else piety will soon lose the little hold she 
 has in the world. But maintaining a high standard of Chris- 
 tian feeling and action in the small circle in which the indi- 
 vidual immediately moves, not only Tnay not be inconsistent 
 with extensive and wide-spreading benevolence, but it can not 
 be. Looking at a distance and planning with reference to 
 remote and unseen results will not only not interfere with the 
 progress of piety in the heart, but if such efforts are made 
 with honest sincerity, they will be the most effectual means 
 of promoting it. But then they must be made in the right 
 spirit. The attempt to carry influence in the ways that we 
 have described, to other countries, must spring from honest 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 303 
 
 Sincere motives. Piety begins at home. 
 
 desires to co-operate with God. It is this co-operation, and 
 the moral effect at which it ought to aim, that must be the 
 great stimulus to action, and the pleasure of being a co- 
 worker with God must be the reward ; or else such labors 
 will only improve and strengthen the spiritual pride, or the 
 love of ostentation and display, from which they spring. 
 
 We have thus clearly before us, the nature of the trust 
 committed to the members of the Christian church of every 
 name ; it is a charge to spread the Gospel as soon as possible 
 throughout the globe. "We are to consider ourselves as not 
 our own, in any sense, but wholly the Lord's, and to regard 
 it as our highest happiness to be permitted to identify our- 
 selves eiatirely with the progress of his cause. We are to 
 look very watchfully and very faithfully within ; for the best 
 way to make religion spread is to keep it pure. We are to 
 do every thing that we can to diffuse enjoyment and to in- 
 crease the influences of holiness in the little circle in which 
 we immediately move ; and we are to look abroad over the 
 whole field which human beings occupy, saying with our 
 hearts and with our hands, '• Thy kingdom come." To 
 these duties we should be devoted entirely. Every thing 
 should be subsidiary to them : as we can find no true happi- 
 ness but in such a work, so we should make no reservations, 
 but consecrate every thing to it, and so identify ourselves 
 with it, as to have no separate interests whatever. The 
 share of attention which each of these various departments 
 of the great work of spreading the Gospel should in each 
 individual case receive, will of course depend upon the cir- 
 cumstances of each, but together they should monopolize the 
 heart, and be the object of every hour's exertion. 
 
 All this is very good theory, perhaps the reader may say, 
 but who lives on these principles in practice ? Very few, it 
 must be admitted, but still there are soi^e who do. The 
 early Christians did, and by means of the example and the 
 
304 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Success certain. Important trust committed to Christians. 
 
 efforts which arose from their unreserved consecration of 
 themselves to the cause of God in this world, the principles 
 of Christianity spread with almost inconceivable rapidity, 
 and their progress was not checked until worldliness came in 
 to corrupt the hearts of pretended servants of God, and to de- 
 stroy all the moral power of piety. A long, dark night en- 
 sued, and we yet scarcely see much more than the dawn 
 which follows it. But the success which has attended the 
 faint and feeble efforts which the church has made within 
 the last century, show most conclusively that nothing but de- 
 voted piety in the church, and the efforts which must inevi- 
 tably spring from it, is wanting, to bring back this world to 
 its Maker, — and that, too, without any very long delay. 
 
 It is, perhaps, one of the most mysterious features of divine 
 govenmient, that God has made human souls so dependent 
 upon one another ; but though it seems hard for those who 
 must wait unblessed with the light of knowledge and pure 
 religion until we send it to them, to be left thus, apparently 
 at the mercy of a few unfaithful pretenders to piety, we can 
 easily see how kind to us it is for our Maker to repose in us 
 such a trust and to assign to us such a duty. To give man 
 such an enterprise as this, as the object of his life, exalts and 
 ennobles him. It takes him out of the narrow circle of self- 
 ishness, and raises him at once above the groveling pursuits 
 of sin, and gives him an object worthy the powers of an im- 
 mortal spirit. We feel, if we engage in it, linked by a com- 
 mon sympathy with all that is great and good in the mighty 
 universe of God ; and yet, thus raised, thus exalted as we 
 are, by the moral grandeur of the cause which we are per- 
 mitted to espouse, there is no place for pride. We feel the 
 lofty emotions which our work inspires, on account of the 
 moral greatness of the principles which it is its object to dif- 
 fuse, and the boundlessness of the field over which they are 
 to be extended, and the countless variety and lofty moral 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 305 
 
 Sublimity of the Christian's work. Religious discussion. 
 
 and intellectual rank of the beings who sympathize with u 
 or who work by our side, — and the certainty of ultimate and 
 triumphant success. These are the sources of those emotions 
 with which the Christian's bosom swells, when he really 
 comes and gives himself wholly up to his Master's work ; his 
 own private and personal share in results so vast dwindles 
 into insignificance, and pride has no soil to which its roots 
 can cling. Man thus, by linking himself with God, and giv- 
 ing himself wholly to His work, enjoys the elevation and the 
 happiness of greatness, and is saved from its dangers and sins. 
 
 V. RELIGIOUS DISCUSSION. 
 
 We place this title among the subjects brought before the 
 reader in this chapter, rather with the design of excluding 
 than of including it. It is a very doubtful means of doing 
 good. Skill in disputation is a weapon very commonly em- 
 ployed ; far too commonly ; and our design now is to show its 
 nature, and what may fairly be expected from it, and especially 
 to define those limits and restrictions to which such efforts to 
 act upon the mind ought to be subjected. Let the reader 
 understand, however, while reading the remarks on this sub- 
 ject, that, like the rest of this work, they are addressed to 
 common Christians, sustaining the ordinary relations and con- 
 nections of society. Learned men have sometimes devoted 
 their lives to the work of placing on record the evidences 
 which their researches have furnished, of the truth and di- 
 vine authority of the Scriptures, or of the nature of the truths 
 they reveal ; and the works thus produced have been among 
 the strongest bulwarks of Christian faith. Our plan does not 
 lead us to say any thing of efforts like these : it confines us 
 to the attempts continually made to remove religious error, 
 by argument and discussion, in the common intercourse of 
 life ; attempts which under certain circumstances are wise 
 and successful : under others they are far worse than useless. 
 
306 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Early associations. 
 
 Instances. 
 
 Religious discussion has its sole foundation in real or sup- 
 posed religious error ; and the nature of religious error is very 
 little understood. Let us look at some of its sources. 
 
 1. One great source of erroneous impressions, on all sub- 
 jects, is the power of influences exerted in early life, and 
 which are sometimes so strong as utterly to bid defiance to 
 all argument. Every one has observed the permanency of 
 these early impressions of early life in such cases as the fol- 
 lowing. A child was 
 once terrified, when 
 very young, by sud- 
 denly seeing a snake 
 as it was playing in 
 the grass ; and up to 
 the age of twenty, he 
 retained an unconquer- 
 able aversion to the 
 animal, so that his 
 companions used to 
 torment him by forcing 
 upon his observation 
 pictures of snakes, — 
 which would over- 
 whelm him in an 
 agony of terror and suf- 
 fering. Another was carried to see a man who was shock- 
 ingly mangled by an accidental explosion, in blasting rocks, 
 — and fifteen years did not obliterate the impression. During 
 all the years of childhood and youth, the effects of gunpowder, 
 in every form, were a continual terror to him. Now will 
 you endeavor to overcome such feelings by argument ? Will 
 you attempt to prove to these terrified young men that a 
 
 THE HARMLESS SERPENT. 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 307 
 
 Religious antipathies ; beyond the reach of argument. 
 
 picture can not bite, or that the flash of a little squib can not 
 endanger them ? 
 
 But the reader will say that these are mere antipathies ; 
 they are not of the nature of erroneous convictions enter- 
 tained by the understanding. So it is with a very large 
 proportion of the dislike to religion, and the disbelief of its 
 truths, which prevails in the world ; it is mere antipathy, 
 and not deliberate conviction. The cases just adduced to 
 illustrate it, are certainly strong ones ; but every man who 
 will pause a mioment to reflect, must see that a child, brought 
 up under the influence of such associations as are in many 
 families connected with the religious opinions of those who 
 disagree with them, must inevitably, if human nature is 
 consistent with itself, form such an antipathy. The antipa- 
 thy may have men, or it may have opinions, for its objects, 
 but in either case argument, as a corrective, would be utterly 
 thrown away. It would not only be entirely insufficient to 
 produce a change, but it would scarcely have any tendency 
 to produce one. 
 
 A sufficient allowance is not made for this by the opposite 
 parties in a religious controversy. If one generation takes 
 sides violently, on any question, they inevitably entail the 
 quarrel. Their children have scarcely the opportunity to 
 judge for themselves. The laws of the human mind almost 
 compel them to feel as their fathers felt ; for it becomes in 
 such cases, a matter of feeling rather than opinion. No one, 
 therefore, ought ever to cherish a harsh or an unkind thought 
 toward any one, on account of his religious errors, if his 
 father led the way. 
 
 This influence of early associations has more power than 
 all other causes put together, in the formation of religious 
 opinions. The children of Mahometans become Mahomet- 
 ans themselves, without arguments in favor of the Prophet ; 
 and in the Christian world religious opinions are hereditary 
 
308 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Opinions hereditary. Irreligion the cause of error. 
 
 and pass down with exceptions comparatively few and rare, 
 from father to son ; so that Popery, and Protestantism, Epis- 
 copacy and Dissent, and Presbyterian, Baptist, and Methodist 
 opinions occupy, in the main, the same ground from genera- 
 tion to generation. It is true, indeed, that argument has 
 something to do with this, for though every faith has its 
 defenders, to which all have access, still each, child hears 
 chiefly the voice of the one which its father chooses for it. 
 But, notwithstanding this, every intelligent observer of the 
 human mind, and especially of the habits and susceptibilities 
 of childhood, will at once admit, that other influences than 
 those of argument are the efiicient ones, in the production of 
 these almost universal effects. 
 
 Let no one infer from these undeniable facts, that men are 
 not accountable for the exercise of their reason in respect to 
 their relations to God. They are accountable. The fact that 
 men follow on so blindly after their parents in this, more than 
 in any other case, is an indication of the cold indifference of 
 the human heart to its religious duty. Parents can not con- 
 trol their children's opinions and preferences, on other points, 
 so completely ; and they could not here, were not the heart 
 so cold, so indifferent, so benumbed in respect to God. When 
 the conscience is aroused, these chains are immediately 
 broken, and the soul goes free to think for itself, and to throw 
 away its shackles forever. It may escape slowly from their 
 thraldom, but escape it will, if any real penitence and any 
 real love to God can find a place in the heart. So that what 
 is justly to be inferred from these views, is not that men who 
 are in error, are innocent, but that they are no more guilty 
 than those who believe the truth, and yet live in sin. A 
 thousand children, growing up without God, are all guilty for 
 thus living in disobedience to his will ; but if they do thus 
 live, the question of their religious belief is not of much 
 consequence as an indication of their real characters. Their 
 
TIIE PARTING UOMMAWD. 309 
 
 One great distinction. Influence of feelings. Instances. 
 
 belief is probably almost a matter of mere accident ; so that, 
 as to their characters, it makes no great difference who is 
 right and wrong in theory. Their guilt consists in their im- 
 penitence, which is common to them all, not in their errors, 
 in which, from accidental circumstances, each may differ 
 from the rest. 
 
 When we look around therefore upon society we should 
 make one great distinction in estimating human character, 
 and that is, between those who love God and those who love 
 him not ; and we must remember that from the very fact 
 that the latter class do not love duty, they will make no 
 honest effort themselves, to learn what it is. They all drink 
 in whatever is offered to them in childhood. Some are right, 
 and some are wrong ; but, as we have seen, accident has 
 been most instrumental in deciding the question in each case, 
 and ungodliness is the common foundation on which all 
 stand. Induce them to abandon sin, and to return to God 
 in any respect, and their eyes will be opened. Act upon the 
 heart first, and the intellect will rectify itself afterward ; 
 though it will be by steps too hesitating and slow for our 
 impatience to tolerate, unless we have considered, more 
 attentively than most persons have done, the extreme and 
 almost unconquerable reluctance with which the power of 
 early associations relinquishes its hold. 
 
 The first source of religious error then, is, the power of 
 these associations of early childhood, which reasoning never 
 formed, and which she is utterly incompetent to overthrow. 
 
 2. Another very common source of error on all subjects, 
 and especially in religion, is the bias of mind produced by 
 the influence of the feelings. The danger of such a bias is 
 universally understood in common life, and is guarded against, 
 in many cases, with great care. Whenever a contention 
 arises between two individuals, the friends and connections 
 
310 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Tho contention. The consumptive patient. Bias in religion. 
 
 of the respective combatants, with the same facts before their 
 eyes, and guided professedly by the same principles of right 
 and wrong, form directly opposite opinions, and each party 
 adheres to the views which mere feeling has produced, with 
 inflexible pertinacity. So when any new speculation or plan 
 of improvement is agitated in any community, each man 
 will take sides on the question, just as his interests would be 
 affected by the results. In the former of these cases it is 
 personal attachment, in the latter, pecuniary interest, which 
 constitutes the bias ; but any other emotion may produce the 
 same effect. We may mention one other case, which, though 
 common, is melancholy and affecting in the extreme. How 
 often will an unhappy man, conscious that he is unprepared 
 for death, sink into the last stages of a lingering disease, 
 steeled against all sense of the danger which he does not 
 wish to see. His hectic cheek, and gradually sinking powers 
 might give him most certain evidence that he is drawing 
 near to the grave ; but he shuts his eyes to every indication 
 of his danger. Just because he wishes and hopes to be re- 
 stored to health, he resolutely persists in believing that resto- 
 ration is before him. The delusion, a very happy one, so far 
 as its exhilarating power tends to sustain him under his final 
 sufferings, but very melancholy in its tendency to keep him 
 from finding peace with God, — clings to him to the last ; and 
 he sinks under the very hand of death, with an unwavering 
 but baseless confidence that health and happiness are soon to 
 return. 
 
 This tendency of the human mind is universally known ; 
 every man, in consequence of it, almost instinctively distrusts 
 the opinions of others, where their feelings or their interests 
 are involved in the question ; and a wise man, under such 
 circumstances, will distrust his own. 
 
 Perhaps there is no class of subjects on which men are 
 more in danger from this source, than those connected witl 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 311 
 
 Sources of bias. Remedies. Inefficacy of argument 
 
 religion. The various interpretations which are given to the 
 declarations of the Bible affect very considerably their force, 
 in respect to the degree of restraint they impose upon human 
 desires, and to the amount of sacrifice which they require in 
 the service of God. A great reason, therefore, in many cases, 
 why men can not see the evidence of a particular truth, is 
 the practical consequences which flow from it. We see this 
 very clearly in those cases where certain abstract views of 
 duty relate more or less directly to the common pursuits of 
 life, so as to interfere with the business of one man, while 
 they leave that of another untouched. The former will 
 make great opposition to that which, in the view of the other 
 is most obviously and unquestionably true. Now in some 
 such cases, where great and obvious principles of common 
 morality are concerned, the proper course undoubtedly is, tc 
 throw such a blaze of light upon the subject as to force the 
 guilty perseverer in sin to see his duty. In regard, however 
 to what are more strictly called religious truths, mere argu 
 ment in such cases is of little avail. 
 
 A man, for instance, has fully determined to live in sin, 
 and perhaps in vice. He does what he knows to be wrong 
 from day to day, though conscience, not wholly silenced, 
 murmurs feebly in those hours of solitude which he can not 
 wholly avoid, — warning him of the danger of a judgment to 
 come. He at length is almost accidentally told that there is 
 no future retribution. His mind springs spontaneously into 
 the belief of it. He needs no argument. He may indeed 
 listen to a few reasons, for the purpose of laying them up as 
 weapons of defense, but his own belief is, after all, founded 
 on his feelings. Now argument and discussion with such a 
 man will ordinarily do no good. While he appears to listen 
 to you he is only planning his own reply. Reasoning has 
 not placed him in his entrenchment, and reasoning can not 
 drive him from it. Must he- then, the reader may ask, be 
 
312 THE COltJNEli-STONE. 
 
 Hard to acknowledge error. The remedy. 
 
 left hopelessly ? No. The truth has an ally and an advo- 
 caut. in his own breast, which, though he may have silenced 
 it, he can not destroy ; and our hope of success is in making 
 its warning voice heard again. Bring duty before him ; lead 
 him to see that he disobeys God, and that his expected im- 
 punity can be no excuse for sin. If he can but see that he 
 is a sinner, he will go to the Bible, and that will set him 
 right about the future consequences of sin. 
 
 The cases which we have considered thus far are those m 
 which the mind is led to reject what is true, because the 
 truth is in itself unpleasant, on account of the practical duties 
 which rest upon it ; but the mind is very often blinded in a 
 little different way. Men are often kept in error, not because 
 they have any special objection to the truth itself, or to the 
 practical consequences in general which result from it, but 
 because they are unwilling to acknowledge that they have 
 been in the wrong. A man who has always been on one 
 side, and is so universally regarded, can not admit that he has 
 been mistaken, without feeling mortification himself, and ex- 
 citing the ill-will of others. Light however comes in, which 
 he secretly perceives is sufficient to show him that he has 
 been wrong ; but he turns his eye away from it, because he 
 instinctively feels what must inevitably follow from its ad- 
 mission. 
 
 These and similar causes act so universally, that the power 
 of reasoning and argument in changing the religious opinions 
 of men is exceedingly circumscribed. If men were willing 
 to perceive the truth, we should have nothing to do but to 
 prove to them what it is ; but proof is so abundant every- 
 where, that it will of course come to the soul as fast as it is 
 ready and willing to receive it. The first thing then, gene- 
 rally, is to get men into the path of duty. They all have 
 truth enough to enlighten the beginning of it, — and more 
 light will certainly shine upon it as they go on. 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 313 
 
 Useless disputes. Language misunderstood. Human character. 
 
 There is, however, a vast amount of useless discussion 
 arising from religious differences, which the foregoing heads 
 of remark will not explain. They who are in some degree 
 willing to abandon sin, and do their duty, still see many sub- 
 jects in very different lights, and become involved in endless 
 disputes respecting them. Some of the more common sources 
 of such profitless controversies come next in our enumeration. 
 
 3. Disputes founded on difference in the understanding of 
 language. Take, for example, human character. There is 
 no field more open to human observation than this, and per- 
 haps there are few subjects in regard to the facts of which, 
 men are more universally agreed ; and yet there is scarcely 
 any one which has given rise to more endless discussions. 
 
 In their practical dealings with mankind, it is plain that 
 intelligent men of all parties take substantially the same 
 views of human conduct and character. They who, in the 
 argument, have the lowest views of the natural character, 
 are not more suspicious or severe in practice than others ; 
 and those who speak most highly of the native purity and 
 the spontaneous virtues of the human heart, are not thrown 
 off their guard by their theories. As to the facts, there is, 
 and there can be, scarcely any disagreement. We all know 
 how men think and feel about God, and on what principles 
 they act in relation to one another. No company of bank 
 directors, or board of managers, or cabinet council, probably 
 ever differed very seriously in respect to the success of pro- 
 posed measures, on account of the difference of their views in 
 respect to the character and the tendencies of human nature. 
 They may belong to very different denominations, and may 
 have expressed their views in theory, in conflicting language, 
 but when they leave theory, they have no difficulty about 
 the facts. 
 
 I speak, of course, here of questions about human charac- 
 
 
314 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Nature of disputes about it. Misunderstandingr. 
 
 ter as it is, not about the feelings wilh which God regards it ; 
 this is evidently a different point, and one in which disagree- 
 ment would not necessarily affect the practice, in the com- 
 mon business of life. But any real difference in respect to 
 the actual extent of the depravity of the heart would affect 
 this practice. Now notwithstanding all the disputes with 
 which mankind have been agitated on this subject, there is 
 harmony when they come to act. The disputes are at once 
 forgotten ; men of the most opposite theoretical views work 
 side by side, differing in nothing except that they who have 
 had the most extensive experience are most completely on 
 their guard. 
 
 Now how happens it that under such circumstances there 
 should be such a perpetual dispute when there can be after 
 all but little real disagreement ? Of course, I refer here, as 
 has been remarked before, to a disagreement about the ac- 
 tual principles by which human nature is controlled, and not 
 to the view which God takes of these principles. How can 
 there be such a disagreement ? The explanation is that the 
 terms employed in the discussion convey to different individ- 
 uals very different ideas. One party understands the lan- 
 guage used by the other, in describing human character, as 
 implying moral perversion so complete, that the heart would 
 take delight in promoting suffering, and would love moral 
 evil, in all cases, on its own account, rather than moral 
 good. They would expect to see it hating one being because 
 he is merciful, and another because he is faithful and true. 
 They would expect men with such characters as they sup- 
 pose the language in question to imply, would abhor justice 
 and mercy, and benevolence, not in those particular cases 
 merely where the operation of these principles come into col- 
 lision with their own interest, but in the abstract, and uni- 
 versally. They would expect to see them applauding cruelty, 
 and admiring black ingratitude, and carrying their principles 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 315 
 
 Dispute grounded on misunderstanding. Ambiguity of common words. 
 
 out into practice by devising misery for all around them, 
 merely for the pleasure of witnessing it, and bestowing a 
 double share of their malignity upon those who had been 
 most friendly to them. 
 
 Such a character as this is what one class of persons under- 
 stand by the language used, and in the dispute they merely 
 maintain that such depravity as this is not the actual char- 
 acteristic of mankind. Nobody believes that it is, but the 
 dispute goes on, one party contending for one view, and the 
 other opposing not the opinion of their antagonist, but a 
 totally different one ; one which seems equally preposterous 
 to both. If they should come to an explanation, the chief 
 question would be, simply by what terms they should de- 
 scribe what every body sees, and what their practice proves 
 that they see substantially alike. 
 
 When we come even to such terms as can, will, freedom, 
 'punishment, unity, person, sin, affections, and a hundred 
 others, which are the perpetual topics of religious controversy, 
 though they are plain and explicit enough in common use, 
 they have various shades of signification as terms in a meta- 
 physical argument. These shades can not be defined ; they 
 elude all attempts to fix them, and yet they very seriously af- 
 fect the views a man will form of the proposition into which 
 they enter ; and many and many a time controversialists 
 have found, after a long discussion, that they had misunder- 
 stood each other from the beginning. 
 
 Take, for instance, the first word of the foregoing list. It 
 seems a very simple word, and one that is very generally un- 
 derstood. So it is, as far as it is necessary for popular use. 
 But any person may convince himself that when used for 
 other purposes, it is not understood alike, by making this 
 experiment. On some occasions, when ten, or twenty, or 
 more individuals, not accustomed to metaphysical specula- 
 tions, are together, propose this question : " Can any one of 
 
316 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Proposed question, and dispute arising from it. 
 
 the company go and lie down in a burning fire ? Consider- 
 ing all the circumstances of the case, the nature of fire, his 
 dislike of pain, his sound mind, — considering all these cir- 
 cumstances, can he do it?" After pausing a moment for 
 reflection, so that each individual can form an independent 
 judgment, call for a simple answer, — ay, or no. The com- 
 pany will probably be about equally divided. The larger 
 it is, the more nearly equal generally will be the division. 
 If, now, the individuals are allowed to discuss the question, 
 each person presenting the view which guided his own vote, 
 and then the question is put again, the diversity of opinion 
 will still remain, and in ordinary cases the persons questioned 
 would never come to an agreement. And yet there is no 
 difference of opinion about the facts. Every one knows per- 
 fectly well what is the actual fact, as to the power of an in- 
 dividual in respect to such a case. The whole apparent 
 diversity is produced by different ideas as to the precise 
 metaphysical signification of the little word can. Practiced 
 minds would have no difficulty in such a case ; they would 
 immediately define the word, and give two answers according 
 to the two significations, and they would be unanimous. 
 
 Now no class of disputes are more common than endless 
 discussions which are precisely of such a character as this 
 would be. The danger is understood by scholars who are at 
 all conversant with the nature of such inquiries, and they 
 make very special efforts, though these efforts are often inef- 
 fectual, to guard against it. But the mass of mankind are 
 very imperfectly aware of this source of difficulty, and they 
 involve themselves in endless disputes, — ^the parties calling 
 things by different names, and each combatant astonished at 
 the stupidity and obstinacy of the other, in refusing to see 
 what is so perfectly plain. 
 
 4. Another source of endless and fruitless discussions, is 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 317 
 
 Unimportant questions. Pride and self-conceit. 
 
 disputing about questions which can be of no practical con- 
 sequence, however they may be decided. Such as the origin 
 of sin, the state of the soul between death and the resurrec- 
 tion, the salvation of infants, the precise metaphysical rela- 
 tionship of the Son to the Father. We have said they are 
 of no practical consequence ; of course an ingenious reasoner 
 can contrive to connect practical consequences with any sub- 
 ject whatever, and in his zeal he will exaggerate the impor- 
 tance of the connection. In fact, every subject in the moral 
 world is more or less connected with every other one ; noth- 
 ing stands out entirely detached and isolated, and conse- 
 quently a question which its arguers will admit to be merely 
 a theoretical one, will never be found. 
 
 It would of course be absurd to condemn all discussions of 
 such points as the above, and others similar to them. The 
 calm philosophical consideration of such questions is perfectly 
 proper. It is bringing them into the field of religious truth, 
 and making them the means of religious divisions, — each 
 party jealous and suspicious of those who think differently 
 from himself, — and leaving the weightier matters of judg- 
 ment, mercy, and faith, in order to wrangle about differences 
 which can do at most but little harm : — this is the spirit 
 which it is our object to condemn. 
 
 5. The last source of religious error, and useless religious 
 disputes which we shall mention, is the pride and self-conceit 
 which keeps men from realizing that there is or can be any 
 subject which is actually beyond the reach of their powers. 
 Men will indeed admit this, in the abstract, but then they 
 evince the insincerity of such an acknowledgment, by having 
 a distinct and well-defined theory, on every subject which 
 can be brought before them. 
 
 But the truth is, and every mind which really reflects on 
 its condition and its powers must perceive it, that the beams 
 
318 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The limited powers of the human mind. Fruitlessness of controvereios. 
 
 of reason and revelation, which shine upon our path, afford 
 a distinct iUumination only for those objects which are im 
 mediately around us, and with which we have a direct and 
 practical connection. Beyond this circle, and it is a much 
 narrower one than is perhaps generally supposed, there is a 
 region of doubt and darkness, into which the human mind 
 will endeavor in vain to extend its vision. In some cases, 
 we attempt to define accurately, what from its very nature 
 is not susceptible of accurate definition ; we assign exact 
 boundaries in our conceptions, when the subject does not ad- 
 mit of them in reality. We make sweeping assertions, dis- 
 posing of whole classes of subjects at a word : or we take a 
 general principle which is perhaps true in the main, and 
 carry it out to extremes to which it can not fairly extend. 
 We do this either from the influence of an almost universal 
 tendency of the human mind to love sweeping generalities, or 
 else because it is troublesome to pause, and reflect, and ascer- 
 tain exceptions. In fact, a reflecting man will often detect 
 himself believing a proposition merely because, when express- 
 ed, it sounds antithetic and striking, or because it is compre- 
 hensive and distinct, and, right or wrong, presents a con- 
 venient solution for whole classes of difficulties. The human 
 mind will, in a word, run into almost any belief, by which 
 it may be saved the labor of patient thought, and at the 
 same time avoid the mortification of acknowledging its ig- 
 norance. 
 
 From these views of the origin and nature of religious 
 error, and of the effect of argument and discussion as a means 
 of removing it, it seems to be pretty clear that those endless 
 disputes and controversies which are perpetually springing 
 up in the common walks of life, by which the peace and 
 harmony of families and villages are so often destroyed, are 
 labor spent in vain. The Christian endeavors to reason his 
 
THE PARTING COMMAND. 319 
 
 The test of the truth. Sin a disease. EflScacy of remedies. 
 
 brother Christian or his worldly neighbor out of his errors, 
 and begins, perhaps, with honest motives, and certainly with 
 sanguine hopes of success. But he finds that, however ex- 
 clusively he may imagine the truth to be on one side, there 
 may be talking on both, and he soon becomes irritated by 
 formidable opposition, when he expected an immediate sur- 
 render. He soon becomes excited, and forgetting the spirit- 
 ual value of the truth, he contends for victory in the contest, 
 and if he had any right feeling at the beginning, it is all 
 gone before the conversation is closed. 
 
 The best way for private Christians to prove the truth, is 
 to let it exercise its whole power upon their own hearts, and 
 then to exhibit its fruits. Try to promote the happiness, and 
 to improve the hearts and lives of those around you, and you 
 will evince the efficacy, and the value, and the truth of the 
 opinions which you hold, better than in any other way. If a 
 pestilential disease were raging in a city, and if the commu- 
 nity were divided in regard to the method of cure, how pre- 
 posterous would it be for those who are well to leave the sick 
 and suffering, and suspend all active efforts, and waste their 
 time in disputes about the nature of the vital powers, — the 
 character of the disease, — and the operation of the various 
 remedies. It would be absurd ; but let each one go and try 
 his own plan, and the success of the right one will secure its 
 universal adoption ; and that too, with a rapidity which will 
 be just in proportion to the degree in which all disputing on 
 the subject is avoided. In the same manner success in turn- 
 ing men to holiness is the great criterion of religious truth. 
 It must be so ; the world is full of hearts alienated from God, 
 and enslaved to sin ; and nothing but true religion can break 
 these chains, and bring back the wanderer to pardon and 
 happiness. Let the advocates then, of every system of reli- 
 gious truth, go abroad among mankind, and try their remedies. 
 
320 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Moral power of the truth. The means of propagating it. 
 
 That which is really from Heaven must succeed, and success 
 must decide its triumph 
 
 In fact the little progress which religion is making in the 
 world is made in this way. Disputes on all subjects which 
 are involved in real difficulty, generally result in a division 
 of the auditors into parties, proportioned pretty nearly, to the 
 abilities of the combatants ; and in religion there is a bias, 
 which is altogether on the wrong side ; discussion, therefore, 
 here will be peculiarly uncertain in its results. It is the 
 visible moral effect of the truth, which really sustains its 
 influence in this world. It is moral 'power, so evident and 
 BO irresistible, which enables pure Christianity to stand her 
 ground ; and every thing which diminishes this, or limits 
 the sphere of its influence, or draws off the attention of men 
 from it, — every thing of this kind, retards most directly and 
 most powerfully the progress of the Savior's cause. Let 
 every class of Christians then, who think they love the truth, 
 not waste their time m disputing with their neighbors, but 
 cherish the pure spirit of piety in their hearts, and cultivate 
 in themselves and in all around them, its genuine and happy 
 fruits. The Christians' rule of influence is not to endeavor 
 to establish the truth in the human intellect by the power of 
 subtile disputation ; but " by manifestation of the truth, to 
 commend themselves to every man's conscience, in the sight 
 of God." In other words, we must bring piety forward ; its 
 nature and tendencies must be made to appear in this world, 
 and to stand out in bold and striking relief among the prevail- 
 ing miseries and sins. But this must be done, too, with the 
 constant conviction that the conscience is the great avenue 
 by which the truth is to find access to the human heart, if it 
 '» admitted at all. 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE, 321 
 
 The command and the promise. The Savior's presence. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PARTING PROMISE, OR THE INFLUENCES OF THE HOLY 
 SPIRIT. 
 
 " Lo I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." 
 
 At the time of our Savior's crucifixion, any one who should 
 have looked abroad at the condition and character of man- 
 kind, would have pronounced the attempt which the twelve 
 disciples were about to make, the most wild and impracticable 
 scheme which the human heart could devise. Jesus knew, 
 when he commanded his followers to engage in such an 
 enterprise, that they would need help. He coupled therefore 
 a promise to his command, — the one as remarkable as the 
 other. 
 
 The Savior's presence with his followers assists them in 
 their work, undoubtedly, in several ways. It cheers and 
 sustains them. It gives them guidance and direction in 
 difficulty and doubt ; and the feeling that they are always 
 with their leader, enjoying his presence and sympathy, gives 
 devoted and honest Christians a support in difficulty, and 
 trial, and affliction, which nothing else could afford. 
 
 But Jesus had often said before, that men, when turned 
 from sin, were turned by an influence from above, which 
 influence he was to send down from the Father. We 
 can not therefore doubt that in this his parting promise 
 he referred in part at least to the co-operation which he 
 should himself render them, in all their efforts to save souls. 
 
322 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Proofe of it. Saul. Difficulties of the subject 
 
 The disciples understood this, and the first triumphs of 
 Christianity were, in a simple but beautiful manner, ascribed 
 to him : " And the Lard added to the church daily, such 
 as should be saved." 
 
 Their Master, too, gave the disciples an early and most 
 signal proof that he remembered his promise, and was able 
 to fulfill it, by changing Saul, their bitterest and most power- 
 ful foe, to their most devoted and most eflScient friend. The 
 apostle always attributed his conversion to the direct inter- 
 position of his Savior ; and with such proofs as the early 
 Christians thus had, that a divine and unwonted influence 
 was exerted upon human hearts, in connection with their 
 efforts, they could not but take courage, and press on in a 
 cause, which, without such aid, must have been very soon 
 abandoned. 
 
 We have the same evidence now, as I intend to show in 
 this chapter, by a narrative of facts, — such as are in sub- 
 stance very common in modern times, and which prove that 
 the enterprise of bringing the world back to God is not a 
 hopeless one. The narrative will show too that the same 
 kind of aid, so indispensable to success in such a cause as 
 this, is still rendered. Before coming to it, however, a few 
 considerations respecting the general subject must first be 
 offered. 
 
 There are certainly great difficulties connected with the 
 truth that whenever men turn away from their sins and enter 
 God's service it is through spiritual life which he awakens 
 in the soul. Into these difficulties, we do not now propose to 
 enter. We feel and know that men are free and accounta- 
 ble ; the Bible most explicitly states, too, that all holy desires 
 in the human heart come from God. If, however, the ques- 
 tion is raised how holy feeling can be the spontaneous move- 
 ment of the moral agent which exercises it, and yet be the 
 gift of God, we may lose ourselves in boundless perplexities, 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 323 
 
 Subject obscure. Plausible reasoning not to be relied upon. 
 
 and return from the fruitless pursuit more dissatisfied than 
 ever. The difficulty is, however, in the subject, rather than 
 in the truth; that is, it appertains to a whole field of 
 thought, and not to one particular proposition. It is dilficult 
 for us to understand how a being can be created at all, with- 
 out having his character determined by the act of creation. 
 If the question, what his first moral acts shall be, is deter- 
 mined by any thing, it would seem that it must be by 
 something in his moral constitution, as it was framed by his 
 Maker; and if it is not determined by any thing, it mist, 
 one would think, be left a matter of pure accident ; and that 
 which is a matter of pure accident, can not be of a moral 
 nature. We might thus make out a very respectable argu- 
 ment a priori, that a ft ee moral agent can not be created ; 
 as creating power, unless it leaves the moral character a 
 matter of mere accident, must do something to determine it, 
 in which case it would seem that it is itself responsible for 
 the acts which follow. 
 
 It will of course be understood that we do not offer this 
 argument as a sound one, — but only as plausible reasoning 
 which is not to be relied upon, on account of the obscurity 
 and difficulty of the whole subject. Take for instance the 
 question suggested by the last lines of the preceding para- 
 graph ; — can creative power really determine the character 
 of the being which it forms, withoat being itself morally re- 
 sponsible for that character. It is a question which might 
 be disputed by philosophers for ages, without victory on either 
 side. The difficulty is in the subject. Wherever we ap- 
 proach it all is obscurity and doubt. On such a subject we 
 can not trust our reasonings, nor believe our conclusions. 
 
 There is no objection, perhaps, to an occasional discussion 
 of such points, by Christians, if conducted with the same feel- 
 ings with which we should investigate any other difficult 
 question in metaphysics or philosophy : but we must not 
 
324 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Ambigmty of language. Facts are plain ; the theory obscure. 
 
 bring such discussions into the region of religious feehng and 
 duty, and press upon our fellow-Christians the theories which 
 we may ourselves be led to form. What human minds see 
 so imperfectly, they never see alike. On such subjects they 
 can not agree. What is substance to one, is shadow to an- 
 other : and a thought which, from one point of view, has one 
 set of aspects and relations, from a different one has another, 
 totally diverse. Besides, in the higher regions of metaphysi- 
 cal investigation, words, as a medium of communication, if 
 not as a medium of thought, lose their significancy, and thus 
 even the conceptions which we have, though perhaps clear 
 in the mind, can not be clearly expressed. In fact, the 
 human intellect, when it roams away into the profound 
 recesses of metaphysical philosophy, can lead on other minds 
 but a very little way. Intercourse by language very soon 
 fails. We endeavor, by nice definition, and careful etymo- 
 logical discrimination, to lead it on as far as it will go ; and 
 it is often long before its growing inadequacy is understood 
 and felt. It must, however, at last be abandoned, and the 
 mind then, if it advances at all, must advance alone and 
 silently. It perceives truths, or at least, it forms conceptions 
 which it can not communicate, and when at last, bewildered 
 in the increasing perplexity of the labyrinth, it gives over, 
 and returns, it can never convey to another mind any precise 
 idea of the point to which it had gone. 
 
 Now nearly all the disputes on this subject which have 
 agitated the church, lie in that doubtful region, where the 
 mind can see but dimly, and must report even more dimly 
 than it sees. Language has lost its power, though he who 
 uses it does not perceive its weakness ; and hence the discus- 
 sions are made up almost entirely of explanations and cor- 
 rections, and definitions of terms, and charges of misunder- 
 standing or misrepresentation. We had better leave the 
 whole ground. Believe what the Bible says, and look at the 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 325 
 
 Moral dependence on God. Waiting for the Spirit. 
 
 confirmations of it afforded so abundantly by experience, and 
 leave discussions of theories for a future day. 
 
 We corne then to the facts in the case, which are, that 
 men will not turn away from sin, and begin, with broken- 
 hearted penitence, to serve God, without his aid. There is 
 no way of inducing them to do it. You can bring clearly 
 before them the obligations which they are under to God, but 
 if they still prefer the world and sin, what more can you do ? 
 You can exhibit the moral beauty of gratitude, but if you 
 exhibit it to a heart naturally ungrateful, if such an one 
 should be found, what good would it do ? You can not prove 
 that if a man has received kindness from another he ought 
 to show kindness in return. If the person whom you address 
 does not perceive this truth at once, there is nothing to be 
 said about it ; argument would be utterly unavailing. In 
 the same manner, if he sees it, but does not feel it, you can 
 not alter his heart by reasoning. 
 
 There is a mistaken view of man's moral dependence, 
 which in some cases produces one very bad effect. Persons 
 sometimes think that the power to renew them is so com- 
 pletely in their Maker's hands that they must wait for him 
 to exercise it. They seem to have the impression that God 
 will repent for them, and they are looking to him to do it. 
 Now this is very evidently absurd. The Holy Spirit will 
 never repent for you ; no, never. From the very nature of 
 things that never can be. You must repent yourself, though 
 if you do it, it will be in the exercise of spiritual power sup- 
 plied from on high. 
 
 Nor is the sinner to wait, as many seem inclined to do, 
 until he perceives that the spiritual power by which he is to 
 exercise penitence is furnished to him. The first holy action 
 of the renewed soul is simultaneous with moral renewal. 
 
 The absurdity of such passive waiting to be acted upon^ 
 may be well illustrated by some of the miracles of the Savior. 
 
326 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The mac -vrith a withered hand. 
 
 THE WITHERED HAND. 
 
 A man, for example, 
 comes to Jesus Christ 
 with a withered hand. 
 It hangs lifeless by h 
 side. It is insensible 
 and motionless, a sym- 
 bol of the moral condi- 
 tion of the human soul 
 when dead in sin. He 
 asks help from the Sa- 
 vior ; and what is the 
 reply ? " Stretch forth 
 thine hand." 
 
 " How can I stretch 
 
 't forth ? Its utter life- 
 
 lessness," might the 
 
 poor patient say to the 
 
 Savior, " is the very reason why I bring it to thee. I can 
 
 not stretch it forth unless its life and power are previously 
 
 restored." 
 
 " Stretch forth thine hand," is however the command, 
 and though we might gather innumerable theoretical diffi- 
 culties about such a command, there are none in practice. 
 The patient obeys. The very instant of exertion on his part, 
 is the very instant of returning life and power. His hand 
 obeys his volition. It obeys it however by a power which 
 a supernatural interposition supplied. He could not have 
 raised his arm without external aid, and on the other hand, 
 he could not have external aid, without making the effort. 
 
 Now every person, who, after understanding God's com- 
 mands, defers obedience until the power of the Holy Spirit 
 is exerted upon him to lead him to it, seems to be almost 
 precisely in the condition of the man with the withered hand, 
 if, after the Savior had directed him to stretch it forth, he 
 
THE PARTING PROMISfi. 327 
 
 Faults and errors. We must be bom agaiu. 
 
 had stood waiting, before he made the effort, to have life 
 restored to it. He must feel, he thinks, the blood beginning 
 to circulate, and sensation returning, before he has any thing 
 to do I His arm would, in such a case, remain withered for- 
 ever. So the soul which has sunk into the lethargy of wait 
 ing for God's Spirit, may wait forever in vain. Man musl 
 repent himself. He must love God himself; he must aban 
 don sin, himself God will not do the work for us ; he will 
 only infuse the spiritual vitality by which it is to be done. 
 
 It is melancholy to observe that when the word of God, or 
 the obvious principles of duty, mark out a straight course, 
 man will find devious and wandering paths, turning off to 
 the right and to the left, — any way, just to avoid the narrow 
 path of duty. One class of persons, interested, or professing 
 to be interested, in the question of their salvation, fold their 
 arms in quiet inaction, waiting, as they say, for influences 
 from above to lead them to their duty. Others, aroused 
 perhaps from this condition, go zealously to work to purchase 
 their salvation, — to fabricate repentance and faith by theii 
 own power alone. Self-confident, self-suflicient, and filled 
 with spiritual pride, they think to turn their own hearts to 
 God, without receiving any new life from him. Brought 
 back from their wanderings upon one side of the truth, away 
 they go immediately upon the other, in an error as danger- 
 ous, nay, as fatal as before. For, after all, it makes little 
 difference whether a man gives up the kingdom of heaven 
 altogether, or attempts to enter it without being born again. 
 In either case, he continues dead in trespasses and sins. The 
 difference is, that, in the one, he lies in acknowledged life- 
 lessness, — in the other, his cadaverous form is clothed in the 
 garments, and placed in the attitude of life ; but stiffened 
 limbs, and a countenance of death-like expression betray its 
 case. We must be born again. 
 
 The modes and forms which moral renewal by the Holy 
 
328 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Influences of the Spirit, Various effects. 
 
 Spirit assumes in the soul are innumerable ; and the truths 
 which seem to be employed as the means of affecting the 
 heart are almost equally varied. All that we know is, that 
 while the mass of mankind go on obstinately in sin, individ- 
 uals of every possible character, and in every variety of cir- 
 cumstances, do repent and return to duty. Sometimes it is 
 the little child, knowing scarcely any thing but that it has a 
 Maker ; again, it is some hardened and violent opposer of God 
 and religion, who throws down his weapons and comes hum- 
 bled and broken-hearted to the foot of the cross. Sometimes 
 one well instructed in religious truth, and faithfully warned 
 of guilt and of danger, will, after years of indifference and 
 thoughtlessness, suddenly relent and come to the Savior, and 
 at others whole communities will be aroused ; and though 
 they could before be affected by no exhortations, and no re- 
 monstrances, they will now suddenly awake, and flock in 
 crowds to the service of God. The Holy Spirit can operate 
 anywhere and with any means. Sometimes he whispers 
 gently to a single one in solitude, — sometimes he spreads 
 solemnity over the crowded meeting. To-day he gives mean- 
 ing and power to the Scriptures, as the reader, at his lonely 
 fireside, seeks their guidance, — to-morrow he indites a prayer, 
 or gives to reflections which have been utterly unable to 
 affect the heart, power to overwhelm it with emotion, or 
 brings up sins which have been looked upon with cold un- 
 concern, in their true character, and draws them out before 
 the soul in gloomy array. He awakens conscience, and quick- 
 ens the memory ; he disrobes the world of her alhiring garb, 
 and gives a spiritual meaning to the events of Providence. 
 Life, seen by the light which he brings into the soul, wears 
 its own serious and sober hue : eternity rises, — its distant 
 realities draw near, — doubts and uncertainties vanish, and 
 the soul to which this heavenly messenger is sent, walks forth 
 redeemed from sin, purified from pollution, set free from its 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 329 
 
 The narrative. A New England college. The buildings. 
 
 chains, and with its powers expanded and its aims and views 
 enlarged, prepared henceforth to be a holy and happy child 
 of God, instead of the degraded and polluted child of sin. 
 
 Now it is aid like this that Christians are to look for, when 
 they endeavor to promote the cause of religion in the world, 
 and it seems to be rendered just in proportion to the humility 
 and sincerity and devotedness of the efforts which are made. 
 Bad feelings and sinister aims are so often mingled with 
 Christian zeal, and so often assume its form, that in ordinary 
 cases we have a sad mixture of the fruits of genuine piety 
 with those of hypocrisy and sin. There is, however, such a 
 thing as moral renewal by means of unwonted influences 
 upon human hearts, which the ordinary operations of the 
 mind can not explain. The following narrative is not an ac- 
 count of a very uncommon case. It is a specimen of hun- 
 dreds which have occurred within a few years in our land, 
 and which have been fully equal to this in its results. An 
 ^ctual case like this, narrated particularly, may give the 
 reader a more vivid conception of what co-operation from 
 above Christians may expect, than general remarks upon the 
 promises which the Scriptures contain. Such cases certainly 
 afford a striking commentary upon the Savior's words, " Lo, I 
 am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." 
 
 THE COLLEGE REVIVAL. 
 
 As probably but few of my readers have had opportunity 
 to form any acquaintance with the interior of a New England 
 college, or with the nature of college life, I must commence 
 my narrative with a description of the place in which the 
 scene is laid. 
 
 The appearance which a New England college exhibits to 
 a traveler, is that of a group of large brick buildings, gene- 
 rally a hundred feet long, and four stories high, standing 
 usually upon an eminence, or upon a level plain, on the bor- 
 
330 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The classes. 
 
 ders of some quiet country village. The buildings are con- 
 nected with one another, and approached from various direc- 
 tions, by graveled walks, and perhaps ornamented with 
 shrubbery ; and one among them, distinguished usually by a 
 form somewhat different from the rest, and surmounted by a 
 sort of cupola, indicates that the whole constitutes some pub- 
 lic establishment. 
 
 THE COLLEGE. 
 
 A fresh admission of students takes place in the autumn 
 of each year, consisting ordinarily of young men, from twenty 
 years of age down to thirteen. These students are united 
 into one class, and commence one course of study, which ex- 
 tends through a period of four years. During these four 
 years there will, of course, be three more admissions, making 
 four classes and ordy four, in the institution at the same 
 time 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 331 
 
 The first day. Temptations. Varieties of character. 
 
 The large buildings which I have alluded to are divided 
 into rooms, as nearly alike as possible ; — eight usually upon 
 a floor, and consequently thirty-two in all. Each one of 
 these rooms is assigned to two of the members of the class 
 admitted, and it is to be for one year their home. The first 
 day of the collegiate year, those portions of the building as- 
 signed to the Freshmen, as the last admitted are called, ex- 
 hibit a scene of very peculiar and striking character. The 
 bustle of preparation, — moving in, and putting up furniture, 
 — the interest excited by the novelty of the mode of life that 
 these novitiates are now to lead, and the lingering recollec- 
 tions of home, left perhaps forever, — resolutions of diligence 
 and fidelity in the course of study before them, — and the va- 
 rious other feelings excited by the new and strange faces and 
 objects around, all conspire to give to the Freshman's first 
 day at college a marked and striking character, and to fill it 
 with new and strong emotions which he never can forget. 
 
 In every class there is a large number of youthful mem- 
 bers, whose parents' situation in life is such that they have 
 been the objects of constant attention from infancy, and have 
 accordingly been early fitted for college, and sent to the in- 
 stitution before their minds are sufficiently matured, and their 
 moral principles firmly enough established, to resist the new 
 and strong temptations to which they are henceforth to be 
 ^posed. Others are older and more mature. Many of these 
 have prepared themselves for college by their own exertions, 
 and have entered under the influence of strong desires to 
 avail themselves of its privileges. In these two classes may 
 be found almost every variety of human character. Every 
 virtue and every vice here exhibit themselves. There is in- 
 fidelity, — cold, calculating, malicious infidelity,- -establishing 
 her wretched reign in the bosoms of young men just opening 
 into manhood. There is vice, secret and open, of every spe- 
 cies, and in every degree. There is intemperance and pro- 
 
332 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Dangers. 
 
 The progress of sin. 
 
 ■Miiiiiiiiii 
 
 faneness, and hatred of religion, and an open and reckless op- 
 position to the cause of God and holiness, scarcely ever sur- 
 passed by the animosity of any veteran foe. 
 
 The lines between the enemies and the friends of God are 
 thus drawn in college more distinctly than in almost any 
 other community ; — and the young and inexperienced in every 
 new class, are marked out by the idle, dissipated, and aban- 
 doned, for their prey. The victim first listens to language 
 and sentiments which undermine his regard for the principles 
 of duty, and weaken those cords which Christian parents had 
 bound around his heart, when he left his early home ; and 
 
 he soon falls more and 
 more under the influ- 
 ence of these ungodly 
 companions. Half al- 
 lured by their persua- 
 sions, and half com- 
 pelled by their rude in- 
 trusions into his room, 
 he spends the hours 
 which college laws al- 
 lot to study, in idle 
 reading, or in games of 
 chance or skill. He 
 first listens to ridicule 
 of religious persons, and 
 then joins in it, and 
 next begins to ridicule 
 and despise religion itself The oflicers of the college do all 
 in their power to arrest his progress. They see the first indi- 
 cations of his beginning to go astray, in the neglect of his 
 studies, and in the irregularity of his attendance upon college 
 duties ; and again and again appoint one of their number to 
 warn him, and expostulate with him, and kindly to put him 
 
 THE INTRUSION. 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 333 
 
 Efforts to reclaim a wanderer. Daily college life. 
 
 on his guard. How many such efforts have I made I As I 
 write these paragraphs, I can recall these interviews to mind 
 with almost the distinctness of actual vision. A short time 
 after sending the messenger for the one who was to receive 
 the friendly admonition, I would hear his timid rap at the 
 door. He would enter with a look of mingled guilt, fear, and 
 shame, or sometimes with a step and countenance of assumed 
 assurance. How many times in such circumstances, have I 
 tried in vain to gain access to the heart ! I have endeavored 
 to draw him into conversation about his father and mother, 
 and the scenes of home and childhood, that I might insensi- 
 bly awaken recollections of the past, and bring back long lost 
 feelings, and reunite broken ties I have tried to lead him 
 to anticipate the future, and see the dangers of idleness, dis- 
 sipation, and vice. I have endeavored to draw forth and en- 
 courage the feeble resolution, and by sympathy, and kind- 
 ness, and promises of aid, to bring back the wanderer to duty 
 and to happiness. He would listen in cold and respectful 
 silence, and go away unchanged ; perhaps, to make a few 
 feeble resolutions, soon to be forgotten ; but more probably to 
 turn into ridicule the moral lecture, as he would call it, which 
 he had received ; and to go on with a little more caution and 
 secrecy perhaps, but with increased hardihood and rapidity, 
 in the course of sin. 
 
 In many cases, college censures and punishments frequent- 
 ly follow, until expulsion closes the story. In other cases, the 
 individuals conceal their guilt, while they become more and 
 more deeply involved in it, and more and more hardened. 
 They associate with one another, and at length, in some 
 cases, form a little community where ungodliness, infidelity, 
 and open sin, have confirmed and unquestioned sway. 
 
 I must say a word or two now in regard to the ordinary 
 routine of daily life at college, in order that the description 
 which is to follow, may be better understood. Very early 
 
334 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Morning. The prayer bell. Morning prayers. Recitations. 
 
 in the morning, the observer may see lights at a few of the 
 windows of the buildings inhabited by the students. They 
 mark the rooms occupied by the more industrious or more 
 resolute, who rise and devote an hour or two to their books 
 by lamp-light on the winter mornings. About the break of 
 day, the bell awakens the multitude of sleepers in all the 
 rooms, and in a short time they are to be seen issuing from 
 the various doors, with sleepy looks, and with books under 
 their arms, and some adjusting their hurried dress. The first 
 who come down, go slowly, others with quicker and quicker 
 step, as the tolHng of the bell proceeds : — and the last few 
 stragglers run with all speed, to secure their places before the 
 bell ceases to toll. When the last stroke is sounded, it usu- 
 ally finds one or two too late, who stop short suddenly, and 
 return slowly to their rooms. 
 
 The President or one of the professors reads a portion of 
 Scripture by the mingled light of the pulpit lamps and the 
 beams which come in from the reddening eastern sky. He 
 then offers the morning prayer. The hundreds of young men 
 before him exhibit the appearance of respectful attention, 
 except that four or five, appointed for the purpose, in differ- 
 ent parts of the chapel, are looking carefully around to ob- 
 serve and note upon their bills, the absentees. A few also, 
 not fearing God or regarding their duty, conceal under their 
 cloaks, or behind a pillar, or a partition between the pews, 
 the book which contains their morning lesson : — and attempt 
 to make up, as well as the faint but increasing light will en- 
 able them, for the time wasted in idleness or dissipation on 
 the evening before. "When prayers are over, the several 
 classes repair immediately to the rooms assigned respectively 
 to them, and recite the first lesson of the day. 
 
 During the short period which elapses between the recita- 
 tion and the breakfast-bell, college is a busy scene. Fires 
 are kindling in every room. Groups are standing in every 
 
THE PARTING PROmSE. 335 
 
 The breakfast hour. Study hours. The idle and negligent. The afternoon. 
 
 corner, or hovering around the newly-made fires ; — parties are 
 running up and down the stairs two steps at a time, with all 
 tht ardor and activity of youth : — and now and then, a fresh 
 crowd is seen issuing from the door of some one of the build- 
 ings, where a class has finished its recitation, and comes forth 
 to disperse to their rooms ; — followed by their instructor, 
 who walks away to his house in the village. The break- 
 fast-bell brings out the whole throng again, and gathers them 
 around the long tables in the Common's Hall, or else scatters 
 them among the private families in the neighborhood. 
 
 An hour after breakfast the bell rings, to mark the com- 
 mencement of study-hours ; — and then the students are re- 
 quired by college laws to repair to their respective rooms, 
 which answer the three-fold purpose of parlor, bed-room, and 
 study, to prepare for their recitation at eleven o'clock. They, 
 however, who choose to evade this law, can do it without 
 much danger of detection. The great majority comply, but 
 some go into their neighbors' rooms to receive assistance in 
 their studies, some lay aside the dull text-book, and read a 
 tale, or play a game ; and others, farther gone in the road of 
 idleness and dissipation, steal secretly away from college, and 
 ramble in the woods, or skate upon the ice, or find some 
 rendezvous of dissipation in the village, evading their tasks 
 like truant boys. They, of course, are marked as absent ; 
 but pretended sickness will answer for an excuse, they think, 
 once or twice, and they go on, blind to the certainty of the 
 disgrace and ruin which must soon come. 
 
 The afternoon is spent like the forenoon, and the last reci- 
 tation of the winter's day takes place just before the sun goes 
 down. An hour is allotted to it, and then follow evening 
 prayers, at the close of which the students issue from the 
 chapel, and walk in long procession to supper. 
 
 It is in the evening, however, that the most striking pecu- 
 liarities of college life exhibit themselves. Sometimes liter 
 
336 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Evening. College mischief. Frequent consequences. 
 
 ary societies assemble, organized and managed by the students, 
 where they hold debates, or entertain each other with dec- 
 lamations, essays, and dialogues. Sometimes a religious 
 meeting is held, attended by a portion of the professors of re- 
 ligion, and conducted by an officer ; at other times, the stu- 
 dents remain in their rooms, some quietly seated by their fire, 
 one on each side, reading, writing, or preparing the lessons 
 for the following morning — others assemble for mirth and 
 dissipation, or prowl around the entries and halls, to perpetrate 
 petty mischief, breaking the windows of some hapless Fresh- 
 man, — or burning nauceous drugs at the keyhole of his door, 
 — or rolling logs down stairs, and running instantly into a 
 neighboring room so as to escape detection ; — or watching at 
 an upper window to pour water unobserved upon some fel- 
 low-student passing in or out below ; — or plugging up the 
 keyhole of the chapel door, to prevent access to it for morn- 
 ing prayers ; — or gai'ning access to the bell by false keys, and 
 cutting the rope, or filling it with water to freeze during the 
 night : — or some other of the thousand modes of doing mis- 
 chief, to which the idle and fl.exible Sophomore is instigated 
 by some calculating and malicious mischief-maker in a higher 
 class. After becoming tired of this, they gather together in 
 the room of some dissolute companion, and there prepare 
 themselves a supper, with food which they have plundered 
 from a neighboring poultry-yard, and utensils obtained in some 
 similar mode. Ardent spirit sometimes makes them noisy ; 
 — and a college officer, at half-past nine, breaks in upon 
 them, and exposure and punishment are the consequences ; — 
 disgrace, suspension, and expulsion for themselves, and bleeding 
 hearts for parents and sisters at home. At other times, with 
 controlled and restrained indulgence, they sit till midnight, 
 Dwing the bitter seeds of vice ; undermining health, destroy- 
 ng all moral sensibility, and making almost sure the ruin of 
 their souls. 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 337 
 
 EflForts of the officers. Their fruitlessness. Amherst College in April, 1827. 
 
 In the mean time the officers of the institution, with a 
 fidelity and an anxious interest, which is seldom equaled by 
 any solicitude except that which is felt by parents for their 
 children, struggle to resist the tide. They watch, they ob- 
 serve, they have constant records kept, and in fact, they go 
 as far as it is possible to go, in obtaining information about 
 the character and history of each individual, without adopt- 
 ing a system of espionage, which the nature of the institution, 
 and the age of a majority of the pupils, render neither prac- 
 ticable nor proper. They warn every individual who seems 
 to be in danger, with greater and greater distinctness, accord- 
 ing to the progress that he seems to be making, and as soon 
 as evidence will justify it, they remove every one whose stay 
 seems dangerous to the rest ; but still the evil will increase, 
 in spite of all the ordinary human means which can be 
 brought against it. 
 
 Such is college, and such substantially was the condition 
 of Amherst College, in April, 1827, at the time of my narra- 
 tive. Faithful religious instruction was given on the Sab- 
 bath, at the chapel, where the students were required to 
 attend, and we were accustomed to hold, also, a meeting for 
 familiar religious instruction one evening during the week. 
 At this meeting, however, scarcely any were present ; — a 
 small portion of the actual members of the church were 
 accustomed to attend, but never any one else. If a single 
 individual, not professedly a Christian, had come in, for a 
 single evening, it would have been noticed as a rare occur- 
 rence, and talked of by the officers as something unexpected 
 and extraordinary. Our hearts ached, and our spirits sunk 
 within us, to witness the coldness and hardness of heart to- 
 ward God and duty, which reigned among so large a num- 
 ber of our pupils. Every private effort which we could 
 make with individuals, entirely failed, and we could see, too, 
 that those who professed to love the Savior, were rapidly 
 
 P 
 
338 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 A student. Letter to the author. Writer's account of the condition of college. 
 
 losing their interest in his cause, and becoming engrossed in 
 literary ambition and college rivalry, dishonoring God's cause, 
 and gradually removing every obstacle to the universal prev- 
 alence of vice and sin. 
 
 There was then in. college, a young man, who had been 
 among the foremost in his opposition to religion. His talents 
 and his address gave him a great deal of personal influence, 
 which was of such a character as to be a constant source of 
 solicitude to the government. He was repeatedly involved 
 in difliculties with the officers on account of his transgressions 
 of the College laws, and so well known were his feelings on 
 the subject, that when at a government meeting, during the 
 progress of the revival, we were told with astonishment, by 
 the President, that this young man was suffering great dis- 
 tress on account of his sins, it was supposed by one of the 
 officers, that it must be all a pretense, feigned to deceive the 
 President, and make sport for his companions. The Presi- 
 dent did not reply to the suggestion, but went to visit him ; 
 and v/hen I next saw him, he said, "There's no pretense 
 there. If the Spirit of God is not at work upon his heart, 
 I know nothing about the agency of the Spirit." 
 
 That young man is now the pastor of a church, active and 
 useful, and when commencing this narrative, I wrote to him 
 to send me such reminiscences of this scene as might remain 
 upon his mind. He writes me thus. 
 
 ** Very dear Sir, 
 
 "My obligations to you as a friend and instructor make me 
 anxious to fulfill my promise of drawing up a sketch of the 
 revival at Amherst College, during the last two or three 
 weeks of April, 1827. I have been delayed partly by sick- 
 ness, and by the unusual pressure of my duties here, partly 
 by the difficulty of settling in my mind a clear idea of what 
 you wish, and partly by the impossibility of reviving the 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 339 
 
 Animosities and irregularities. The President's efforts. 
 
 memory of facts and impressions in the exact order of their 
 occurrence. If this communication should reach you too late 
 to answer your purpose, it will at least prove my wish to 
 yield you such assistance as I may. 
 
 " For a considerable time previous, the suhject of religion 
 in college had fallen into great neglect ; — even the outward 
 forms were very faintly observed. During nearly two years 
 in which I had been connected with the college, I had never 
 heard the subject mentioned among the students, except as 
 matter of reproach and ridicule. At least this is true, so far 
 as my intercourse with the students was concerned. Those 
 who professed piety, either through timidity or unconcern, 
 seemed to let the subject rest, and were chiefly devoted to 
 indolence or literary ambition. But while religion was 
 shamed and fugitive, irrehgion was bold and free. A ma- 
 jority of the students were avowedly destitute of piety ; and 
 of these a large portion were open or secret infidels ; and 
 many went to every length they could reach, of levity, pro- 
 faneness, and dissipation. So many animosities and irregu- 
 larities prevailed, as to endanger the general reputation of 
 the seminary. 
 
 *' Some of the students who were differently situated from 
 myself, may perhaps have noticed preparatory movements 
 on the common mass of mind, indicating an undercurrent of 
 feeling, gradually gaining strength, and preparing the com- 
 munity for the results which were to follow. But I saw 
 none ; — and none such could have been generally apparent. 
 Upon myself, the change opened with as much suddenness as 
 power." 
 
 I here interrupt, for a moment, the narrative of my friend, 
 to mention all the indications which I, myself, or my brother 
 officers perceived. The President, with faithfulness, and 
 plainness, urged upon the professors of religion, their duties 
 
340 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Their succesB. Attention arrested. Interest at the chape!. 
 
 and their neglect, and held up to them the evidences that 
 they were, as a body, wandering from duty, and becoming 
 unfaithful to their trust. But he had done this, often, before. 
 In fact, he was in the habit of doing it. The difference 
 seemed to be, that though heretofore they would listen with 
 stupid coldness, and go away unchanged, — now they sud- 
 denly seemed inspired with a disposition to hear, and with a 
 heart to feel. They began to come in greater numbers to 
 the meetings appointed for them, and to listen with silent 
 solemnity to warnings and expostulations which had been 
 always unheeded before. All the efforts which were made 
 were aimed at leading Christ's followers to penitence, and at 
 bringing them back to duty. And though it had been im- 
 possible before, it was perfectly easy now ; and while this 
 very work was going on, — actually before the time had come 
 for thinking of the others, — the professing Christians began 
 spontaneously, or at least to all appearance without human 
 exertion, to tremble for themselves. The officers and the 
 religious students were astonished day after day to find num- 
 bers whom no faithfulness of expostulation had hitherto been 
 able to affect at all, now coming, of their own accord, and 
 asking for help and direction ; trembling with anxiety and 
 remorse on account of their past sins, and with fear of God's 
 displeasure. But to return to my correspondent. 
 
 " The first circumstance which attracted my attention 
 was a sermon from the President, on the Sabbath. I do not 
 know what the text and subject were, for according to a 
 wicked habit, I had been asleep till near its close. I seemed 
 to be awakened by a silence which pervaded the room : a 
 deep solemn attention such as seems to spread over an assem- 
 bly when all are completely engrossed in some absorbing 
 theme. I looked around astonished, and the feeling of pro- 
 found attention seemed to settle on myself. I looked toward 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 341 
 
 Impression. Singular plan adopted by the students. 
 
 the President, and saw him calm and collected, hut evi- 
 dently most deeply interested in what he was saying, — his 
 whole soul engaged, and his countenance beaming with 
 an expression of eager earnestness, which lighted up all 
 his features, and gave to his language unusual energy and 
 power. 
 
 " What could this mean ? I had never seen a speaker 
 and his audience so engaged. He was making a most 
 earnest appeal to prevent those who were destitute of reli- 
 gion themselves, from doing any thing to obstruct the pro- 
 gress of the revival which he hoped was approaching — or of 
 doing any thing to prevent the salvation of others, even if 
 they did not desire salvation for themselves. He besought 
 them, by all the interests of immortality, and for the sake of 
 themselves, and of their companions, to desist from hostilities 
 against the work of God. 
 
 " The discourse closed, and we dispersed. But many of 
 us carried away the arrow in our hearts. The gayest and 
 the hardiest trembled at the manifest approach of a sublime 
 and unwonted influence. Among some who might have 
 been expected to raise the front of opposition, I resolved not 
 to do it, but to let it take its course : — keeping away from 
 its influence, without doing any thing to oppose it ; but neu- 
 trality was impossible." 
 
 I must interrupt the narrative of the letter again, to ex- 
 plain a circumstance which I perceive is alluded to in the 
 next paragraph. About a year before this time, there had 
 been similar indications of a returning sense of duty to God 
 among the students. The officers were much encouraged, 
 but our hopes were all dispelled by the success of a manoeuver 
 which is so characteristic of college life and manners that I 
 will describe it. The plan adopted by the enemies of reli- 
 gion was to come up boldly, and face the awakening interest, 
 
342 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The evening meeting. The intruders. An enemy turned to a friend. 
 
 and, as it were, brave it down. The first indication of this 
 design which I perceived was this. I had been invited by 
 the serious portion of the students to address them one Satur- 
 day evening in a recitation-room. I took my seat in the great 
 armed-chair which had been placed for me in a corner, with 
 a Bible and hymn-book on the oval leaf or tablet attached 
 to it, — an article of furniture whose form and fashion any col- 
 legian will recollect, — when the door opened, and in walked, 
 one after another, six or eight of the most bold, hardened, 
 notorious enemies of religion which the institution contained. 
 They walked in, took their seats, in a row directly before me, 
 and looked me in the face, — saying by their countenances 
 most distinctly, " Sir, we defy you, and all your religion :" — 
 and yet, it was with that peculiar address, with which a wild 
 college student can execute his plans, so that there was not 
 the slightest breach of any rule of external propriety, or any 
 tangible evidence of intentional disrespect. Not one of them 
 had, perhaps, ever been voluntarily in a religious meeting 
 at college before, and every one in the room knew it. I can 
 see the leader now, as distinctly as if he were before me : — 
 his tall form, manly countenance, and energetic look. He 
 maintained his ground as the enemy of God and rehgion, 
 for a year after this time : — but then, his eyes were opened : 
 he prayed with agony of spirit, hour after hour, in his open 
 room, for forgiveness ; and now he is in a foreign land 
 preaching to pagans the Savior, whom I vainly endeavored 
 on this occasion to bring to him. I do not know whether 
 this description will ever reach him ; if it does, he will 
 remember the meeting in the Freshman recitation-room, — 
 and be as bold /or God Tiow, as he was then against him. 
 He has been so already. 
 
 After a few similar efforts to this, the irreligious party, for 
 it is almost a trained and organized party, determined to 
 carry their system farther still. They accordingly formed 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE 343 
 
 A strange assembly. Success of a bad design. 
 
 a plan for a religious meeting from which every friend of 
 religion should be excluded. They circulated the informa- 
 tion among themselves, taking special pains to secure the 
 attendance of every one, and then, one evening, after prayers, 
 as the officers were coming out of the chapel, one of them was 
 astonished at being accosted by two well-known enemies of 
 every thing like piety, who appeared, as they said, from some 
 of their friends, as a committee to invite him to attend a reli- 
 gious meeting that evening. The officer promised to come ; 
 and when, after tea, he repaired to the room, he found it 
 crowded with persons, whose faces he had never seen at a 
 voluntary meeting before. There they sat, the idle, the dis- 
 sipated, the profane, and the hater and despiser of God ; 
 there were also numerous others, moral and well-disposed, 
 but regardless of religious duty ; but not a single one whom 
 he had been accustomed to see in such a room, for such a 
 purpose, was, on this occasion, allowed to be there. 
 
 The officer addressed them faithfully and plainly, urging 
 their duty and their sins upon their consideration, while they 
 sat still, in respectful but heartless silence ; looking intently 
 upon him, with an expression of countenance which seemed 
 to say, " Here we all are, move us if you can." And they con- 
 quered. They went home unmoved ; and all the indications 
 of increasing seriousness soon disappeared. They continued 
 to assemble for several weeks, inviting the officers in succes- 
 sion to be present, and at last, the few who remained, con- 
 ducted the meetings themselves, with burlesqued sermons, 
 and mock prayers, and closed the series at last, as I have 
 been informed, by bringing in an ignorant black man, whose 
 presence and assistance completed the victory they had gain- 
 ed over influences from above. All this took place the year 
 before, and it is to these circumstances that the next para- 
 graph in the letter alludes. \ 
 
iJ44 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The Hebrew Bible. The President's visit to the awakened student. 
 
 " It was probably with an intention somewhat similar to 
 that which prompted the meetings which the irreligious stu- 
 dents held by themselves the year before, that the following 
 plan was formed. A student who was temporarily my room- 
 mate importim.ed me to invite one of the tutors to conduct a 
 religious meeting at my room. I told him that I would, if 
 he would obtain the promise of certain individuals, ten in 
 number, whom I named, that they would attend. I selected 
 such individuals as I was confident would not consent to be 
 present. In a short time he surprised me with the informa- 
 tion that he had seen them all, and that they had consented 
 to the proposal. Of course, I was obliged, though reluctant- 
 ly, to request the tutor to hold such a meeting. Most of us 
 repaired to the place, at the appointed time, with feelings of 
 levity, or of bitter hostility to religion. My room-mate had 
 waggishly placed a Hebrew Bible on the stand. Whether 
 this circumstance, or the character of his auditory, suggested 
 the subject which the tutor chose, I know not : — but after 
 opening the meeting with prayer, he entered into a defense 
 of the divine authority of the Holy Scriptures, from external 
 and internal evidence, which he maintained in the most con- 
 vincing manner ; and then, on the strength of this authority, 
 he urged its promises and denunciations upon us as sinners 
 The effect was very powerful. Several retired deeply im 
 pressed, and all were made more serious, and better prepared 
 to be influenced by the truth. So that this affair ' fell out, 
 rather to the furtherance of the Gospel.' 
 
 " My own interest in the subject rapidly increased, and 
 one day, while secluded in my apartment, and overwhelmed 
 with conflicting emotions of pride and despair, I was surprised 
 by a visit from the President. He informed me that he had 
 come with the hope of dissuading me from doing any thing 
 to hinder the progress of the revival. After intimating that 
 he need feel no apprehensions on that point, I confess»^d to 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 346 
 
 The mother. Her son's letters. The Christian mother's encouragement. 
 
 him with difficulty the agitation of my thoughts. Appa- 
 rently much affected, he only said, ' Ah, I was afraid you 
 would never have such feelings.' After remaining silent a 
 few minutes, he engaged in prayer, and retired, advising me 
 to attend a certain meeting of my class-mates for prayer. I 
 felt very much like the Syrian general when offended by the 
 supposed neglect of the prophet; for I thought he would 
 have seized tlie opportunity to do some great thing for the 
 relief of my laboring mind. 
 
 " With feelings still more excited I repaired to one of my 
 class-mates, who had the reputation of being one of the most 
 consistent Christians among us. I asked him, with tears, to 
 tell me what I should do to be saved. He too betrayed his 
 wonder, and only resorted to prayer with me, in which he 
 could do little but say, ' Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy 
 on ws.' Long afterward, I learned that when he left me, to 
 join a circle assembled that evening for prayer, he told them 
 that my inquiry for the way of salvation, made him feel as if 
 he needed to learn it himself" 
 
 The writer of the narrative which I have been transcrib- 
 ing, had then a mother : she has since gone to her home. 
 She was a widow, and he her only child. She was a Chris- 
 tian too, and her heart was oppressed, and her life saddened, 
 by the character and conduct of her son. He wrote to her 
 at this time, and among her papers after her death he found 
 his letters, and has sent them to me. I wish that I could 
 put them just as they are into this description ; — tattered and 
 ■ torn with frequent perusal. Those widowed and lonely 
 mothers among my readers, whose lives are embittered by 
 the impiety and wild irregularity of an unconverted son, will 
 understand the feelings which led her literally to wear these 
 letters out with repeated readings. As they read them, let 
 them look to God, and take courage, and remember that it 
 
346 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Suspense relieved. The young convert's narrative. 
 
 is never too late to pray, and never too late for God to an- 
 swer prayer. 
 
 In the first letter, he informs his mother of the indications 
 of a general awakening to an interest in religion among the 
 students, and expresses a considerable personal interest in it. 
 " For the sake of the institution, of religion, and for my own 
 sake, I feel most anxious that the work may go on with 
 power. With what joy would I inform you that I felt the 
 strivings of the Holy Spirit in my breast. But I can only 
 say that I feel a growing sense of humiliation for sin. May 
 it ripen into conviction, sincere repentance, and unfeigned 
 dedication of my heart, soul, and powers to God." He then 
 asks for his mother's prayers, and thanks her for all her past 
 kindness to him. 
 
 The anxious suspense which this letter must have occa- 
 sioned to the parent who received it, was dispelled a few 
 days afterward by the following. Before perusing it, I wish 
 the reader would look around, in the village or town where 
 he resides, fix his mind upon the leader in all the opposition 
 to God and religion which is made there ; some man of ac- 
 complished manners and address, superior intellect, and ex- 
 tensive influence, — and the open and avowed opposer of piety 
 and all of its professors. You must have such a man in mind 
 as the writer, in order to appreciate it at all. Then recollect 
 that it is from an only son to a widowed Christian mother, 
 — ^transcribed exactly from the tattered fragments which I 
 now carefully put together. 
 
 "Amherst College, April 28, 1827. 
 *• My dearest Mother, 
 
 " Where shall I find words to declare the wonders of re- 
 deeming love ? Even in my low state. Almighty God has 
 not forgotten me, nor the prayers of my pious friends. How 
 can I describe the peace of mind, the swelling, overwhelm- 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 347 
 
 Narrative continued. 
 
 ing tide of joy which results from an entire submission to a 
 merciful God ? 1 can only say, that there is no happiness 
 like the happiness of a heart devoted to the holy pleasure of 
 its Maker ; no peace, like the peace of a mind that is recon- 
 ciled to God. At the beginning of the present week, my at- 
 tention was strongly directed to the importance of the soul. 
 I immediately relinquished all other business, and devoted 
 myself to this. My sense of the justice and excellence of the 
 divine law, of the holiness of God, and my own dreadful and 
 sinful condition rapidly increased. Tuesday and Wednesday 
 my distress and anxiety grew more and more overpowering. 
 Under the alarming impression that I had committed the un- 
 pardonable sin, I devoted great and anxious inquiry to the na- 
 ture of it. When I found reason to believe that this sin 
 could not be brought up against me, there seemed to be a 
 gleam of hope. I felt, or rather learned that I must be 
 wholly resigned to the will of God, yet there was great oppo- 
 sition in my heart. For a long time it seemed as if I would 
 readily submit if I was only sure of pardon. I was making 
 conditions and struggling against impressions, and became 
 almost desperate, believing that my guilt had shut up every 
 avenue of hope. The conflict had prostrated my strength, 
 and could not have been maintained much longer, when I 
 was led to compare my situation with that of the lepers at 
 the gate of Samaria, when that city was besieged by the 
 Syrians : ' if they save us alive, we shall live ; and if they 
 kill us, we shall but die.' If I continued to hold out against 
 God, I should surely be cut off, and that without remedy ; 
 if I surrendered myself unconditionally, and with an undi- 
 vided heart, I still could but die, while there was every reason 
 to hope that God would not reject a heart offered in sincerity 
 and truth. Accordingly I struggled to obtain this frame of 
 mind, and at length, as I hope, subdued my pride and hos- 
 tility, so as to melt into perfect submission to the will of God, 
 
348 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Narrative continued. 
 
 heartily to confess the holiness and justice of the law, and 
 freely acknowledge my own unworthiness. After I had been 
 enabled by the divine blessing to do this, it seemed so reason- 
 able, so altogether necessary and even so easy, that I mar- 
 veled at the blindness and hardness of heart that had pre- 
 vented my doing it long since. At the same time, I was 
 filled with such transport, that it seemed to me as if I never 
 could leave the foot of the cross ; as if I wished to retire 
 from the world, and meditate and reflect on the loveliness of 
 Christ. This happy change took place about Thursday noon. 
 The period of my greatest mental distress was Wednesday 
 night. Nature was so exhausted in a conflict of a few hours, 
 that I could scarcely stand. I found it impossible to eat 
 during a great part of this time. The flesh is still weak, but 
 I rapidly recovered strength as I gained peace. I now for 
 the first time realize what is meant by saying, that ' old 
 things are passed away and all things become new.' I no 
 longer see the same countenances, read the same Bible, and 
 feel like the same person. All my acquaintances are entirely 
 changed. My pious friends once appeared gloomy and re- 
 served, now they are benevolent and cheerful. My gay ac- 
 quaintances seem no longer happy, but mad. The Book of 
 God once seldom read, or when read, disrelished or misunder- 
 stood, now seems replete with interest and instruction. I am 
 filled with joyful amazement as I learn from it the love 
 which Jesus has manifested for the world, and the purity and 
 excellence of the divine, character. At the same time it 
 teaches numerous lessons of humility, gives an odious aspect 
 to sin, and warns against our deceiving hearts. I reflect 
 with horror and dismay on my former course of forgetfulness 
 of God, and feel as if it were a privilege to be allowed to at- 
 tempt, though feebly, to pursue a totally opposite course. 
 The sense I have of my former character makes me feel 
 deeply for all my impenitent friends. I feel constrained to 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE, 349 
 
 Narrative concluded. 
 
 humble myself before them on account of my former bad ex 
 ample and influence, and even with tears beseech them to 
 turn from their sinful ways to repentance and faith. In 
 short I feel a perfect good-will, I hope, to all the world, and 
 banish hatred and envy from my heart where they had long 
 been cherished. But, my dear mother, my hope is with 
 great fear and trembling ; sometimes it seems incredible that 
 such an one as myself should find any favor with God ; and 
 if I have any hope, it is that Jesus Christ might show forth 
 in me all long-suffering, for where sin abounded, grace doth 
 much more abound. Sometimes T feel as if I was in rebel- 
 lion yet ; but I do not rest at such a time till I resign myself 
 anew, and without reserve to my Maker. But, dear mother, 
 I would that much fervent prayer might be offered up, that 
 I may watch my heart diligently, and consider well the 
 ground of my hope, and not be dangerously deceived ; and if 
 I find myself under such an awful mistake, that I may not 
 rest there, but give myself no peace till by sincere repentance 
 and faith I may be reconciled to God in Christ. On the 
 other hand if it should seem that God has magnified his long- 
 suffering and the riches of his tender mercies in me, pray 
 that I may be strengthened and established in repentance to- 
 ward God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ ; and that I 
 may exercise all the Christian virtues, and walk according to 
 the law of God, increasing in the knowledge of the truth and 
 growth in grace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Oh, my dear 
 mother, on you, on me, and on all the world, may God pour 
 out the influence of the Spirit, to guide and sanctify us, and 
 fit us for an eternity of happiness in heaven. I would wish 
 to write much more, but hope to see you next Saturday or 
 before. My sincere love, and prayers to and for all friends. 
 
 " Your affectionate Son." 
 
 I have thus followed out this particular case, in order to 
 
350 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Marks of genuine feeling. Religious meetings. 
 
 give to my readers, by means of a minute examination of one 
 specimen, a clear idea of the nature of the changes which 
 were effected. There were, however, many other cases as 
 marked and striking as this ; so that any person who was 
 a member of college at that time, might be in doubt, after 
 reading the preceding description, which of half a dozen 
 decided enemies of religion, who were at this time changed* 
 was the one referred to. In fact the feeling went through 
 the college ; — it took the whole. Nothing like opposition to 
 it was known, except that perhaps in a very few cases indi- 
 viduals made efforts to shield themselves from its influence ; 
 and one or two did this successfully, by keeping themselves 
 for many days, under the influence of ardent spirit ! With 
 a few exceptions of this kind, the unwonted and mysterious 
 influence was welcomed by all. It was not, among Chris- 
 tians, a feeling of terror, of sadness, and melancholy, but of 
 delight. Their countenances were not gloomy and morose, 
 as many persons suppose is the case at such a time, but they 
 beamed with an expression of enjoyment, which seemed to 
 be produced by the all-pervading sense of the immediate 
 presence of God. I have seen, in other cases, efforts to aj)- 
 pear solemn, — the affected giavity of countenance, and seri- 
 ousness of tone ; — ^but there was nothing of that here. Hearts 
 were all full to overflowing, and it was with a mysterious min- 
 gling of peace and joy, — an emotion of deep and overwhelming 
 gladness in the soul, though of a character so peculiar, that it 
 expressed itself in the countenance by mingled smiles and tears. 
 The ordinary exercises of college were not interrupted. 
 The President held two or three religious meetings during 
 the week, but recitations went on unchanged, and I well 
 recollect the appearance of my mathematical classes. The 
 students would walk silently and slowly from their rooms, 
 and assemble at the appointed place. It was plain that the 
 hearts of many of them were full of such emotions as I have 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 
 
 361 
 
 The recitation-room. 
 
 The circle for prayer. 
 
 described. Others, whose peace was not made with God, 
 would sit with downcast eyes, and when it came their turn 
 to be questioned, would make an effort to control their feel- 
 ings, and finding that they could not recite, would ask me to 
 excuse them. Others, known heretofore as hardened enemies 
 of God and religion, sat still, their heads reclined upon the 
 seats before them, with hearts overwhelmed with remorse 
 and sorrow, and eyes filled with tears. I could not ask them 
 a question. One morning, I recollect, so strong and so uni- 
 versal were these feelings, that we could not go on. The 
 room was silent as death. Every eye was down ; I called 
 upon one after another, but in vain ; and we together prayed 
 God to come and be with us, and bless us, and to save us 
 from sin and suffering, and then silently went to our rooms. 
 
 The buildings of the college were as still this week as if 
 they had been depopulated. The students loved to be alone. 
 They walked about silently. They said little when they 
 met, as men always do when their hearts are full. Late in 
 the evening they would 
 collect in little circles 
 in one another's rooms, 
 to spend a few mo- 
 ments in prayer. I 
 was often invited to 
 these meetings, and it 
 was delightful to see 
 the little assembly 
 coming into the room 
 at the appointed time, 
 each bringing his own 
 chair, and gathering 
 around the bright burn- 
 ing fire, with the 
 armed-chair placed in 
 
 THE MEETINO 
 
352 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The Tuesday evening meeting. Solemnity. 
 
 one comer for their instructor, and the two occupants of the 
 room together upon the other side. They who were present 
 at these meetings will not soon forget the enjoyment with 
 which their hearts were filled, as they here bowed in suppli- 
 cation before God. 
 
 On Tuesday and Thursday evenings we assembled in the 
 largest lecture-room, for more public worship. It was the 
 same room where, a few weeks before, on the same occasions, 
 we could see only here and there one among the vacant, 
 gloomy seats. Now how changed. At the summons of the 
 evening bell group after group ascended the stairs and crowd- 
 ed the benches. It was the rhetorical lecture-room, and was 
 arranged with rows of seats on the three sides, and a table 
 for the Professor on a small platform on the fourth. The 
 seats were soon full, and settees were brought in to fill the 
 area left in the center. The President*" was seated at the 
 table ; on either side of him the Professors ; and beyond them, 
 and all around, the room was crowded with young men, 
 hungering and thirsting after the word of God. 
 
 I recollect particularly one of these meetings. It was one 
 of the earliest after the revival commenced, and before us, 
 crowding the settees in the open area, were gathered all the 
 wild, irreligious, vicious and abandoned young men which 
 the institution contained. There they were, the whole of 
 them ; all enmity gone, opposition silenced, and pride sub- 
 dued, and they sat in silence, gazing at the President, and 
 drinking in all his words, as he pressed upon them their sins, 
 and urged them to throw down the weapons of their rebel- 
 lion, and come and submit themselves to God. The text for 
 the evening, if I recollect right, was this, " Notwithstanding, 
 be ye sure of this, the kingdom of God has come nigh unto 
 you." Every person in the room felt that it was nigh. The 
 preacher spoke in a calm, quiet, but impressive manner, and 
 * Rev, Dr. Humphrey. 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 353 
 
 Sincere and honest feeling. The sermon. The hymn. 
 
 every word went to the heart. Many persons imagine that 
 preaching in such a season is loud and noisy, and set off with 
 exciting remarks, and extravagant gesticulations ; and it is 
 so sometimes, when men attempt to make a revival by their 
 own power. But where the Spirit of God really comes, there 
 are very different indications. Every one feels irresistibly 
 that God is there, and that he himself must walk humbly 
 and softly before him. The almost supernatural power 
 which preaching seems to have at such a time is the power 
 of simple truth on hearts bowed down before it by influences 
 from above. Such a season robs eloquence and genius of all 
 their power ; declamation is more than useless, and all the 
 arts of oratory of no avail. There are souls awed and sub- 
 dued before God, and longing for the light of truth ; and he 
 who can supply these desires with the greatest calmness, and 
 directness, and simplicity, will be the means of producing 
 the most powerful effects. A man could scarcely give utter- 
 ance to rant and declamation and noisy harangue in such a 
 room, even if he had come all prepared to do it. As he 
 should enter such a scene, he would be subdued and calmed 
 by its irresistible influence. He would instinctively feel that 
 noisy eloquence there would grate upon every ear and shock 
 every heart, and no bold assurance would be sufficient to 
 carry him on. 
 
 We listened to the sermon, which was earnest and im- 
 pressive, though direct, plain, and simple ; it told the ungodly 
 hearers before us, that the kingdom of heaven was nigh them, 
 and urged them to enter it. We knew — we could almost 
 feel that they were entering it ; and when, at the close of 
 the meeting, we sang our parting hymn, I believe there was 
 as much real, deep- flowing happiness in that small but 
 crowded apartment, as four such walls ever contained. 
 
 When the indications of this visit from above first ap- 
 peared, it was about a fortnight before the close of the term, 
 
354 ' THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Religious character of the converts. 
 
 and in about ten days its object was accomplished. Out of 
 the whole number of those who had been irreligious at its 
 commencement, about one half professed to have given them- 
 selves up to God ; but as to the talent, and power of opposi- 
 tion, and open enmity, — the vice, the profaneness, the dissi- 
 pation, — the revival took the whole. With one or two 
 exceptions, it took the whole. And when, a few weeks 
 afterward, the time arrived for those thus changed to make 
 a public profession of religion, it was a striking spectacle to 
 see them standing in a crowd in the broad aisle of the college 
 chapel, purified, sanctified, and in the presence of all their 
 fellow-students renouncing sin, and solemnly consecrating 
 themselves to God. Seven years have since elapsed, and 
 they are in his service now. I have their names before me, 
 and I do not know of one who does not continue faithful to 
 his Master still. 
 
 But I have dwelt too long perhaps on this subject, and I 
 must close this chapter. I have been intending, however, 
 to say two things in conclusion, though I must now say them 
 briefly. 
 
 1. There are many persons who, because they have seen 
 or heard of many spurious and heartless efforts to make a re- 
 vival of religion, accompanied by noise and rant, and unprofit- 
 able excitement, doubt the genuineness of all these reforma- 
 tions. But I ask them whether the permanent alteration, in 
 a week, of nearly all the wild, and ungovernable, and vicious 
 students of a college, is not evidence of the operation of some ex- 
 traordinary moral cause. We who witnessed it can not doubt. 
 Such cases, too, are not uncommon. They occur constantly, 
 all over our land, producing entire changes in neighborhoods 
 and villages, and towns, and very often in colleges. The 
 effect in this case upon the police of the institution was aston- 
 ishing. Before the revival, the officers of the institution were 
 
THE PARTING PROMISE. 355 
 
 These changes the work of God. Witnessed by thousands. Counterfeits. 
 
 harassed and perplexed with continual anxiety and care, 
 from the turbulence and vice of their pupils. But from this 
 time we had scarcely any thing to do in respect to the dis- 
 cipline of the institution. Month after month, every thing 
 went smoothly and pleasantly, and we had nothing to do but 
 to provide instruction for industrious, faithful, and regular 
 young men ; while before, the work of punishing misdemean- 
 ors, and repressing disorder, and repairing injuries, demanded 
 far the greatest portion of our attention and care. Similar 
 changes have often been produced in other communities, and 
 the fact that so many persons have thus had the opportunity 
 personally to witness them, is the real ground of the convic- 
 tion which almost universally prevails, among the most intel- 
 ligent and substantial portions of the community, that they 
 are the work of God. That there will be some counterfeits 
 is to be expected. As human nature is, it is certain. But 
 we ought, when convinced that there are counterfeits, not to 
 condemn all, but carefully to discriminate, and to bring be- 
 fore the world the marks of a counterfeit as distinctly as pos- 
 sible, so that nothing but what is genuine may obtain credit 
 among mankind. 
 
 2. Reader, there is such a thing as having the heart filled 
 with peace and joy, under the influence of the Spirit of God. 
 Do not doubt it, if you have not yourself experienced it, and 
 do not forget it if you have. The mysterious influence shows 
 itself in many ways. It whispers to the soul sometimes in 
 solitude, at midnight, and beckons it away from the world 
 to God and duty. The morning light, and the return of busi- 
 ness and pleasures silence it, perhaps, — but then it will re- 
 turn in sickness, in affliction, and sorrow, and say to the 
 spirit, still lingering about the world, " Come away, come 
 away." It may be disregarded still, — but it will hover 
 near, and like a dove unwilling to leave its master, will flut- 
 ter around "vjad light upon him again and again. It melts 
 
356 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Influences of the Spirit The C!omforter. 
 
 the soul into penitence for sins which have been thought of 
 with cold insensibility for years, — it subdues stubbornness 
 and pride, — it removes the vail from before the tomb, and 
 brings God, and the judgment, and heaven to view. It gives 
 life and sensibility to the torpid soul, and awakens its powers 
 again, — it nerves the weak, humbles the proud, breaks the 
 chains and fetters of sin, and under its magic power, the 
 hardened, rebellious, stupid enemy of God rises to life and tc 
 freedom. His restless, feverish anxiety is gone, joy gladdens 
 his heart, hope beams in his eye, and he comes to his Savior, 
 subdued, altered, purified, forever. Blessed Spirit, thou art 
 indeed the light and life of man ; — the only real Comforter, 
 in this vale of sorrow and sin. We will pray for thee, and 
 open our hearts to thee, and welcome thy coming. Descend, 
 heavenly influence, descend everywhere, and bring this sin- 
 ning and suffering world back to its duty. 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 367 
 
 Various classes of readers. Address to the few. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 " If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them." 
 
 The question which ought to arise in the mind of every 
 reader, as he draws toward the close of a religious book, is 
 this : " What practical effect is this work to produce upon 
 my mind ?" The question is generally very easily answered. 
 Some read from mere curiosity ; — some to beguile weary 
 hours ; — some to be able to say that they have read what 
 their friends and acquaintances have been reading. One 
 man goes over the chapters of such a work as this, thinking 
 all the time how its truths will apply to his neighbors ; an- 
 other scrutinizes paragraph after paragraph, to discover if 
 possible whether the writer believes in this theory or that, 
 or to determine the religious party with which he is to be 
 classed ; and a third, though he may attend to the practical 
 bearings and relations of the subject, is thinking, all the time, 
 of other persons, in applying them. This chapter he appro- 
 riates to his wife, — another to his child, and another he 
 thinks admirably adapted to the spiritual condition of his 
 neighbor. The number of readers who take up a religious 
 book honestly and sincerely to promote their own personal 
 piety is very small. 
 
 Still there are a few ; and it is to these few that the re- 
 maining pages of this work ought now to be devoted. There 
 are a few, who really read with reference to the supply of 
 
358 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Very few really accessible. " I wish I were a Christian." 
 
 their own spiritual wants. It would be too much to say that 
 all of them have a sincere and honest desire to know and to 
 do their duty, but they have at least some personal interest 
 in it. If they are not really prepared to take the right course, 
 at least the question whether they will take it or not comes 
 up to view. It comes up in the light of a personal question 
 which they at least consider. Others read without admitting 
 the claims of personal duty, even to a hearing. The intel- 
 lect, the imagination, the taste, are perhaps in an accessible 
 position ; but the conscience and all the moral powers are 
 far within, — protected from all attack, — every avenue seal- 
 ed, — and every channel of communication cut off, so that the 
 moral slumber can not be disturbed. It is those only who 
 are accessible, that we have to address in the few pages that 
 now remain. 
 
 There is a great deal of perplexity often felt, by a class of 
 thoughtful, serious-minded persons, in regard to the diffi- 
 culties which stand in the way of their own personal 
 salvation. They wish to become Christians, they say, but 
 there seems to be some mysterious yet irresistible agency 
 which keeps them back in the coldness and wretchedness 
 of sin. In such cases there is perhaps a wish, a sincere wish 
 of a certain kind, to become a Christian ; but it remains 
 inert and powerless in their hearts ; it does not lead them to 
 piety itself, and they feel and act as if there were some 
 mysterious obstacle to their obtaining what they sincerely and 
 honestly desire. 
 
 The two great elementary principles of religion are these ; 
 the duty of strong, benevolent interest in every fellow-being, 
 and of submission and gratitude toward the Supreme. Jesus 
 Christ has said that these constitute the foundation on which 
 all real religion rests ; and it is difficult to find words to ex- 
 press the perfect adaptation of these principles to the purposes 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 359 
 
 Two great principles of duty ; \miversal and unquestionable. 
 
 of a great moral government, — their admirable tendency to 
 secure universal order and happiness. There is not a states- 
 man or philosopher on the globe who can improve upon them, 
 nor a savage low enough not to perceive their moral beauty 
 and grandeur. They are the golden chain to bind all God's 
 creatures to one another, and to him ; complete, — for there 
 is no other principle of duty which can even claim to be 
 ranked with them ; unrivaled, — for no other system can be 
 proposed which would even promise to secure the results of 
 this ; and undeniable in their excellence and efficacy, — for 
 never, since the world was formed, was a mind so perverse 
 as to call them in question. They can not be called in ques- 
 tion. No person can doubt that a moral governor, presiding 
 over moral and intelligent creatures, by prescribing such rules 
 as the fundamental laws of his empire, takes the most direct 
 and efficient course to secure universal harmony and happi- 
 ness. No man can utter a word against them. There is a 
 feeling within him, which would rise up and silence him, if 
 he should attempt to do it. They stand inscribed by con- 
 science in every heart ; reason and justice and truth have 
 set their seals to the record ; and there they must stand in 
 characters which can not be obliterated. 
 
 But though mankind can not question the excellence of the 
 system of duty which God has established for his creatures, 
 they can, in their practice, violate it : and a great many 
 pleasures of various kinds will come by means of such vio- 
 lation. If a man will give up all concern for his neighbors' 
 rights and happiness, he may secure some new indulgences 
 for himself, in consequence of it. If he will disobey God, he 
 may find some gratification in doing what he has forbidden. 
 The question between holiness and sin, is not a question 
 between unalloyed happiness, and unmixed, uninterrupted 
 misery. It is rather a question between two sorts of pleasures. 
 There is guilty indulgence on one side, and holy peace of mind 
 
360 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Some pleasure in sin. Sin preferred. Supposed desire for piety. 
 
 on the other. There is selfish interest or aggrandizement 
 beckoning to this path, and the happiness of doing good, in- 
 viting to the other. In the former the heart may secure the 
 feverish but real delight which gratified propensities and 
 passions may afford ; envy and anger may have their way, — 
 revenge may be allowed its intoxicating triumph, — and sin- 
 ful p'easure may bring her sparkling cup ; in the latter, are 
 the peaceful enjoyments of piety, — ^the sense of protection, — 
 the hope of undeserved forgiveness, — communion with God, 
 and heart-felt interest in tlie welfare of men. Between these 
 two classes of pleasures, the human soul must make its choice, 
 and the real dificulty in the way of the salvation of men, is, 
 that they do really prefer the pleasures of sin to those of 
 holiness; and of course, if they enjoy the one, they must 
 forego the other. 
 
 Men very often suppose that they have a love, a desire for 
 piety, while yet they remain in sin ; but it is something else, 
 not piety itself, which in such cases, they love. When they 
 look directly at the two classes of pleasures above described, 
 they will see, if they are honest, that they do deliberately 
 prefer the former. The pleasures of sin, in some form or 
 other, look alluring, but the pleasures of holiness do not look 
 alluring. The dominion of sin therefore is pleasant ; the 
 soul loves its chains, and consequently it does not really 
 desire a rescue. The feelings therefore which it sometimes 
 cherishes, are of a different character altogether from a real 
 wish to escape the pollution and the miseries of sin ; for the 
 heart has scarcely any sense of its pollution or of its miseries. 
 
 There seem to be two prominent ways, by which an indi- 
 vidual may deceive himself in supposing that he wishes to 
 become a Christian. These we ought here particularly to 
 describe ; for the reading of a religious book, if it presses 
 plainly the principles of duty, usually awakens these false 
 desires in many minds. I can not but hope that many of 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 361 
 
 Influence of a religious booli. First ground of error. The thoughtful young man. 
 
 those who will have perused these pages, will be really led 
 to see sin and holiness in their true light, and by the blessing 
 of God, be led to choose henceforth the path of duty, But 
 there can be no question that far the greater part of those 
 whose hearts are accessible, and who will be influenced at 
 all, will only be led to form those desires which are always 
 ready to spring up in the unrenewed heart, but which have 
 only the form and appearance of a love for piety. 
 
 I ought not perhaps to say, that religious reading forms 
 those desires in the heart, for they exist already almost every- 
 where, and those who cherish them are most likely to be 
 found among the readers of a work professedly exhibiting 
 the practical bearings of religious truth. They read such a 
 work as this, under the influence of these counterfeit desires, 
 and in many cases the only effect is to bring out those desires 
 to a little greater distinctness and vividness, without at all 
 altering their character. Reader, are you a serious-minded, 
 thoughtful friend of religion, — looking for instruction, and 
 thinking that you really desire a renewed heart, and the 
 happiness of piety ? Consider carefully what is now to be 
 said, and see whether you have not been mistaken as to the 
 nature of your feeUngs. 
 
 1. The first kind of feeling which is mistaken for a love of 
 piety, is the momentary relief which the mind sometimes 
 finds in religious contemplation, from the fear of the punish- 
 ment of sin. You are a young man, and from early infancy 
 you have known your duty to God. The kind and faithful 
 voice of a father or mother has, during all the long years of 
 childhood and youth, been gently endeavoring to win you to 
 their Master's service, but in vain. You have chosen sin, 
 and lived in it. At length, however, as you have left your 
 father's roof and have come out into the world, and as the 
 years, and the duties, and the scenes of childhood are all actual- 
 ly past, and you are separated from them forever, you begin to 
 
 a 
 
362 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Conscience; recollections; fears. 
 
 realize that life is actually passing away. Besides, the sins 
 of childhood rise to your remembrance. Conscience is per- 
 haps seared in respect to most of them, but there are a few 
 which, when they rise to mind, awaken a peculiar bitterness 
 of remorse, which makes you shut your eyes against the recol- 
 lection, and turn away from it as soon as you can. It is one 
 of the mysterious principles of human nature that same of its 
 mortal wounds will not heal. The longer the man lives, the 
 more bitter will grow some of the recollections of early guilt ; 
 and in the permanence of these fountains of suffering, which 
 he finds he can not close, he reads a lesson which his fore- 
 boding fears press very strongly upon his mind. He some- 
 times trembles to think that all his other wounds may only 
 be closed superficially, and may perhaps be gathering in his 
 soul secret stores of remorse and suffering, to break out when- 
 ever God shall speak the word. That this is the case in fact 
 with all merely forgotten sin, no careful observer of the hu- 
 man heart, or reader of the Bible can doubt. The class of 
 persons that I am describing are, however, not very careful 
 observers ; they do not really believe that they are laying up 
 such treasures of wrath, — ^they only suspect it ; they now and 
 then get a little glimpse of the power of past guilt, just 
 enough to alarm them. 
 
 Besides these gentle stings, which treasured recollections 
 of guilt sometimes give them, as if just to remind them what 
 vipers they have in their bosoms, there is the voice of con- 
 science murmuring against present habits of transgression, 
 and foreboding fears warning of future danger ; and the word 
 of God, too, confirming and sanctioning both. You have 
 perhaps often felt these anxieties and sufferings. In the hour 
 of solitude, when peculiar circumstances favor reflection, 
 your heart is thus agitated and distressed under a sense of its 
 past and present guilt. You look at religion, at reconcilia- 
 tion with God, solely as a way of escape from threatening 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 363 
 
 Soothing influence of a good intention. Loving the rewards of piety. 
 
 danger. You form a vague determination to seek this safety 
 at some future time, and this intention, as it affords a little 
 gleam of hope, brings a little sensation of relief, and that little 
 feeling of relief, arising from the contemplation of the safety 
 of piety, is mistaken for a love for spiritual joys themselves. 
 
 The mere thought of religion, as a possible future posses- 
 sion, brings thus very often a feeling of relief to the con- 
 science, although the heart may not in the slightest degree lose 
 its love for sin, or relax its hold upon it. Conscience is bribed 
 to be quiet by a good intention, a promise, — meant to be ful- 
 filled at some future day. Though the soul loves irreligion 
 as much as ever, and shrinks back as much as ever from hum- 
 ble, broken-hearted penitence, and communion with God, and 
 faith, and spiritual joy, it still fancies that it has a desire for 
 piety. " I wish I were a Christian," it says ; — it means, " I 
 wish I could escape the consequences of sin, without having 
 to give up its joys." 
 
 Header, is this your state of mind ? Do you wish for piety 
 only as a means of escaping present remorse and anxiety, and 
 future danger, while you still wish to cling to sin ? The way 
 to determine whether you do or not, is to withdraw your 
 thoughts from the consequences of sin and holiness, and fix 
 them on sin and holiness themselves. Does the idea of coming 
 and giving yourself up wholly, soul and body, to God, look 
 pleasant to you ? A child who loves his father will take 
 pleasure in bringing his work, whatever it may be, where his 
 father is, that he may do it by his side. Now does the idea 
 of bringing your work every day to your father, so that you 
 may always be in his presence, working by his side, look 
 pleasant to you ? Is there any thing alluring in the idea of 
 examining thoroughly all your sins, and bringing them out 
 before God in complete exposure ? Can you see any pleasure 
 in penitence, in submission, in a feeling of utter and helpless 
 dependence on God ? Do you like the idea of giving up your 
 
364 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Loving piety itself. Influence of fear. Undefined fears. 
 
 favorite selfish schemes, and coming to identify yourself with 
 his cause, — so as to make yourself one with him, in object 
 and pursuit ? As you look abroad over the world, and see 
 the condition of the human race, do you feel like embarking 
 your all in the work of attempting to restore it ? I do not 
 mean to ask whether you can drag yourself up to these du- 
 ties, — ^whether you can find motives enough to drive or 
 frighten you to the mechanical performance of them. — But 
 do they look pleasant to you ? Does the enterprise seem al- 
 luring and agreeable ? These are the questions which you 
 ought to ask yourself, if you wish to determine whether you 
 have any real desire for piety. It is not enough that you 
 should have anxiety and foreboding fears from which you 
 find a partial and momentary relief, in the vague intention 
 of one day beginning to serve your Maker. The safety, the 
 peace, the promised rewards of piety, of course look alluring 
 to all men. The great question is, how do you feel about 
 'piety itself. 
 
 In regard, thus, to a very large proportion of those who 
 think that they wish to become Christians, their interest in 
 the subject amounts substantially to this ; — ^they are so de- 
 sirous to escape from the threatening dangers of sin, that 
 they are almost willing even to take religion as a means of 
 escape. How much love for piety there is in this the reader 
 may judge. 
 
 A person can not safely conclude that this is not his state 
 of mind, simply because when he thinks of the subject he has 
 no distinct and well-defined fears of a future retribution. It 
 is very often the case that the feelings, from which the 
 thought of religion as a possible future possession affords a 
 little relief, are mingled emotions of remorse and gloomy fore- 
 boding, which present to the mind no distinct objects of dread, 
 but which still disturb the peace. Now it is plainly of no 
 consequence what form uneasiness assumes ; an inclination 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 365 
 
 Fear of consequences proper. Desire of happiness. 
 
 to become a Christian, based in any way on a desire to avoid 
 uneasiness, is a very different thing from loving it on its own 
 account. Do the duties of God's service look alluring to you ? 
 If they do not, you plainly have no real love for piety ; if 
 they do, you are of course a Christian, for to love these duties 
 and to perform them are inseparable. 
 
 Let no one however suppose from these remarks that a fear 
 of future punishment, or a desire to escape the uneasiness and 
 the remorse attendant on continuance in sin, are wrong. 
 They are not wrong. The Bible everywhere endeavors to 
 awaken them : and their influence ought to be felt by every 
 human being far more powerfully than they are. The point 
 urged in the preceding paragraphs is that these desires alone, 
 while the heart revolts from piety itself, are no desires for 
 religion. Let not therefore the young disciple who is just 
 beginning to love and serve his Maker, be led to despond, be- 
 cause he finds himself so much under the influence of a de- 
 sire to get free from the burdens and dangers of sin. You do 
 right to wish to escape suffering ; you do right to act under 
 the influence of that wish. Your steps should be quickened 
 — ^your ardor and alacrity should receive an impulse from a 
 sense of the greatness of the dangers from which you are en- 
 deavoring to fly. The question is not whether you are 
 driven; but whether you are allured as well as driven. 
 You are weary of present remorse, and you shrink from future 
 suffering. It is well. Do you also love holiness and reach 
 forward to it as in itself a spiritual treasure. He who has 
 real desires for piety, partakes of the fears and anxieties 
 which agitate him who has not ; but he has love and hope 
 besides. The one is like the disobedient child who has re- 
 belled against his father, broken away from his authority, 
 and gone from his presence ; and at night he is bewildered 
 in a forest, and terrified by darkness and storm, — but yet he 
 not go home. The former is another son, who having 
 
366 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Second form of false interest in religion. Tlie evening walk. The ocean. 
 
 wandered in the same way, is equally distressed at the dan- 
 gers which threaten him, and trembles perhaps even more 
 than the other at the thunder and the wind ; — but his face 
 is toward the divelling which he has left; — his heart is 
 melted, and he longs to be again at his father's side, to ask 
 his forgiveness, and once more to be happy under his protec- 
 tion. — Reader, do you really wish to return ? 
 
 2. I have said that there are two forms of interest in reli- 
 gion, which are often mistaken for sincere desires for piety. 
 The first, the one which we have described, may be called 
 the interest of anxiety, the second that of poetic taste. There 
 is a strong poetic interest which may be excited by many 
 subjects connected with religion, and on this, a heart may 
 dwell with delight, while it has no returning sense of duty, 
 no relenting for sin, and nothing but dislike for the actual 
 service of God. 
 
 It is the refined and sensitive mind which is most exposed 
 to this danger, — and this too generally in the earlier periods 
 of life, when the imagination is active and vigorous, and the 
 bosom easily swells with the emotions she excites. A young 
 man of such a character rambles at sunset on a summer 
 evening, on the sea-shore. All is stillness and beauty. The 
 surface of the water is smooth and glassy, and reflects, even 
 to the distant horizon, a silvery light. On this liquid mirror, 
 here and there a verdant island seems to float, doubled by 
 reflection, and around some distant point of land, a boat 
 plows its way, the sound of the dip and impulse of its oars 
 coming distinctly to the observer's ear, across the smooth 
 expanse which spreads itself out before him. 
 
 He gazes on this scene an hour, — now watching the 
 wheeling of the sea-bird in its flight, — now tracing the line 
 of the distant shore, following it, on one side, to the lofty and 
 rugged precipice where it abruptly terminates, and on the 
 other, running out on the attenuated sandy point, which 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 367 
 
 Night. 
 
 Clouds. 
 
 glides down into the water so gradually that he can not fix 
 the boundary between sea and land ; — and now watching, 
 both with eye and ear, the ceaseless regularity with which 
 the gentle swell of the water foams against the rocks at his 
 feet 
 
 THE SEA-SHORE. 
 
 Presently he perceives a zone of faint and almost imper- 
 ceptible shadow rising in the east, — the dark harbinger of 
 night ; for darkness sends forward the somber signal of its 
 coming, into the same quarter of the heavens which beams, 
 in the morning, with the bright precursor of the day. He 
 looks toward the western sky, and Venus shines with a faint 
 beam, the earliest star among the thousands which are soon 
 to kindle up the sky. Clouds, magnificent in form and 
 splendid in coloring, float in the sun's last rays. Their bril- 
 liancy, however, gradually dies away. The bright, gilded 
 
368 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Stars, Poetic feeling. The romance of religion. 
 
 edge becomes obscured, — the crimson and the purple fade 
 into gray, and the broad and splendid expanse of air, so bright 
 with mere reflection, that it seems like a flaming curtain 
 floating in the sky, loses its hues, and stars shine out one by 
 one, all over the darkening expanse. The gorgeous mass of 
 cloud too in the horizon, exchanges one glory for another ; — 
 for while its brilliant colors fade, and its bosom grows dark, 
 the beaming flash of lightning now and then faintly spreads 
 over it, revealed by the very darkness which robbed the cloud 
 of superficial splendor. 
 
 The observer of all this sits upon the rocky shore, in a 
 reverie of enjoyment. As a mere scene of physical beauty, 
 it is capable of making a strong impression ; but the poetic 
 interest which it excites, is greatly increased when he con- 
 ceives of the Supreme Divinity as presiding over this scene, 
 and sees his skill and taste in every beauty, and his direct 
 act in every change. He, who, in contemplating the glories 
 of creation, gives Jehovah his proper place in the conceptions 
 which he forms, rises far above the mere poet or philosopher. 
 Bringing in life and intelligence in any form, always exalts 
 and ennobles a scene of natural beauty, — and when the life 
 and intelligence thus brought in, is the great God and Fa- 
 ther of all, the measure of moral beauty and grandeur is full. 
 
 Besides, while an observer, with a heart capable of enjoy- 
 ing such a scene, thinks of the Deity as presiding in it, he 
 can find much poetic interest in many aspects even of his 
 own relations to that Deity. He reflects that the Almighty 
 power, which could arrange such a scene as that around him, 
 and give to the whole its indescribable power to touch the 
 human heart, can never be at a loss for the means to make 
 his creatures happy. He gazes into the lofty sky, and the 
 extent and splendor of the view give him some faint concep- 
 tion of the immensity of the community over which God 
 presides. He thinks of this little world as a revolted prov- 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 369 
 
 Holiness. These feelings not wrong ; only insufScient of themselves. 
 
 ince ; and as he fancies that allegiance and harmony and 
 happiness reign in all the bright regions before him, his heart 
 swells with a sort of chivalrous desire to join the minority 
 here, in their efforts to restore Jehovah's reign. Tlie spirit 
 which rises in his breast is that of romance, — of chivalry. 
 If God's kingdom were a political or a military one, he would 
 press forward at once to its banner. But, alas, — it is a king- 
 dom of holiness. To enter it he must come down from 
 his high imaginations, and go to work in penitence and 
 humility among the corruptions of his own heart, — and this 
 he can not do. He can admire and love magnificence, 
 whether natural or moral, but he has no heart for inward 
 purity. 
 
 In the case which I have supposed, the poetic feeling 
 which has invested some of the aspects of religion with a 
 charm, is very strongly marked. It seldom exists so distinct- 
 ly, and occupies the soul so exclusively, as in the case which 
 I have described. This play of the imagination is more 
 frequently mingled with other^ feelings, and some careful 
 discrimination is necessary to ascertain how far the heart is 
 under its influence. Here however I ought to give a similar 
 caution to the one annexed to the preceding head ; that is, 
 a caution to guard the reader against supposing that the 
 feelings which I have thus described are wrong. They are 
 not wrong, when united with penitence and faith. Alone, 
 they are insufficient. They may properly mingle with piety, 
 though they can never constitute it. 
 
 No renewed mind whatever, unless it is enveloped in hope- 
 less stupidity, can look upon the ever-varied scene of beauty 
 and grandeur which is presented to us here, without some 
 such swelling emotions of joy that God, the Maker of all, is 
 his father and friend. Let no one conclude, therefore, be- 
 cause he can perceive such feelings in his heart, that there- 
 fore all his interest in piety is of the wrong kind. The 
 
370 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Inward purity. Wishing to be a Christiau. 
 
 question is not, whether you have these feelings, but whether 
 you have any besides these. You love the magnificence of 
 nature, — the beauties of the morning, — ^the splendor of the 
 sky, — the roaring of the ocean, — and the terrific sublimity 
 of the midnight storm. You enjoy the contemplation of God, 
 when you consider him as the presiding power which rules 
 over all these scenes. All this is well. But do you also 
 love, and long for inward purity ? Do the feelings of peni- 
 tence, and faith, and humble child-like submission, appear 
 to you as spiritual treasures, which you earnestly desire to 
 bring home more and more iully to your soul ; — or do you 
 loathe them, and wish to be free to live and act and feel as 
 you have done ? If the latter is the case, you must not mis- 
 take any serious thoughts or deep emotions which you may 
 feel, for real desires for piety. 
 
 There can not be any obstacle whatever in the way of a 
 return to God and to duty, when the heart really desires the 
 return. Wishing for communion with God, reconciliation 
 to him, forgiveness for the past, and guidance and protection 
 for the future, implies every Christian grace ; and where the 
 heart really feels such desires, it must, in some degree at 
 least, experience the fruition. 
 
 And yet no idea is more common than that a person re- 
 maining impenitent, may wish to be a Christian. You think, 
 perhaps, my reader, that this is your case. You wish that 
 you were a Christian, you say ; but the way is dark before 
 you. There is some mysterious obstacle which you can not 
 overcome. But reflect a moment, and you will see how im- 
 possible it is that there should be any such obstacle. It 
 can not be in your hearts ; — for the difficulty in the heart 
 must have been surmounted before you could have any real 
 love for piety. It can not be any compulsion, or physical 
 restraint from without ; — ^for such causes can not control the 
 movements of the human soul. It can not be in God : — for 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 371 
 
 Diflacultiea removed. Discrimination. Common errors. 
 
 he surely wishes to have all those come to him who would 
 love his service. It can not exist at all. If you wish to be 
 the Lord's, he is all ready to receive you. If you think that 
 you should be happy as a subject in the kingdom of heaven, 
 the way is all open before you to enter it. Go on. In be- 
 ginning to love piety, if you have for it any love at all, you 
 have passed by all the barriers which obstructed your way. 
 You have henceforth only to drink as freely as you please of 
 the waters which you say you love. 
 
 It is undoubtedly true that many persons imagine that 
 they wish to be Christians, when in fact they have only one 
 of the two forms of religious interest which have been just 
 described. There are some, however, who really feel desires 
 which rest upon God as their object, and who yet find, as we 
 have already intimated, these desires so mingled with other 
 feelings, and even so absorbed in them, that they live in con- 
 stant despondency, and sometimes sink almost to despair. 
 Others shut their eyes to the worldly motives which mingle 
 with their purer desires, and imagine that all their ardent 
 interest is holy zeal for God ; — and they press on, with a 
 proud and careless step, till they are humbled by an unex- 
 pected fall. Thus they err on opposite extremes. Neither is 
 careful to separate the mingled feelings and desires which 
 reign within him ; but one calls them all right, and the other 
 all wrong. Guard against this mistake. Make some dis- 
 crimination, and ask yourself whether you have any real de- 
 sires resting on union with God. 
 
 This work will fail of its design, if it shall not be the 
 means of leading some, at least, of its readers to these right 
 desires. If among all who shall read the volume, there is 
 one who is led by it to seek God, and is now, as he draws 
 toward the last page of it, resolved to live no longer in sin, 
 but to enter into the service of his Maker, I can not more 
 
372 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 To the Reader. Various directions to a new convert. Openness. Humility. 
 
 appropriately close this chapter than by devoting the few re- 
 maining paragraphs in giving a few parting words to him. 
 Reader, are you this individual ? Have you, as you have 
 passed on from chapter to chapter of this work, seen your sins, 
 — felt your need of a Redeemer, — desired forgiveness in his 
 name, — and felt some rising emotions of gratitude at the 
 thought of the sufferings which he endured for you ? Are 
 you ready to enter God's service ? If so, listen attentively to 
 these my parting words. 
 
 1. Become wholly a Christian, if you mean to become one 
 at all. Do not attempt to come and make half a peace 
 with God, or to seek a secret reconciliation. If you have 
 been in sin, renounce it entirely. If you have been in 
 error, abandon it openly. Do not be ungrateful or cowardly 
 enough to wish to conceal your new attachment to the cause 
 of God, or to avoid an acknowledgment that you have been 
 in the wrong. Take the side of God and duty openly, dis- 
 tinctly, fearlessly. This is your duty ; — and, besides, it is 
 your happiness. A half Christian is always a very unhappy 
 one. 
 
 2. Be a humble Christian. Do not fancy yourself an ex- 
 traordinary instance of religious zeal, or look down with 
 affected wonder on the supposed inferiority of those who have 
 been longer in their Master's service than you. You may be 
 as ardent, as devoted, as pure and holy as you please ; but 
 do not draw comparisons between yourself and others, till 
 you have been tried a little. Remember that the evidence 
 of piety is chiefly its fruits, and that well-grounded assurance 
 can come only after years of devoted, and tried, and proved 
 attachment to God. 
 
 3. Remember that your chief duty is, for some time to 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 373 
 
 Metaphysical difficulties. The precise time of conTersion. 
 
 come, with your own heart. Look within, and make every 
 thing right there. It is of fundamental importance, how- 
 ever, that when you look within, you do it, guided by the 
 principles of the Bible and of common sense, and not by those 
 of speculation and metaphysical philosophy. Try to see that 
 your heart is right ; endeavor to cultivate the plain and un- 
 questionable characteristics of piety ; — ^but do not lose your- 
 self in mystical speculations about the nature of regeneration, 
 -or in vain attempts to analyze and comprehend what will 
 certainly elude your grasp. 
 
 A great number of young converts, instead of entering im- 
 mediately into the service of God, cultivating the spirit of 
 piety, and endeavoring to do common and practical good, 
 seem immediately to turn, as soon as they become sincerely 
 interested in the subject of religion, into metaphysical phi- 
 losophers, speculating and experimenting upon their own 
 hearts. Their object seems to be, not to become holy, but 
 to understand metaphysics. Do not let this be the case with 
 you ; — cultivate piety. 
 
 Do not waste any time in attempting to determine at what 
 precise time you become a Christian, nor distress yourself 
 because you can not determine it ; nor perplex your mind 
 and impede your religious progress, because you can not posi- 
 tively ascertain whether you are really a Christian or not. 
 If the service of God looks alluring to you, press forward into 
 it, without stopping to consider the difficulties of determining 
 how you came where you are. 
 
 There is perhaps no more common source of perplexity and 
 discouragement to the young Christian than this. He thinks 
 that he must be able to tell precisely when he began to serve 
 God, or else he can have no evidence that he really has begun 
 to serve him at all. But that time can not generally be deter- 
 mined. In a very large number of the cases where it is sup- 
 posed to be determined, the period which is fixed is probably 
 
374 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 of the seed. 
 
 The first great duty. 
 
 ^**^fek 
 
 THE PLANTING. 
 
 fixed by mistake. De- 
 posit a little seed in a 
 place of warmth, and 
 moisture, and watch it 
 as narrowly as you 
 please, and see if you 
 can tell when it begins 
 to vegetate ? Equally 
 impossible is it, in most 
 cases, to determine the 
 precise period when 
 the first holy desires 
 sprung up in the hu- 
 man heart : and it is 
 useless, as well as im- 
 possible. The only 
 question of importance is, whether the seed is growing, — no 
 matter when, or how it began to grow. 
 
 Or rather, I should perhaps say, the only question is, by 
 what cultivation we can make the seed grow most rapidly : 
 for important as it is, that every Christian should know what 
 are his condition and his prospects in reference to God and 
 eternity, there is undoubtedly such a fault, and it is a very 
 common one, as pursuing this inquiry with too great earnest- 
 ness and anxiety. Many a mind wears and wastes itself 
 away, and exhausts its moral energy in fruitless endeavors 
 to determine its own spiritual state, when peace and happi- 
 ness M'ould soon come, if it would only press on in the work 
 of duty. 
 
 Still, however, the Christian's first work is undoubtedly 
 with his own heart, — ^to examine its tendencies, to study its 
 deceitful ways, to correct its waywardness, and to bring it 
 more and more completely under the habitual dominion of 
 the principles of piety. When a religious life is first com- 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 375 
 
 Excellences of outward life. Regulation of the conduct. 
 
 menced, the interest of novelty, and the various excitements 
 of the new moral position which the soul assumes, withdraw 
 it, as it were, from the influence of ordinary temptations, and 
 sin falls asleep. The inexperienced and deluded disciple 
 imagines that he has obtained a decisive and final victory ; 
 but returning temptation will bring it out again with all its 
 original power ; and this power will be exercised with re- 
 doubled effect, on account of the unguarded position of the 
 soul which it assails. Look within, then ; keep up a constant 
 watch and warfare there, and while you do not neglect your 
 duties to those around you, remember that your first and 
 greatest duty is to secure the salvation and the spiritual pro- 
 gress of your own soul. 
 
 4. Cultivate as highly as possible what may be called the 
 external excellences of character. Be courageous, noble, 
 generous, benevolent, just ; and let all around you see that it 
 is the tendency of Christianity to carry forward human nature 
 in every respect, — ^to advance it to all the excellences of 
 which it is susceptible. On this principle, cultivate such 
 habits of thought and feeling as shall lead you to shrink in- 
 stinctively from every mean or unworthy act. Be frank and 
 open and honorable in all that you do. Give no man any 
 opportunity to complain of you for the spirit which manifests 
 itself in your dealings with him. Avoid the reputation of 
 being miserly, or ill-humored, or proud ; — and the best way 
 to avoid the reputation of these things, is to avoid the reality. 
 Rise to the possession of a nobler spirit than that which reigns 
 in the selfish hearts with which the world is filled ; — ^you do, 
 in reality, if you are a Christian, stand on loftier ground, and 
 you should feel this, and be led by it to higher and more 
 honorable principles of conduct than others exemplify. 
 
 5. In your feelings toward all around you, be indulgent 
 
376 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 The feelings toward others. Formation of opinions. 
 
 and liberal. When you think of men living obstinately in 
 sin, remember how long you were yourself in the same con- 
 dition, and let this reflection quell the rising emotion of im- 
 patience, and suppress the censorious tone. Make allowances 
 for the circumstances and situation of those who are doing 
 wrong ; — not to excuse them, for no temptation is an excuse 
 for sin, but to remind yourself that under a similar exposure 
 you might very probably do the same ; and to lead you to 
 feel commiseration and sorrow, rather than to exhibit censo- 
 rious and denunciatory zeal, in respect to the faults that you 
 witness. 
 
 Liberality, however, in respect to the opinions or conduct 
 of others, does not require that you should admit or believe 
 every body to be right ; it only regulates the feelings with 
 which you regard what you know to be wrong. Many per- 
 sons seem to imagine that liberality forbids their saying or 
 thinking that their neighbor is in error, or that his actions 
 are to be condemned. But can any Christian grace thus 
 obliterate all moral distinctions, and bring confusion and de- 
 rangement upon the lines which separate truth from false- 
 hood and right from wrong ? No. Let your opinions on 
 moral subjects be distinct and clear. Express them on proper 
 occasions frankly and fearlessly ; but remember while you do 
 this that you yourself have spent a large portion of your life 
 involved in the common guilt of the human family, and that 
 you have been preserved from its extreme enormities only by 
 the influence of restraining circumstances and by the grace 
 of God. " Who maketh me to differ," should be your first 
 thought, when you find yourself feeling a rising irritation 
 against sin. 
 
 Do not exaggerate the religrious differences between your- 
 self and others, or overrate their importance. Be willing to 
 see piety wherever you can find it, and be bound to all who 
 possess it by a common sympathy. If they differ from you 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 377 
 
 Independence. Modesty. Limits to human knowledge. 
 
 in this or that article of belief, do not fix your eye obstinately 
 upon that difference, and dwell upon it, and dispute about it, 
 till you effectually sunder the bond by which you might be 
 united. Look for piety. Wherever you find it, welcome it 
 to your confidence and sympathy. In all your efforts to do 
 good, too, aim at the direct promotion of piety, not at the 
 eradication of religious error. Your attacks upon error will 
 only strengthen it in its intrenchments ; but piety, wherever 
 you can make it grow, will undermine and destroy error 
 more surely than any other means that you can employ. 
 
 6. In the formation of your own opinions, be independent 
 and bold, but cherish that modesty and humility which wiU 
 always be inspired by a just estimate of the limits of human 
 powers. In the first place, be independent ; use your ovrai 
 reason, your own senses, your own Bible. Be untrammeled ; 
 throw off* the chains and fetters which compel so many 
 minds to believe only what they are told to believe, and to 
 walk intellectually and morally in paths marked out for 
 them by human teachers. The Bible and the field of moral 
 observation are open before all, and you ought to go into this 
 field as an original and an independent observer. In the 
 second place, be modest. It is the characteristic of a weak 
 mind to be dogmatical and positive. Such a mind makes up 
 in dogged determination to believe, what it wants in evi- 
 dence. Come to your conclusions cautiously ; and take care 
 that your belief covers no more ground than your proofs. Do 
 not dispute about what you do not understand, nor push your 
 investigations beyond the boundaries of human knowledge. 
 Men are often sadly perplexed with difficulties which arise 
 from the simple fact that they have got beyond their depth. 
 If we go far away from the region of practical duty, our light 
 goes out ; — we are puzzled with difficulties, and seeming con- 
 tradictions, which we can not reconcile. We are like a 
 
378 
 
 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Progress. 
 
 Growing in piety. 
 
 school-boy with a map 
 of the world before 
 him. The deUneations 
 of England and Amer- 
 ica are plain, but when 
 he goes out toward 
 the boundaries of the 
 circles, all is distorted 
 by the effect of the 
 projection, and his puz- 
 zled head can not ex- 
 actly understand how 
 Greenland and Nova 
 Zembla can come to- 
 gether. Be bold and 
 \ independent, then, in 
 forming your opinions, 
 within the region which is fairly before you, — but proceed 
 with a cautious and modest step when you go beyond these 
 bounds. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-BOY. 
 
 7. G~row, in piety. Many persons consider conversion as 
 the completion of a change, which leaves nothing to be done 
 during the rest of life but to rest in idle expectation of the 
 happiness of heaven. But conversion is not a change com- 
 pleted ; — it is a change begun. It is the first favorable 
 turn, in a desperate disease, and must be followed by the 
 progress of convalescence, or health will never come. Make 
 it your great work therefore to grow thus in piety. "Watch 
 your own heart, and make a special interest in studying its 
 mysteries, and detecting its deceits, and understanding its 
 sins. Notice its changes so as to observe the indications of 
 progress, or the symptoms of decline. You will take a strong 
 interest in this work, if you engage in it in earnest. A man 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 379 
 
 Pressing forward. Trust in the Savior. 
 
 who has a large estate, takes pleasure in planning and carry- 
 ing forward improvements upon it. He supplies its defi- 
 ciencies, and adds in various ways to its conveniences for 
 business, or its means of enjoyment ; and he takes pleasure 
 m this, not merely on account of the increased value hereby 
 given to his property, but because it is a source of direct 
 gratification to watch the progress of improvement, especially 
 when that progress is the effect of his own efforts, and is 
 directed by his own skill. Now an interest similar in nature 
 to this should be felt by every Christian, in the moral and 
 spiritual advancement of his own soul. You must not be con- 
 tent to be stationary, — to go through, day after day, the same 
 round of religious duty ; merely as good a Christian to-day 
 as you were yesterday, and looking forward to no improve- 
 ment to-morrow. No ; let it be your distinct understanding 
 that when you abandon your life of ungodliness and sin, and 
 come and give yourself to the service of God, your work is 
 entered upon, not concluded. Expect to press onward. 
 Be vigilant, — be faithful, — and look forward to your future 
 Christian course, as to a path of difficulty and trial. Go on 
 in it perseveringly, from contest to contest, and from victory 
 to victory. 
 
 8. Look to the Savior for moral protection. Keep as near 
 as possible to him. Do not trust to your own resolutions or 
 your own strength for the means of resisting temptation and 
 sin. Just so far as you do, your Christian course will be a 
 series of feeble, faltering efforts, alternating with continnual 
 slips and falls. The power which rescued you at first, is the 
 only one that can keep you now, and as you go on therefore, 
 through the years of trial and temptation and duty which are 
 before you, rest all your hopes on Him. The journey will be 
 pleasant and safe, though difficult, if you go under the Sa- 
 vior's protection, and keep constantly near to him. It will 
 
380 THE CORNER-STONE. 
 
 Jesufl Christ the chief Corner-stone. 
 
 be sad an4 sorrowful enough, both in its progress and in 
 its termination, if you be left to go alone. Your hopes of 
 forgiveness for the past should rest on Him, — so should 
 your hopes of spiritual protection for the future. In a word, 
 the edifice of salvation must rest on Him as on its Corner- 
 stone. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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