lifornia 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 IOS ANGELES 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORHH
 
 
 *. 

 
 
 It' 

 
 REV. DR. BEECHER'S
 
 SERMON, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO THE 
 LEGISLATURE OF CONNECTICUT; 
 
 AT 
 
 THX DAT Or TU 
 
 BY LYMAN BEECHER, D. D. 
 
 -HAVHN : 
 
 ?t?BLISHED BY ORDER OF THE LSISLATf &K. 
 I. Bunce, Printer, a 
 
 182$.
 
 Ala General Assembly of the Slate of Connecticut, holden at New-Haven in said 
 Stale, on the f.rsl Wednesday of May, in the year of our lard one thousand 
 eight hundred and twenty six 
 
 PESOLVED, That the Hon Samuel Chimh, end Monis Woodruff, be di- 
 fert-'.d to vviit on the Rev. LYMAN BEEOHciR, and preseut him the trunks 
 of t!e Gen ml A-?eiubl'. for the Scr-nun delivered by him this day, and re- 
 quest a copy of the same, (hat it n y be printed. 
 A true Copy of Record, 
 
 Examined by 
 
 THOMAS DAY, Secretary*
 
 REVELATION xxi. 5. 
 
 "And He that sat upon the throne said Behold, Imake all thingi 
 
 new." 
 
 HE history of the world is the history of human nature in 
 ruins. No state of society has been permanent and universal 
 which corresponds with the capacities of enjoyments posses- 
 sed by man, or with his conceptions and desires. Small por- 
 tions only of the human family have, at the same time, enjoyed 
 a state of society, in any considerable degree desirable: while 
 much the greatest part of mankind have, in all ages, endured 
 the evils of barbarism and despotism. 
 
 It is equally manifest, that this unhappy condition of our race 
 has not been the result of physical necessity, but of moral cau- 
 ses. The earth is as capable of sustaining a happy as a miser- 
 able population, and it is the perversion only of her resources and 
 of the human faculties, which has darkened the earth and made the 
 misery of man so great. The human intellect has given proof of 
 vigour and ingenuity sufficient to bless the world ; and powerful 
 efforts nave been made in every age, by afflicted humanity, to es- 
 cape trom this downward bias, and rise to elevated and permanent 
 enjoyment. Egypt, in her monumental ruins, affords evidence 
 of a high state of the arts, which arose and passed away at a 
 period beyond the reach of history. In Greece, a vigorous in- 
 tellect and favouring clime thrust up, from the dead level around 
 her, a state of society comparatively cultivated and happy ; but 
 the sun of her prosperity blazed upon the surrounding darkness
 
 6 
 
 t& set .speedily in the night of ages. Rome fought her way to 
 dominion and civilization, and furnished specimens of mental 
 vigour and finished culture. But the superstructure of her 
 greatness rested upon oppressed humanity, and was reared by 
 "he plunder of a devastated world. Commerce, which has giv- 
 en to cities a temporary eminence, has elevated but a little the 
 pjoral condition of the multitude ; and science, which was restor- 
 ed to modern Europe at the Reformation, and commerce and 
 the arts, which have followed in her train, have not, to this day, 
 disenthralled the nations. 
 
 From experiments so long and so hopelessly made, it would 
 sepm to result that, in the conflict between the heart and the in- 
 tellect of man. victory has always declared on the side of the 
 heart ; which has led many to conclude that the condition of man 
 h hopeless in respect to any universal abiding melioration of his 
 forKli'-iort. The text throws light upon this dark destiny of man. 
 It is a voice from heaven announcing the approach of help from 
 above. " He that sitteth upon the throne saith, behold I make 
 all things new." 
 
 The renovation here announced is a moral renovation, which 
 r-: .til change the character and condition of men. The renova- 
 tion will not be partial in its influence, like the sun shining 
 ih clouds on favoured spots, but co-extensive with the ru- 
 in. Nor shall its results be that national glory, which gilds on- 
 palace, and cheers only the dwellings of the noble. It 
 shall bring down the mountains and exalt the valleys. It shall 
 :<Ticl liberty and equality to a!! the dwellings of men. Nor shall 
 ic stop at tiic fire-side, or exhaust its blessings in temporal mer- 
 cies. It shall enter the hidden man of the heart, and there de- 
 stroy the power which has blasted human hopes and baffled 
 human efforts. Nor will the change be transient. It is the last 
 dispensation of heaven for the relief of this miserable world, and 
 -ir*:! bring glory to God in the highest, to the earth peace, and 
 good will to men. 
 
 Manv have doubted whether such a renovation of the world 
 will ever be accomplished ; but, He that sat upon the throne, 
 sakJ, It is done : It is as certain as if it were come to pass. 
 
 I shall submit to your consideration, at this time, some of the 
 reasons which justify the hope, that our nation has been raised 
 up by Providence to exert an efficient instrumentality in this 
 moral renovation of the world. 
 
 I' observe then, that, to this renovation, great changes are re- 
 quired in the civil and religious condition of nations. 
 
 The monopoly of the soil must be abolished. Hitherto 
 b: rr^britv'of mankind, who have tilled the earth, have
 
 been slaves or tenants. The soil has been owned by kings. 
 and military chieftains, and nobles, and by them rented to land- 
 lords, and, by these, to still smaller dealers, and by there 
 again it has been divided and rented, until the majority, who 
 paid the rent, have sustained, in the sweat of their brow, not. 
 only their own families, but three or four orders of society above 
 them, and have been themselves crushed beneath the weight, or 
 have lived, on the borders of starvation. The sickness of a week 
 and often of a single day makes them paupers. 
 
 This same monopoly of the soil sends another large class of 
 the community into manufacturing establishments, to wear out 
 their days in ignorance and hopeless poverty, and another to 
 the camp and navy, where honor and wealth await the few, 
 and ignorance, and an early grave the many. 
 
 The consequence of excluding so many from the posses- 
 sion and healthful cultivation of the soil, is ignorance, and im- 
 providence, and reckless indifference, and vice, and turbu- 
 lence. Tortured by their oppressions, and unrestrained by mo- 
 ral principle, they are prepared for desperate deeds. Such a 
 state of society cannot be made happy : the evil is radical, and 
 can only be remedied by giving a new direction to the physical 
 moral and intellectual energies of men. We may as well band 
 with iron the trees of the forest, and expect their expansion ; and 
 throw upon them, in stinted measure, the light and the rain of 
 heaven, and expect their luxuriant growth, as to cramp the hu- 
 man mind by unequal institutions, and expect the devolopement 
 of its resources, in a happy state of society. Room for action 
 must be provided, and light must be poured upon the under- 
 standing, and motive must be pressed upon the heart. Man 
 must be unshackled, enlightened, and stimulated.. But to ac- 
 complish this, the earth must be owned by those who till it. 
 This will give action to industry, vigour to the body, and tone 
 to the mind, and, by the attendant blessing of heaven, religion 
 to the heart. From agriculture, stimulated by personal rights, 
 will result commerce, science, arts, liberty and independence. 
 
 The attraction of gravity is the great principle of motion in 
 the material world, and the possession of the earth by its inhab- 
 itants in fee simple is the great principle of motion in the moral 
 world. Nearly all the political evils which have afflicted man- 
 kind, have resulted from the unrighteous monopoly of the earth ; 
 and the predicted renovation can never be accomplished, until, 
 to some extent, this monopoly has passed away, and the earth 
 is extensively tilled by the independent owners of the soil. 
 
 To the moral renovation of the world, a change is required 
 in the prevailing forms of government.
 
 The monopoly of power must be superseded by the suffra- 
 ges of freemen. While the great body of the people are exclu- 
 ded from all voice and influence in legislation, it is impossible to 
 constitute a state of society such as the faculties of man allovr 
 and the benevolence of God desires. While the few govern 
 without responsibility, they will seek their own elevation and 
 depress the multitude. To elevate society, and bring out the 
 human .energies in a well ordered state of things, the mass of 
 the nations must be enlightened, and qualified for self-govern- 
 ment, and must yield obedience to delegated power. 
 
 The rights of conscience, also, must be restored to man, be- 
 fore the moral renovation of the world can be expected. 
 
 Few of the millions <hat have peopled the earth, have been 
 qualified by knowledge, or permitted by the government under 
 which they lived, to examine the Bible and judge for themselves. 
 The nominal religions of this world have been supported by go- 
 ernments, who, of course, have prescribed the creed, and mod- 
 elled the worship, and controled the priesthood. From such a 
 state of things, what better results could be expected, than that 
 ambitious men should be exalted to the sacred office while re- 
 ligion itself was despised and persecuted ? Governments and 
 ecclesiastics must cease then to dictate what men shall believe, 
 and in what manner they shall worship God. The Church must 
 be emancipated from worldly dominion, and enjoy that liberty 
 wherewith Jesus Christ has made her free. 
 
 Is it to be expected, then, that kingly governments shall cease, 
 and the republican form become universal ? I shall not stop 
 now to discuss this question. I would only ask whether mon- 
 archical governments can be sustained without a nobility and an 
 established religion, and whether these privileged orders can 
 exist without that monopoly of the soil, and of political influ- 
 ence, and of the right of conscience which are destructive to 
 a religious and happy state of society. That governments will 
 change their name, or all their ancient forms, I will not say. 
 But that that they will, under some form, become so far popular 
 in their spirit, as that the political power shall be in the hands 
 of the people, I cannot doubt. 
 
 It has been contended, that Christianity cannot exist in this 
 world without the aid of religious establishments. But, with 
 more truth, it may be said, that, from the beginning to this day, 
 it has existed in spite of them. It took possession of the earth 
 in the face of them, and has survived their deadly embrace, and 
 now bursting from their alliance, finds In them the most formi- 
 dable opposition to evangelical doctrine and vital godliness. 
 
 To accomplish these gieat changes in the civil and religious
 
 condition of the world, instruction alone will not avail. A great 
 example is needed, of which the world may take knowledge, 
 which shall inspire hope, and rouse and concentrate the ener- 
 gies of man. But where shall such an experiment be made ? 
 Africa requires for herself the commiseration of the world, and 
 in Europe and Asia, it would require ages to dig up the founda- 
 tions of despotism and remove the rubbish only to prepare the 
 way for such a state of society as we have described : This too 
 must be done in opposition to proscription and organized resis- 
 tance. There is also such a mass of uninformed mind, accus- 
 tomed to crouch under burdens, and so much is required to pre 
 pare it for civil liberty, that little hope remains that the old 
 world, undirected, and unstimulated by example, will ever dis- 
 enthral itself. Some nation, itself free, must blow the trumpet, 
 and hold up the light. England enjoys to some extent the bles- 
 sings of civil liberty. But in England there is so great a monop- 
 oly of the soil and of power, and so much overturning feared 
 and needed, that it is only in stinted measures, and with circum- 
 spect policy, she deals out her sympathy and holds up her light. 
 A more vigorous ally is needed, which shall push on the work 
 with a fearless heart and powerful hand. But where can that 
 nation be found ? Look now at the history of our fathers and 
 behold what God has wrought. They were such a race of men 
 as never before laid the foundations of an empire ; athletic, in- 
 telligent and pious. But how should this portion of a nation's 
 population be uprooted and driven into exile ? They could not 
 remain at home. In that age of darkness and land of bondage, 
 they had formed some just conceptions of civil and religious lib- 
 erty, and would fain have modified the civil government and the 
 church of God according to the pattern which we have described. 
 But the reformation from popery, superintended by govern- 
 ment and regulated by policy, stopped short of what the pious 
 expected and desired. The Puritans could not in all things 
 conform to the church, and the church would not suffer them to 
 dissent ; and thus they were driven into exile. And now be- 
 hold their institutions, such as the world needs, and, attended 
 as they have been by the power of God, able to elevate and 
 renovate the world. They recognize the equal rights of man- 
 give the soil to the cultivator, and self-government and the rights 
 of conscience to the people. They enlighten the intellect, and 
 form the conscience, and bring the entire influence of the divine 
 government to bear upon the heart. It was the great object of 
 our fathers to govern men by the fear of the Lord ; to exhibit 
 the precepts, apply the motives, and realize the dispositions, 
 which the word of God inculcates and his Spirit inspires j to i- 
 
 2
 
 10 
 
 w 2 at. 
 
 feue families and schools and towns and states with this wisdom 
 from above. They had no projects of human device, no theo- 
 ries of untried efficacy. They hung all their hopes of civil and 
 religious liberty upon the word of God, and the ifficacy of his 
 Spirit. Nor was theirs the presumptuous hope of grace with- 
 out effort. It was by training men for self-government, that 
 they expected to make freemen, and, by becoming fellow work- 
 ers with God, that they expected his aid in forming Christians ; 
 while, by intellectual culture, and moral influence, and divine 
 power, they prepared men to enjoy and perpetuate civil liberty. 
 
 The Law, with sleepless vigilance, watched over the family, 
 the Church and the State ; and a vigorous and united public 
 opinion rendered its execution certain -and effectual. Every 
 family was required to possess a bible ; every district a school, 
 and every town a pastor. The law protected the Sabbath, and 
 sustained the public worship of God, and punished immorality ; 
 and with mild but effectual energy, ruled over all. The great 
 excellence of these institutions is, that '.hey are practical and 
 powerful. The people are not free in name and form mere- 
 merely, but in deed and in truth. Were all forms blotted out, 
 the people would be free. The governments are free govern- 
 ments from the foundation to the top stone, and of such practi- 
 cal efficacy as to make free men. 
 
 The family, embodying instruction and government, was it- 
 self an embryo Empire. 
 
 In the school district, the people were called upon to exercise 
 their own discretion and rights, and, in the ecclesiastical society, 
 to rear their place of worship, elect their pastor and provide for 
 his support, and all under the protection and guidance of Law. 
 
 The towns, in their popular assemblies, discussed their local 
 interests and administered their own concerns. In these, ori- 
 ginated the Legislature, and from the Legislature emanated the 
 Courts of Justice. 
 
 In the States, all, which is local and peculiar, is superintended 
 with a minuteness and efficacy, which no consolidated govern- 
 ment could possibly accomplish. The people have only to as- 
 certain from experience what their convenience or interest de- 
 mands, and their wish becomes a law. And still in the national 
 government there is all the comprehension of plan, and power 
 of resource and unity of action which are required for the high- 
 est degree of national prosperity. 
 
 It has been doubted whether a republic so extensive as ours 
 can be held together and efficiently governed. But where there 
 is this intellectual and moral influence, the habitual exercise of 
 civil and religious liberty, from the family upward, we see not
 
 11 
 
 why a republic may not be extended indefinitely and be st\U 
 the strongest and most effective government in the world. 
 
 The history of our nation is indicative of some great design to 
 be accomplished by it. It is a history of perils and deliverances 
 and of strength ordained out of weakness. The wars with the 
 savage tribes, and with the French, and at last with the Eng- 
 lish, protracted expense and toil and blood, through a period 
 of one hundred and fifty years. No nation, out of such weak- 
 ness, ever became so strong, or was guided through such per- 
 ils to such safety. " If it had not been the Lord who was on. 
 our side, now may Israel say, when men rose up against us, 
 then they had swallowed us up quickly, when their wrath was 
 kindled against us." These deliverances the enemy beheld 
 often with wonder, and our fathers, always, with thanksgiving 
 and praise. But, in the whole history of the world, God has 
 not been accustomed to grant signal interpositions without ends 
 of corresponding magnitude to be answered by them. Indeed, 
 if it had been the design of Heaven to establish a powerful na- 
 tion, in the full enjoyment of civil and religious liberty, where 
 all the energies of man might find scope and excitement or pur- 
 pose to shew the world by experiment, ot what man is capable, 
 and to shed light on the darkness which should awake the slum- 
 bering eye, and rouse the torpid mind, and nerve the palsied 
 arm of millions, where could such an experiment have been 
 made but in this country, and by whom more auspiciously than 
 by our fathers, and by what means so well adapted to the end 
 as their institutions ? 
 
 The course which is now adopted by Christians of all deno- 
 minations, to support and to extend at home and abroad, reli- 
 gious and moral influence, would seem to indicate the purpose 
 of God to render us, extensively, the almoners of his mercy to 
 this world. 
 
 For two hundred years the religious institutions of our land were 
 secured by law. But as our numbers increased, and liberty of 
 conscience resulted in many denominations of Christians, it be- 
 came impossible to secure by law the universal application of 
 religious and moral influence. And yet, without this mighty 
 energy the whole system must fail. We might as well rely on 
 the harvests which our fathers reared for bread, as to rely on 
 the external forms of liberty which they established, without the 
 application of that vital energy, by which the body politic was 
 animated and moved. But, at the very time when the civil law 
 had waxed old and was passing away, God began to pour out 
 his Spirit upon the Churches, and voluntary associations of 
 Christians arose to apply and extend that influence, which the 
 law could no longer apply. And now we are blessed with so- 

 
 12 
 
 cieties to aid in the support of the Gospel at home, and to ex- 
 tend it to the new settlements. We have Bible Societies, and 
 Tract Societies, and associations of individuals, who, instead of 
 the Select-Men, make it their business to see that every family 
 has a Bible, and every Church a pastor, and every child a cat- 
 echism. And to these succeeded Education Societies, that our 
 nation may not outgrow the means of grace. And while these 
 means of moral culture are supplied, this great nation begins to 
 look down from her eminence, with compassion, upon a world 
 in darkness, and put forth her mighty arm to disenthral and el- 
 evate the human family. 
 
 Let it be remembered that the means now relied on are pre- 
 cisely those, which our fathers applied, and which have secu- 
 red our prosperity. And when we contemplate the unexampled 
 resources of this country ; its men; its soil, climate, sea-coast, 
 rivers, lakes, and canals ; its agriculture, commerce, arts and 
 wealth, and all in connexion with the influence of republican and 
 religious institutions, is it too much to be hoped that God will 
 accept our instrumentality, and render it effectual, extensively, 
 for the renovation of the human family ? 
 
 The revivals of religion which prevail in our land among chris- 
 tians of all denominations,furnish cheering eridence ofthe presence 
 of evangelical doctrine, and ofthe power of that Spirit by which 
 the truth is to be made efficacious in the renovation of the world. 
 These revivals are distinguished by their continuance through 
 a period of thirty years; by their extent, pervading the nation ; 
 by their increasing frequency in the same places ; by their ra- 
 pidity and power, in a few weeks changing the character of 
 towns and cities, and even of whole districts and countries, 
 an earnest of that glorious time, when a nation shall be born in 
 a day, purifying our literary institutions, and multiplying pas- 
 tors and missionaries to cheer our own land and enlighten dis- 
 tant nations. 
 
 The revivals of religion in this country are without a parallel 
 in the history of the world, and are constituting an era of moral 
 power entirely new. Already the churches look chiefly to them 
 for their members and pastors, and for that power upon public 
 opinion, which retards declension, gives energy to law, and vol- 
 untary support to religious institutions. 
 
 These revivals then, falling in with all these antecedent indi- 
 cations, seem to declare the purpose of God to employ this na- 
 tion in the glorious work of renovating the world. 
 
 If we look at our Missionaries abroad, and witness the smiles 
 of Heaven upon their efforts, our confidence will be increased, 
 that it is the purpose of God to render our nation a blessing to 
 the world. In talents, and piety, and learning, and doctrine.
 
 13 
 
 and civil policy, they are the legitimate descendants of the Pu- 
 ritans. Every where they command high respect, and have 
 been distinguished by their judicious and successful efforts. In 
 Ceylon and Hawaii, and among the natives of this country, they 
 are fast supplanting idolatry by Christian institutions. Revivals 
 of religion cheer and bless them, and churches and all the ele- 
 ments of Christian civilization are multiplying around them. 
 
 Let this nation go on, then, and multiply its millions and its 
 resources, and bring the whole under the influence of our civil 
 and religious institutions, and with the energies of its concentra- 
 ted benevolence send out evangelical instruction ; and who can. 
 calculate what our blessed instrumentality shall have accom- 
 plished, when He who sitteth upon the throne shall have made 
 all things new. 
 
 If Swartz and Buchanan, and Vanderkemp, and Carey, and 
 Martyn, and Brainard, could each alone accomplish so much, 
 what may not be expected from the energies of such a nation 
 as this ? 
 
 If we consider also our friendly relations with the South Ame- 
 rican States, and the close imitation they are dispdsed to make 
 of our civil and literary institutions, who can doubt that the 
 spark which our forefathers struck will yet enlighten this entire 
 continent ? But when the light of such a hemisphere shall go 
 up to heaven, it will throw its beams beyond the waves it will 
 shine into the darkness there, and be comprehended ; it will 
 awaken desire, and hope, and effort, and produce revolutions- 
 and overturnings, until the world is free. 
 
 From our revolutionary struggle proceeded the revolution in 
 France, and all which has followed in Naples, Portugal, Spain, 
 and Greece ; and though the bolt of every chain has been driv- 
 en again, they can no more hold the heaving mass than the chains 
 of Xerxes could hold the Hellespont vexed with storms. Floods 
 have been poured upon the rising flame, out they can no more 
 extinguish it than showers of rain can extinguish the fires of 
 jKtna. Still it burns, and still the mountain heaves and mur- 
 murs ; and soon it will explode with voices and thunderings, 
 and great earthquakes. Then will the trumpet of jubilee sound, 
 and earth's debased millions will leap from the dust, and shake 
 off their chains, and cry Hosanna to the Son of David. 
 
 Before we conclude this discourse, let us attend to some of the 
 duties to which we are called by our high providential destiny. 
 
 And most evidently we are called upon 
 
 1. To cherish with high veneration and grateful recollections 
 the memory of our fathers. Both the ties of nature and the 
 dictates of policy demand this. And surely no nation ever had 
 less occasion to be ashamed of its ancestry : for while most na-
 
 tions trace their origin to barbarians, the foundations of our na- 
 tion were laid by civilized men by Christians. Many of them 
 were men of distinguished families, of powerful talents, of 
 great learning, of pre-eminent wisdom, of decided character, 
 and of most inflexible integrity. And yet, not unfrequently, 
 they have been treated as if they had no virtues ; while their 
 sins and follies have been sedulously immortalized in satirical 
 anecdote. The influence of such treatment of the fathers is too 
 manifest. It creates and lets loose upon their invaluable insti- 
 the Vandal spirit of innovation and overthrow : for after the 
 memory of our lathers shall have been rendered contemptible, 
 who will appreciate and sustain their institutions? 
 
 The precious memory of our fathers should be the watch- word 
 of liberty throughout the land ; for, imperfect as they were, 
 the world before had not seen their like, nor will it soon, we 
 fear, behold their like again. 
 
 Such models of moral excellence ; such apostles of civil and 
 religious liberty ; such shades of the illustrious dead, standing 
 in high antiquity, and looking down upon their descendants with 
 approbation or reproof, according as they follow or depart from 
 the good way. constitute a censorship inferior only to the eye of 
 God ; and to ridicule them is national suicide. 
 
 Tie doctrines of our fathers have been represented as of a 
 licentious tendency. But when other systems shall have pro- 
 duced a piety as devoted, a morality as pure, a patriotism as 
 disinterested, and a state of society as happy, as have prevailed 
 where their doctrines have been most prevalent ; it may be in 
 season to seek an answer to this objection. 
 
 The same doctrines have been charged with inspiring a spir- 
 it of dogmatism and religious domination. But in all the strug- 
 gles of man with despotic power for civil liberty, the doctrines of 
 our fathers have been found on the side of liberty as their op- 
 posite have been found usually in the ranks of arbitrary power. 
 
 The persecutions instituted by our fathers, have been the oc- 
 casion of ceaseless obloquy upon their fair fame. And truly it 
 was a fault of no ordinary magnitude that they did persecute. 
 But let him whose ancestors were not ten times more guilty, cast 
 the first stone, and the ashes of our fathers will n0 more be dis- 
 turbed. More exclamation and invective has been called forth 
 by the few instances of persecution by the fathers of New-Eng- 
 land, than by all the fires which lighted the realm of Old Eng- 
 land for centuries, and drove into exile thousands of her most 
 valuable subjects. 
 
 The superstition and bigotry of our fathers are themes on 
 which some of their descendants, far enough themselves from 
 superstition, if not from bigotry, have delighted to dwell. But
 
 15 
 
 when we look abroad and behold the condition of the world, 
 compared with the condition of New-England, we may justly 
 exclaim, Would to God that the ancestors of all the nations had 
 been not only almost, but altogether such bigots as our fathers 
 were ! 
 
 Their strictness in the family, and in church and state, has 
 been complained of as too rigid. But they were laying the 
 foundation of a nation, and applying a moral power whose im- 
 pulse should extend through ages ; and who that beholds the 
 rapid and appalling moral relaxation of the present day, can 
 believe that they put the system in motion with too much rig- 
 our ? In proportion as their discipline had been less strict, our 
 present condition had been more alarming, and our future pros- 
 pects more desperate. 
 
 Our fathers have been ridiculed as an uncouth and uncourt- 
 ly generation. And truly, it must be admitted that they were 
 not as expert in the graces of dress, and the etiquette of the 
 drawing-room, as some of their descendants. But neither could 
 these have felled the trees, nor guided the plough, nor spread 
 the sail which they did ; nor braved the dangers of Indian war- 
 fare, nor displayed the wisdom in counsel which our fathers dis- 
 played. And had none stepped upon the Plymouth rock but 
 such effeminate critics as these, the poor natives never would 
 have mourned the wilderness lost, but would have brushed them 
 from the land as they would brush the puny insect from their 
 face ; the Pequods would have slept in safety that night which 
 was their last, and no intrepid Mason had hung upon their rear, 
 and driven into exile the panic-struck fugitives. 
 
 2. We are called upon to cherish and extend our religious 
 institutions. 
 
 Religion was the power on which our fathers relied the pow- 
 er which has made us what we are, and which must guarantee 
 the perpetuity of our blessings. Every other influence has been 
 tried and has failed ; this has been tried with ample promise of 
 success. The application of religious and moral influence is 
 therefore the great duty to which as a nation we are called. 
 This is the article of our rise or fall of our glorious immortal- 
 ity or our hasty dissolution. Every thing but this may be safe- 
 ly left to the operation of existing causes. Ambition will secure 
 the interests of education and science ; the love of gold will 
 push agriculture and commerce and arts ; and the pride of lib- 
 erty will arm the nation, and render it invincible. All these 
 things the nations who have preceded us have been able to do. 
 But there was a sickness of the heart which they could neither 
 endure nor heal ; and with this same disease this nation is sick, 
 and intellectual culture, and civil liberty, and national wealth
 
 16 
 
 will not heal it. There is but one remedy; and that is the 
 preaching of the gospel with the Holy Ghost sent down from on 
 high. But to render the gospel effectual, the religious educa- 
 tion of the family, and the moral culture of our schools and col- 
 leges must be secured ; and the Sabbath must be rescued from 
 profanation. The Sabbath is the great organ of the divine ad- 
 ministration the only means provided by God to give ubiquity 
 and power to His moral government. The intellectual culture 
 of a nation requires schools and literary institutions ; and that 
 the subjects of instruction shall be brought under their influence. 
 Let the fascinations of pleasure, or the demands of labour with- 
 draw the children and youth from the power of intellectual cul- 
 ture i and ignorance will ensue. So let the stream of pleas- 
 ure and of worldly cares bear away the population of the land 
 from the house of God, and from the duties of devotion on the 
 Sabbath ; and ignorance of God, and of His laws will with equal 
 certainty ensue ; irreligion will prevail, and immorality and dis- 
 soluteness, to an extent utterly inconsistent with the permanence 
 of republican institutions. Europe can never enjoy civil liberty 
 wntil she shall do more homage to the Sabbath of God ; and we 
 shall enjoy it but a short space after we have ceased to render 
 to God his right in that sacred day : for all the millions who vi- 
 olate the Sabbath will draw themselves from the moral power of 
 the divine government, deprive their families of a religious edu- 
 cation, and abandon them to the power of their evil hearts and 
 their own bad example. 
 
 In the mean time the secular interests of men are so indissolu- 
 tly connected, that the stream of business put in motion by the 
 wicked on the Sabbath day, not only pains the eye of the virtu- 
 ous, but, as it deepens and roars and rolls onward its turbid wa- 
 ters, it draws into itself by the associations of business, a large 
 and still larger portion of the community, until it spreads unre- 
 sisted over the land, obliterates the government of God, and sub- 
 stitutes covetousness and pleasure and dissoluteness, instead of 
 godliness and the morality of the gospel. 
 
 The present undoubtedly is the generation which is to decide 
 the fate of this great empire, by deciding whether the Sabbath 
 of God shall be preserved or blotted out; for the temptations of 
 the seaboard and of canals are immense, and are increasing 
 most fearfully; and unless public sentiment and law shall make 
 a stand soon, we may as well attempt to stop the rolling of the 
 ocean or the current of our mighty rivers. 
 
 The universal extension of our religious institutions is the only 
 means then of reconciling our unparallelled prosperity with na- 
 tional purity and immortality. Without the preserving power 
 of religious and moral influence, our rapid increase in wealth will 
 
 L
 
 17 
 
 be the occasion of our swift destruction. The rank vegetation 
 of ynsa notified enterprise thrown into one capacious reservoir of 
 putrefaction, will send up over the land desolation and death. 
 Ko nation so short lived as ours, unless we can balance out 
 prosperity by moral power. Our sun has moved onward from 
 his morning to his meridian, with a rapidity and glory which has 
 amazed the world. But unless we can extend the power of re- 
 ligious institutions through the land, dark clouds will soon ob- 
 scure his glory, ^md his descent to a night of ages will be more 
 rapid than his rising. 
 
 When we were colonies or unallied states, the law could make 
 provision for the creation and application of moral powers. 
 The law could compel men to desist from secular employments 
 and vain amusements on the Sabbath. The law could compel 
 men to support the gospel and attend the public worship of 
 Go<i and the Select-men could see to it that every town should 
 in due time settle a minister, and that every family should pos- 
 sess a Bible and an orthodox catechism. But these means of 
 moral influence the law can no longer apply ; and there is no 
 substitute but the voluntary energies of the nation itself, in asso- 
 ciations for charitable contributions and efforts, patronized by 
 all denominations of Christians, and by all classes of the commu- 
 nity who love their country. We may boast of our civil and 
 religious liberty, but they are the fruit of other men's labours in- 
 to which we have entered, and the effect of institutions whose 
 impulse has been felt long after the hands that reared them have 
 mouldered in the grave. It is an impulse, too, that is fast failing, 
 and becoming yearly more and more disproportioned to the 
 mass that is to be moved by it. Our religious institutions must 
 be invigorated, or we are undone. They must move onward* 
 with our flowing emigration to the Mississippi must ascend the 
 Iron Mountains, and pour their waters of life into the Ocean be- 
 yond ; and from the North to the South they must bear sal- 
 vation on their waves. In this way the nation can save itself: 
 but unless it can be roused to the mighty work, it will, like the 
 man among the tombs, become exceeding fierce, and turn upon 
 itself its infuriated energies, and pour out its life blood by self- 
 inflicted wounds. 
 
 3. We are called upon to give a quickened and extended im- 
 pulse to our charitable insitutions. 
 
 These are the providential substitutes for the legal provisions 
 of our fathers, now inapplicable by change of circumstances. 
 In these the nation must enroll itself spontaneously, and the 
 spirit of the Puritans be revived for the preservation of their 
 institutions. And uow is the time. With our growing prosperity
 
 18 
 
 also the fascinations of pleasure, and the means and tempta- 
 tions to voluptuousness. Now, unless the salt of the earth contain- 
 ed in Christian institutions, can be diffused through the land, the 
 mass will putrify. The tide of business and pleasure, bursting 
 from our cities, rolling on our sea-coast, and flowing in our ca- 
 nals, will soon sweep away the Sabbath, unless a vigorous pub- 
 lic sentimf nt can be arrayed for its preservation by the preach- 
 ing of the gospel and the power of the Spirit. Let the Sabbath 
 schools, then, and Bible classes of our land be multiplied, and 
 let Societies for domestic missions rise in every State and Dis- 
 trict, and collect and pour out the energies of the nation for its 
 moral preservation ; while bibles, and pastors and teachers are 
 multiplied, till the knowledge of the Lord covers the land, and 
 his saving health is extended to all the people. 
 
 4. All Christian denominations are called upon to co-ope- 
 rate for the preservation of religion. 
 
 It is idle to expect, and folly to desire, the amalgamation of all 
 denominations into one. The papal effort at universal compre- 
 hension has shown what a vast unstimulated, stagnant uniformity 
 ivill accomplish ; and God, no doubt, has permitted some vari- 
 ant winds of opinion to move upon the fece of the deep, to main- 
 tain motion and purity and life. 
 
 We may say, however, that jealousies and ambitious collisions 
 between religious denominations should give place to Christian 
 courtesy and the magnanimity of an hearty co-operation for the 
 glory of God, and the salvation of the world. 
 
 It is in vain to expect, and it would be sinful to desire the ex- 
 tinction of any one denomination of Christians. There is room 
 for all and work for all ; and there is ample reason why each 
 should hail the other as an auxiliary in the work of the Lord. 
 The religious principle must be applied throughout the nation, 
 and no one denomination can do it. The work demands the 
 ceaseless action of each in its own peculiar way, and the mag- 
 nanimous co-operation of all for the preservation of the great 
 principles of our common Christianity. Nor will such concert of 
 action be in vain. It will form extensively a public opinion 
 which shall accord with the morality of the gospel whose sanc- 
 tions, expressed in the votes of virtuous freemen, shall elevate 
 to influence and power men of pure moralitv, and consign the 
 irreligious, immoral, and dissolute to merited contempt a law 
 which the wicked cannot repeal, and whose penalty they cannot 
 evade. All denominations, united and directing their suffrages 
 to that end, can check the violation of the Sabbath ; can arrest 
 the contagion of intemperance ; can punish duellists in high pla- 
 ces, who set at defiance, with shameless notoriety, the laws q(
 
 19 
 
 God and their country, bringing upon us the contempt of the 
 \vorld, and the just judgments of Heaven-. 
 
 5. In this great work of national preservation' and universal 
 good will, our civil rulers are particularly called upon to co-op- 
 erate. 
 
 Not, as once, in convoking synods, and approving and recom- 
 mending creeds ; and not in coercing by law attendance upon 
 public worship, or the support of religious institutions. The 
 days have gone by in which such interposition is required or can, 
 avail. The God of our fathers having given to us' a practical il- 
 lustration of the efficacy of religious institutions, sustained by 
 law during our minority ; now, in our manhood, puts the price 
 into our hands, to be preserved or abandoned on our own re- 
 sponsibility. Nor are the Church and the State to be so identifi- 
 ed, as that the qualifications for civil office must be the same as 
 for membership in that kingdom which is not of this world. Still 
 our civil rulers owe to God and their country now, the same il- 
 lustrious piety, the same estimation of the doctrines of God's 
 word, the same attendance upon the ordinances of the gospel 
 and co-operation for their suppport, and the same strict and pure 
 morality, which rendered the civil fathers of our land so illustri- 
 ous in their character, and so benign in the power of their exam- 
 ple upon their own and upon other generations. The example 
 of men in official stations rs among the most powerful moral caus- 
 es which afflict or bless a community.. If it be good, it descends 
 "with cheering power, like the gentle rain upon the earth ; but if 
 it be evil, from its bad eminence, it comes down upon the com- 
 munity, like the mountain torrent, sweeping away landmarks. 
 The righteous mourn under their sway, and t-he wicked creep 
 from their hiding-places, and walk on every side, setting their 
 mouth against the heavens, and their foot upon all that is sacred 
 and holy. The time has come, when the experiment is to be 
 made, whether the world is to be emancipated and rendered 
 happy, or whether the whole creation shall groan and travail to- 
 gether in pain until the final consummation : and the example of 
 the rulers of our nation will throw decisive weights into the 
 scales, for or against the world's last hope. If they pour con- 
 tempt upon the Bible, its doctrines and institutions if they take 
 in vain the name of God, or profane wantonly his holy day if 
 they concentrate in the capilol and spread abroad through the 
 land the infection of their bad example ; "^he whole nation will 
 feel it, and the nation die under it. unless the indignant virtue of 
 an insulted community shall throw otT the body of death, and by 
 a well directed suffrage call to its aid men of talents and of pure 
 morality. 

 
 go 
 
 b. To perpetuate our national prosperity and hold up our 
 light to the world, our citizens must banish party spirit, and reg^ 
 ulate the suffrage of the nation with reference to the preserva- 
 tion of its moral purity. 
 
 The temporary collisions of local interest and of ambition 
 can never be excluded from such a nation as this, and are not 
 to be feared. It is those deep-rooted and permanent divisions, 
 extending through the land, rousing the feelings and arraying 
 the energies of one part of the nation in keen collision with the 
 other, and perpetuating prejudice and strife, from generation to 
 generation, which threaten the existence of our republican in- 
 stitutions. Through one such fiery trial we have passed unde- 
 stroyed. though by no means uninjured 5 and no patriot of the 
 present generation would willingly, I trust, behold our country 
 placed in such jeopardy 3g .'.in. Despotic governments may pass 
 in safety through popular commotions such as would shake down 
 the pillars of a republic. The mobs of England, which, in the 
 presence of the military power, are but the gambols of a kid 
 within the scope of the lion's paws, would be, in this country, 
 as the letting out of waters. There is no possibility of freedom 
 in this bad world, without so much intelligence and moral prin- 
 ciple as shall create an efficient public sentiment in favour of 
 law and good order. 
 
 But party spirit prostrates every thing which is venerable 
 and sacred within the sphere of its commotion. It directs the 
 attention of the people from their own common interests to the 
 means of gaining ends to which prejudice and passion may 
 direct then* ; and the attention of the government from the pub- 
 lic good to the means of its own political ascendancy. It ren- 
 ders a wise and comprehensive policy impossible ; for party 
 spirit has no magnanimity, no conscience, no consistency, to 
 withhold it from resisting as rea'lily what is wise as what is un- 
 wise, and its victories are too transient to admit of much pros- 
 pective wisdom. It is eminently hostile to the laws which watch 
 over the morals of the nation ; for who will execute them when 
 partizans on both sides fear that they may feel the consequen- 
 ces of fidelity at the very next election. Too often, from the 
 nearly balanced state of parties, the most worthless portion of 
 the community actually hold the sway in the elections, even in a 
 state of society comparatively virtuous, occasioning impunity 
 in the violation of law, and clothing with political consequence, 
 and too often surrounding with adulation, men whom our fathers 
 would have expelled from good society, and sent to the work- 
 house or the pillory. It tends to destroy in society all distinc- 
 tions of talent, and learning, and moral character, as qualification*
 
 
 for office ; while it reconciles the people, upon the plea of tie* 
 cessity, to such preposterous sacrifices of conscience and com* 
 mon sense as they would never consent to, unstimulated by its 
 madness. Indeed, in all but the name, it rears beneath the 
 forms of freedom, a real and most terrific despotism. For every 
 party has a soul, some master spirit who, without a crown and 
 sceptre, governs with absolute sway. He is surrounded by a 
 nobility, each of whom is commissioned to govern the public 
 opinion within his sphere, and bring his retainers to the polls, to 
 subserve implicitly the interests of the king and of the aristocra- 
 cy. It needs only to kindle the watch-fire, and every clansman 
 is at his post ; and argument might as well avail against bullets 
 in the day of battle, as in these determined contests of parties. 
 There is no remedy for this state of things, but that intelligence 
 which qualifies the. people to understand their rights, interests, 
 and duties ; and that calmness of feeling to which the public 
 mind, undisturbed by partizan efforts, will not fail to come ; and 
 that deep conviction of the importance of moral purity, which 
 shall turn the expectations of the people from party men and 
 party measures, to the application of moral power, by the insti- 
 tutions of religion, and the interposition of the Holy Spirit. 
 
 Multitudes of Christians and patriots have long since aban- 
 doned party politics, and, not knowing what to do, have aban- 
 doned almost the exercise of suffrage. This is wrong. An en- 
 lightened and virtuous suffrage may, by system and concentration, 
 become one of the most powerful means of promoting national 
 purity and morality ; as the suffrage from which the influence 
 of conscience and virtue is withdrawn, cannot fail to be disastrous. 
 While then, as freemen, we remove one temptation to hypocrisy, 
 by dispensing with a profession of religion as a qualification for 
 office, and exclude all occasions of jealousy, by bestowing our 
 votes without reference to Christian denominations ; let all chris- 
 tians and all patriots exercise their rights as electors with an in- 
 flexible regard to moral character ; and let the duellist and the 
 sabbath-breaker, and the drunkard, and the licentious, find the 
 doors of honour barred, and the heights of ambition defended 
 against them by hosts of determined freemen ; and the moral 
 effect will be great. The discrimination by suffrage will t>xort 
 upon the youth of our country a most salutary restraint, and up- 
 on dissolute ambitious men a powerful reforming influence. Let 
 every freeman, then, who would perpetuate the liberty and hap- 
 piness of his country, and transmit to his descendants of distant 
 generations the precious legacy which our fathers have sent 
 down to us, enquire concerning the candidate for whom he is 
 solicited to vote, is he an enemy to the Bible, or to the doc- 

 
 ftines and institutions of the Gospel ; is he a duellist, or atf 
 intemperate man, or a Sabbath-breaker, or dissolute, or dishon- 
 est ? and if in any of these respects, he be disqualified, with- 
 hold his vote, and give it to a better man and it will go far to 
 retrieve the declensions which have taken place, and to render 
 righteousness and peace the stability of our times. 
 
 And HOW, what shall we say to these things? Are they the 
 dreams of a fervid imagination, or are they the words of truth 
 and soberness ? Will our blessings be perpetuated, or shall ours 
 be added to the ruined republics that have been ? Are we as- 
 sembled to-day to bestow funeral honours upon our departefl 
 glory, or with united counsels and hearts to strengthen the things 
 that remain ? Weak indeed must be the faith that wavers now, 
 and sinks amid waves less terrific, and prospects more cheering, 
 than any which our fathers ever saw. Were it dark even 
 as midnight, and did the waves run high, and dash loud and an- 
 gry around us, still our faith would not be dismayed : still with 
 our fathers we would believe, " Qui transtulit sustinet ;" and 
 still would we rejoice in the annunciation of Him that sitteth upon 
 the throne, " Behold I create all things new." Our anchor will 
 not fail our bark will not founder; for the means of preserva- 
 tion will be used, and the God of our fathers will make them ef- 
 fectual. The memory of our fathers is becoming more precious. 
 Their institutions are commanding a higher estimation. Deeper 
 convictions are felt of the importance of religious institutions ; 
 and more extended and vigorous exertions are made to balance 
 the temptations of prosperity by moral powers. Christian* 
 are ceasing from their jealousies and concentrating their ener- 
 gies. The nation is moved, and beginning to enrol itself in va- 
 rious forms of charitable association, for the extension of religion 
 at home and abroad. Philosophers and patriots, statesmen and 
 men of wealth, are beginning to feel that it is righteousness only 
 which exalteth a nation, and to give to the work of moral reno- 
 vation their arguments, the power of their example, and the im- 
 pulse of their charity. And the people, weary of political col- 
 lision, are disposed at length to build again those institutions 
 which in times of contention, they had either neglected or trod- 
 den down. Such an array of moral influence as is now compre- 
 hended in the great plan of charitable operations, was never 
 before brought to bear upon the nation. It moves onward, at- 
 tended by fervent supplications, and followed by glorious and 
 "unceasing effusions of the Holy Spirit. The god of this world 
 feels the shock of the onset, and has commenced his retreat. 
 Jesus Christ is going on from conquering and to conquer ; nor 
 will he turn from His purpose, or cease from His work, until He 
 hath made all things new.
 

 
 -
 
 THE PRESUMPTION OF SKEPTICAL AND CARKLESS CONTEMNERS OF RELIGION. 
 
 SERMON 
 
 PREACHED IN 
 
 THE MEETING HOUSE OF THE SOUTH PARISH, ANDOVEB, 
 
 . 
 
 ON THE 
 LAST SABBATH IN NOV. 1838. 
 
 BY EBENEZER PORTER, D. D. 
 
 President of the Theol. Sem. Andover. 
 
 Published by request of the hearers. 
 
 ANDOVER: 
 PUBLISHED BY MARK NEWMAN. 
 
 1829.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Whatever of peculiarity, intelligent readers of this sermon may perceive, in its subject and 
 course of thought, may perhaps be explained by the following simple statement. It wag 
 written while the author was on a journey, in a distant part of the country; and was design- 
 edly adapted to a class of hearers, who were accustomed to parry all the solemn appeals of 
 religion, by alleging, not their certainty that it is false, but their doubts of its truth. Pro- 
 bably there are men, in all times and places, to whom the admonitions of the sermon may be 
 appropriate. In this view it was, in the customary interchange of labors on the sabbath, 
 preached to the respected congregation, many of whom have united in requesting that it 
 should be published.
 
 SERMON. 
 
 2 PETER III. 4. 
 
 Where is the promise of his coming ? For, since the fathers fell asleep, all things con- 
 tinue as they were, from the beginning of the creation. 
 
 THE Apostle Peter wrote his two pastoral letters, to com- 
 fort and establish the Christians, who had been widely dis- 
 persed, by the violence of persecution. He warned these 
 Christians not to expect that the trials of the godly will cease, 
 while hatred to truth and holiness is so predominant in the 
 world. But he informed them that this hostility will assume a 
 form of opposition, to which good men had not been accustom- 
 ed, and of which they needed to be forewarned. 
 
 What then is this opposition ? Not chains, and dungeons, 
 and gibbets. Over these, faith and patience had won a thou- 
 sand triumphs. Not arguments. From these, truth had noth- 
 ing to fear. Reasoning is not the armour in which these op- 
 posers of the gospel would array themselves, but scoffing. 
 " There shall come scoffers." 
 
 The language of these men corresponds with the bold li- 
 centiousness of their character. " Where is the promise of his 
 coming ?" This is an expression of profane incredulity, res- 
 pecting the doctrine of a final judgment, and an eternal retri- 
 bution. The phrase " his coming," denoted the general be- 
 lief of the church respecting this subject. The Apostle ex- 
 plains and limits its meaning, when he adds the dreadfully sub- 
 lime declaration ; " But the day of the Lord shall come, as a 
 thief in the night, in which the heavens shall pass away with a
 
 great noise, the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth 
 also, and the works that are therein, shall be burnt up." 
 
 Jesting, so far as it is indulged by reasonable men, is al- 
 ways confined to subjects of little importance. The plague, 
 that depopulates cities ; the hurricane, that heaves the ocean 
 into mountain billows ; the volcano, that pours out its rivers of 
 flame, are regarded, by the pious and the profane, with im- 
 pressions, not of levity, but of majesty and awe. He that could 
 feel the concussion of an earthquake, and hear the crash of 
 falling domes and towers ; or he that could look at the blaz- 
 ing crater of Etna, and feel merry, would not be thought a 
 sane man ; certainly not a man of good sense. What then 
 must be thought of that man's understanding and heart, who 
 can make the last judgment a topic of ridicule ! 
 
 These cavilling unbelievers make the demand of Christians, 
 " Where is the promise of his coming ? for since the fathers 
 fell asleep, all things continue as they were, from the beginning 
 of the creation." The sun rises and sets, the sea ebbs and 
 flows, the seasons perform their circuits, as in ages past. How 
 do we know that the end of the world, and the retribution of 
 which you warn us, will ever prove a reality ? Here it is as- 
 sumed, as a practical principle, that our doubts concerning a 
 revealed truth, authorise us to treat it with indifference ; a prin- 
 ciple that is utterly unreasonable, and that has proved the ruin 
 of thousands. For he who merely doubts, or coldly admits the 
 truth of Christianity, and yet acts as if he knew it to be false, 
 is chargeable with extreme presumption ; because, in a case 
 of such everlasting moment, a thousand doubts are not to be 
 laid in the balance against a single possibility that it is true. 
 
 Such is the subject before us. In the present discussion of 
 it, observe, my hearers, I do not mean to say, or to intimate 
 that there is any room for rational doubt concerning a state of 
 eternal retribution. To affirm the probability of such a state, 
 would be saying no more than most skeptical minds admit, and
 
 to others, it would be using very feeble language ; because its 
 absolute certainty may be proved, and has a thousand times 
 been proved, by evidence that is perfectly conclusive. 
 
 But I wish, for once, to place this subject on a foundation 
 that precludes all dispute. Admitting the utmost that cavilling 
 or careless men can allege, still it is possible that an endless 
 state of happiness or misery awaits us all, beyond the grave. 
 And on the ground of this possibility, I maintain the charge of 
 daring and blind presumption, against those who treat the gos- 
 pel with indifference. To make this conduct reasonable, they 
 must be certain that this life will not be followed by an eternal 
 state of rewards and punishments ? Can they be certain of this ? 
 
 Let us examine this question. 
 
 Is there any absurdity, in the doctrine of an eternal retri- 
 bution, as it has commonly been believed by Christians ? Is it 
 inconsistent with any established truths that come within the 
 province of our understandings ? 
 
 In the FIRST place, is it inconsistent with the perfections of 
 God 1 ? 
 
 With which of his perfections is it inconsistent ? Not with 
 his power ; for the same power that could give men existence, 
 can certainly uphold that existence ; and can render them hap- 
 py or miserable, according to their character. 
 
 Not with his wisdom ; for there is no conceivable motive 
 that could induce an all wise God to create rational beings, 
 barely to live, and act, and suffer, a few days, on this earth, 
 and then sink into eternal oblivion. 
 
 Not with his justice ; for who can doubt the equity of his 
 appointing " a day in which he will judge the world in right- 
 eousness ; a day when " all that are in their graves shall hear 
 his voice, and shall come forth, they that have done good, unto 
 the resurrection of life, and they that have done evil unto the 
 resurrection of damnation." 
 
 The present distributions of Providence, are by no means
 
 6 
 
 according to the characters of men. The wicked are often 
 seen in great prosperity, and the righteous in poverty and sor- 
 row. These unequal allotments have always been viewed, by 
 reflecting men, as suggesting an argument in favour of a per- 
 fect and unalterable retribution hereafter. 
 
 In the SECOND place, is this doctrine inconsistent with the 
 constitution of the human mind? 
 
 The soul of man is distinct from every thing which we 
 know to be perishable. Matter, however combined or modifi- 
 ed, has no intelligence. The clock, with its curious and use- 
 ful mechanism, is as void of reason, memory, or consciousness, 
 as any other portion of brass or wood. That thought is dis- 
 tinct from matter, is indeed so plain a point, that it may seem 
 needless to assert it gravely from the pulpit. But from this 
 plain principle, an important conclusion follows. If the soul is 
 something entirely distinct from the body, then it did not derive 
 its thinking properties from its union to the body ; and the ceas- 
 ing of that union can have no tendency to destroy the existence 
 or faculties of the soul. The body has no superiority to com- 
 mon dust, except that it is the temporary residence of an im- 
 mortal spirit. When this spirit departs, the tenement of clay 
 falls. But there is no reason whatever to conclude that the 
 soul becomes extinct with the dissolution of the body. 
 
 Besides, the powers of the soul, when not obstructed by its 
 connexion with the body, increase in strength. As man advan- 
 ces from infancy to maturity, his mental faculties expand, and 
 become more and more vigorous. And there is no evidence 
 that the decay and decrepitude of age result at all from the con- 
 stitution of the mind, aside from its connexion with a decaying 
 body. This suggests the sublime thought of an endless pro- 
 gress in the powers of the soul, when it is released from the 
 clogs which here impede its advances. Who can tell to what 
 extent these narrow faculties may be enlarged, at some un- 
 known period hereafter ? and consequently what a capacious
 
 vessel every human soul will become, to be filled with happi- 
 ness or misery ? 
 
 In the THIRD place, is this doctrine inconsistent with the stat- 
 ed operations of Providence, or the analogy of the world"} 
 
 From this source certainly, we derive no positive evidence 
 of annihilation. We know of nothing, which has ever existed,, 
 and has absolutely ceased to exist. Animals and vegetables die 
 continually, to give life to others. The grass springs from the 
 dust, the ox feeds upon the grass, man feeds upon the ox, 
 worms feed upon the man, and these turn to dust again. The 
 oak derives its nourishment from the ground, till it decays where 
 it stood, and mingles with the dust again ; or perhaps becomes- 
 part of a ship, and mingles with the dust of a distant continent. 
 In this wonderful system of operation, the same matter chan- 
 ges its qualities, its mode of existence, its place, its appearance, 
 but does not cease to be. Doubtless omnipotence may annihi- 
 late, as well as create ; but the analogy of the external world 
 furnishes no proof of annihilation. We see material bodies lose 
 their forms, but not their existence. The death of plants in the 
 winter, is succeeded by a sort of resurrection in the spring. 
 
 These remarks are not offered to demonstrate the doctrine 
 of immortality, but to show that this doctrine cannot be proved 
 to be impossible or improbable, by any arguments drawn from 
 the general system of Providence. On the contrary, without 
 any aid from the poet's fancy, the analogy of the world strongly 
 intimates, that the human body, in some unknown but renovated 
 form, will awake from the tomb, and be reunited to the soul, in 
 a state of endless joy or suffering. 
 
 In the FOURTH place, is this doctrine repugnant to the best 
 feelings of men, or the dictates of sound reason ? 
 
 Sin may indeed render it the sad interest of some, not to sur- 
 vive the grave. But to all men, immortality is, in itself, desirable, 
 and annihilation dreadful. This strong and universal propensity, 
 is proof, at least, that there is nothing in the doctrine of a future
 
 8 
 
 life, repugnant to our feelings. Nor is it repugnant to reason ; 
 for it has in fact been generally believed, among all nations, 
 barbarous as well as refined. Distinct traces of it are seen, 
 mingled indeed with much absurdity, in their funeral rites ; 
 and in their systems of philosophy, and poetry, and legislation. 
 That the worst of men have not been able to divest themselves 
 of this common apprehension, is evident from their trepidation 
 in disastrous events, and at the hour of death. Why was Bel- 
 shazzar terrified at the sight of a man's hand, that came forth, and 
 wrote upon the wall of his palace ? The monarch of Baby- 
 lon, encompassed with guards, and ramparts, surely did not fear 
 injury from men ; nor could he read a word that was written. 
 Why then did he tremble ? Why did his face turn pale, and 
 his knees smite together ? It was the secret testimony of his 
 own bosom, that a message from the invisible world, could im- 
 port no good to a man of his character. It was conscience, stir- 
 ring within him, and anticipating the award of a more dread 
 tribunal. For the same reason did the Roman Governor trem- 
 ble, as Paul reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judg- 
 ment to come. 
 
 Some of the greatest philosophers and moralists among the 
 ancient heathen, expressed very noble sentiments concerning 
 the doctrine of immortality, by saying that, " flesh, and blood, 
 and limbs, are only tools for the soul to work with, and no more 
 a part of a man, than an axe or a plane, is a part of a carpen- 
 ter.* 
 
 A distinguished writer says ; " Of all the heathen worthies, 
 Socrates was the most guarded, dispassionate, and composed. 
 Yet this great master of temper was angry, and angry at his 
 
 * Xenophon represents Cyrus, surrounded by his family, in his last moments, as saying, 
 " Think not, my beloved children, when I am gone from your sight, that I have ceased to ex- 
 ist ; for even now, you see not my soul, yet you know, from its operations, that it does exist. 
 I can never believe that the soul, which in a dying body did live, on its leaving that body, 
 either dies, or lose* its intelligence."
 
 9 
 
 Jast hour, and angry at his friend, and angry for what de- 
 served acknowledgement ; angry for a right and tende: in- 
 stance of true friendship towards him. What could be the 
 cause ? It was for his honour. It was truly a noble, though 
 perhaps a too punctilious regard for immortality. For when 
 his friend asked him, with such an affectionate regard as be- 
 came a friend, where shall we. deposit your remains % it was 
 resented by Socrates, as implying the dishonorable supposition, 
 that he could be so mean, as to have regard for any thing, even 
 in himself, that was not immortal." 
 
 The doctrine of an eternal hereafter then, cannot be shown 
 to be impossible by any arguments drawn from the character 
 of God, the constitution of the human mind, the analogies of 
 providence, nor from the feelings, and reason of men, for these 
 bear a concurrent testimony in its favour. 
 
 Is there any other source of argument, from which it can 
 be proved that the truth of this doctrine is impossible ? Clear- 
 ly none. Indeed, that all men do regard an eternal state of ret- 
 ribution as being possible, is beyond question ; because no one 
 ever attempted seriously to prove that it is not possible. 
 
 Let me repeat the remark here, that I have designedly fore- 
 borne to take the high ground, which I am authorised to take 
 on this subject. The appeal might have been made at once to 
 the Bible, where " life and immortality are brought to light j" 
 where all questions of this sort are settled forever, by an 
 overwhelming flood of evidence. But I have chosen at this time, 
 to arraign careless men, at the threshold of their own system, and 
 to show that, on principles which they must admit, and do admit 
 they are beside themselves, in neglecting for a moment, " the 
 great salvation." 
 
 On this ground, I stand, my hearers, as an ambassador of 
 Christ, and invite your attention to this subject. No one, in his 
 right mind, will deny, that an endless state of happiness or mis- 
 2
 
 ery hereafter, is a possible thing. How then ought we to con- 
 duct ? What manner of persons ought we to be, when the 
 present hour, that we devote to consider this subject, may be 
 to us the final hour of probation. There is but one alternative. 
 Reason and conscience decide, that we must either embrace 
 the gospel, as Christians and prudent men ; or close our eyes 
 in blind and bold presumption, and rush on our doom ! 
 
 The reasoning adopted in this discourse, leads to results, 
 which are especially interesting to two classes of men. 
 
 1st, To those, who treat the gospel with indifference, because 
 they entertain doubts of its truth. I say doubts, for this term is 
 applicable to all that variety of opinion, that is found betwixt 
 confirmed infidelity, and the transient scruples of occasional 
 skepticism. Among all those who have openly opposed the 
 gospel, no one probably was ever found who could pretend to 
 have studied it, with that impartiality and seriousness, which the 
 subject demands. Few such men, indeed, can pretend to have 
 studied it at all. And hence, at the approach of death, their 
 scheme gives way under them. Conscience wakes from its 
 slumber, at that honest hour, and from the same lips that ridi- 
 culed the faith of Christians, extorts a reluctant confession of 
 its truth. Follow the man that trifled with religion, and ask him 
 on his dying bed, did he know, in the season of profane levity, 
 did he know that Christianity is a fiction ? Had he certainty 
 of this ? What has become of that certainty ? Why does he 
 tremble now, at the thoughts of an hereafter ? Ah, he delud- 
 ed himself with the show of argument, that will not bear the re- 
 view of his own rnind, in a season like this. He rejected the 
 foundation, which God hath laid in Zion ; and laid one for 
 himself, that crumbles to atoms, the moment he looks into the 
 grave. 
 
 The boldest infidelity is at bottom, I say again, if it can be 
 called a system at all, only a system of uncertainty and dark-
 
 ness. It rejects the gospel, but provides no substitute. It 
 leaves the dying man without one ray of light, to console his 
 heart, without one solid spot, in the universe, on which to set 
 his foot, or to rest his hopes. 
 
 Hence those dread misgivings, to which skeptical minds are 
 subject, in moments of solemn reflection, which they cannot 
 altogether escape. Byron, in all the loftiness of his pride, and 
 all the hardihood of his unbelief, had many a secret apprehen- 
 sion that the Bible, after all, is true. Hence his faith in omens, 
 and the vacillations of his mind, from its admixture of creduli- 
 ty with infidelity. The cloud that hung over his hereafter, 
 rolled back upon him, with its dreary forebodings, as he stood, 
 and looked down the dark and fathomless abyss before him. 
 
 The Christian stands on firm ground. His faith rests im- 
 movably on the testimony of Him that cannot lie. What pru- 
 dent man would forsake such ground, to stand on the basis of 
 contingence and hypothesis, every vestige of which is swept 
 from under him, by one short argument of a great writer ; 
 " Place infinite happiness in one scale, against infinite misery 
 in the other. If the worst that can happen to the believer, 
 should be mistake, be the best that can happen to the unbeliev- 
 er, should he be right ; who without madness, would run the ven- 
 ture f Who would choose to place himself within the possibili- 
 ty of infinite misery ?"* 
 
 But what shall we say of those, who doubt on a lower scale ; 
 and treat religion with indifference, on account of occasional 
 scruples concerning its truth ? What shall we say of those, who 
 balance probabilities, on this subject, according to what they 
 
 * Would it not be madness" says Bishop Butler, "for a man to forsake a safe road, and 
 prefer one in which he knows there is an even chance he should lose his life, though there 
 were an even chance likewise, of his getting safe through it .' Yet there are people absurd 
 enough, to take the supposed doubtfulness of religion, for the same thing as a proof of its 
 falsehood. This shows how infinitely unreasonable skeptical men are, with respect to re- 
 ligion, and that they as really lay aside their reason, upon this subject, as the most extrava- 
 gant enthusiasts."
 
 12 
 
 may happen to hear, for or against religion, or according to the 
 numbers of those who embrace or reject it ? We may say, they 
 disregard the plainest principles of common prudence. In any 
 concern of temporal magnitude, they would act more wisely. 
 Perhaps there is some passage in the Bible, which they have 
 never seen explained, to their satisfaction. Perhaps some 
 preacher has advanced a sentiment, which they do not compre- 
 hend, or do not believe. Perhaps some professor of religion 
 has acted unworthily. What then ! What if a thousand things 
 of this sort, could be alleged ? Is Christianity therefore un- 
 true, or unimportant ? What if the majority of the world have 
 neglected this religion ? What if its professors and its minis- 
 ters', have been imperfect ? What if scoffing tongues and scof- 
 fing pens have made light of it ? In all this, is there any thing 
 like demonstration of its falsehood f Yet, here immortal be- 
 ings stand ; stand, doubting, trifling slumbering over this great 
 subject ; stand, perhaps, searching for objections, on the last, 
 trembling verge of a dread hereafter ; while, according to the 
 conviction of their own understandings, and the confession of 
 their own lips, all is at stake for eternity ! 
 
 What would you say of him, who should build his house on 
 the sandy brink of a river, which had been overflowed, for fifty 
 successive years ? Suppose he is not certain that it will be 
 overflowed again ; yet his house would be safer in another 
 place. What would you say of him, who should lie down to 
 sleep, on the margin of the sea, where the tide has risen, every 
 day, for centuries ? Suppose he is not certain that it will rise 
 there again ; yet he would be safer to sleep in another place. 
 Noah, being warned of God, built an ark, to the saving of his 
 house. Surely he had good reason to believe God ; but what if 
 there had been no flood ? Would not the condition of Noah 
 and his family have been as good as that of other men ? Lot, 
 being told by an angel that Sodom would be destroyed, fled 
 from the city. Surely he had good reason to believe that an
 
 13 
 
 angel had spoken the truth ; but what if there had been no 
 storm of fire ? Would he not have been as safe as his neigh- 
 bors ? Joseph, apprized of a seven years' famine, laid up vast 
 stores of corn. What if there had been no famine ? Would 
 he not have fared as well as they who had no store ? The 
 Christian, warned of the wrath to come, has fled to the Saviour, 
 and made the Judge his friend. He has acted wisely. Reve- 
 lation decides that he has acted wisely. Reason decides that 
 he has acted wisely. Eternity will decide that he has acted 
 wisely ; and that he could not have acted otherwise without 
 madness. Beware, then, ye who stigmatize his faith, as blind 
 credulity, beware, lest that came upon you which was spoken 
 by the prophets ; " Behold, ye despisers, and wonder, and per- 
 ish." 
 
 2. This subject offers a solemn admonition to those, who 
 profess to admit, without doubting, that the gospel is true, and 
 yet treat it with indifference. 
 
 Probably this class, in all Christian communities, is very nu- 
 merous. Perhaps it includes every impenitent hearer in this as- 
 sembly. It has been shown, by a train of reasoning, satisfacto- 
 ry I trust to every mind, that they who admit an eternal state of 
 retribution to be barely possible, are guilty of great presumption, 
 in treating the gospel with indifference. 
 
 What then ought we to think, what must we think, when 
 we see immortal beings admit the certainty of such a state, 
 with the same cold insensibility, as they assent to any customary 
 and momentary trifle ? To admit this certainty, is only yield- 
 ing to overwhelming evidence ; it is the part of rational beings. 
 But to admit it with insensibility, is the part of madmen. 
 
 " Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight of any bird." 
 The inferior animals, guided only by instinct, where they sus- 
 pect danger, take the alarm and fly. But man, immortal man, 
 will not consider. Though the gospel remonstrates, though 
 heaven invites, though his conscience twinges at every step,
 
 14 
 
 and his ears ring with warnings, he rushes downward, without 
 fear or foresight, downward, with his eyes open, to everlasting 
 destruction ! O dread preeminence, that puts him in a con- 
 dition to provoke the fiercest wrath of the Almighty ! Awful 
 pinnacle of mercy, on which God his Maker has placed him, and 
 from which he madly plunges himself into a deeper damnation ! 
 My dear impenitent hearers, think on this subject. Aliens from 
 the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenant of 
 promise, listen to the call of heaven. Live no longer " with- 
 out hope, and without God." Did you know the gospel to be 
 false, then might you find some refuge for indifference. But you 
 do not know this, you will never know this. And besides, 1 tell 
 you in this solemn place, in the name of God I tell you, the day is 
 coming when not a doubt will remain on this subject, in all the 
 universe. The truth of the gospel will be proved, beyond the pos- 
 sibility of question by the voice of the archangel, and the trump 
 of God ; proved by the noise of dissolving elements ; proved 
 by the majesty of the judge, descending and enthroned in the 
 splendors of omnipotence. Yes, that day will furnish evidence 
 that the gospel is true, which will wither scoffing tongues, and 
 wring even hearts of stone with agony. Then wo to despisers 
 of Christ and his gospel ; wo to careless neglecters of the great 
 salvation ; wo to all that have trifled through time j they must 
 tremble and mourn forever. 
 
 Hearken, therefore, to the voice of heavenly admonition ; 
 " He that findeth me, findeth life : but he that despiseth me, 
 wrongeth his own soul."
 
 <Hijcctfom against the <os.pcl refutetr. 
 
 SERMON 
 
 PREACHED MARCH 4, 1829, AT THE INSTALLATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 REV. JOHN BROWN, D. D. 
 
 AS PASTOR OF 
 
 PINE STREET CHURCH, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
 BY DANIEL DANA, D. D. 
 
 Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, JYewburyport. 
 
 Boston : 
 
 T. R. MARVIN, PRINTER, 32, CONGRESS STREET. 
 
 1829.
 
 SERMON. 
 
 Romans, i. 15, 16. 
 
 SO, AS MUCH AS IN ME IS, I AM READY TO PREACH THE GOSPEL 
 TO YOU THAT ARE AT ROME ALSO. FOR I AM NOT ASHAMED OF 
 THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST. 
 
 THE great apostle had traversed sea and land, to spread 
 the gospel of his adored Redeemer. Many a desolate region, 
 and many a populous city had witnessed his unparalleled 
 exertions in the holy cause. But as yet, he had never visited 
 imperial Rome. Not that he overlooked that splendid, and 
 populous, and guilty city. Not that he would treat it with 
 neglect. He had repeatedly purposed to pay it a personal 
 visit. Nor had repeated disappointments damped the ardor 
 of his wishes. " I long to see you," says the good man, 
 " that I may impart to you some spiritual gift, to the end that 
 ye may be established." " I am debtor both to the Greeks, 
 and to the Barbarians ; both to the wise, and to the unwise. 
 So," he adds, " as much as in me is, I am ready to preach 
 the gospel to you that are at Rome also. For I am not 
 ashamed of the gospel of Christ." 
 
 The apostle had proclaimed the messages of heaven 
 among the untaught and uncivilized ; and encountered the 
 fierceness of their opposition. But it was among the polished 
 inhabitants of Athens, among learned civilians and philoso- 
 phers, that he had met the keenest shafts of ridicule and 
 scorn. He well knew, that amidst the highest cultivation of 
 intellect, and refinement of manners, the heart, still unsubdued
 
 to the love of truth, might only be stimulated and armed to 
 new hostility against it. Such hostility he might naturally 
 expect in the city of Rome. There were the great, the 
 opulent, the luxurious, the learned, the philosophic, and the 
 proud, who, if they agreed in nothing else, would too proba- 
 bly agree in despising and rejecting the gospel of Christ. 
 But, says he, I am not ashamed of this gospel. I know that 
 it is the power of God to salvation. I know that those who 
 despise it, need it not less than others, and must perish 
 without it. I know that there is a power which can bring 
 even them to see its beauty, -and taste its blessedness. And 
 I know that the very things which provoke their contempt, 
 constitute its chief excellence and glory. I will therefore 
 preach it wherever I have access. I will preach it boldly, 
 and plainly, and faithfully. I will preach it without softening 
 any of its most offensive features. It was a noble resolu- 
 tion; worthy of an apostle, and worthy of every Christian 
 minister. 
 
 The passage, viewed in this light, calls our attention to the 
 leading objections which have been raised, in every age, 
 against the gospel ; particularly those objections which it has 
 encountered in regions of learning and refinement ; and which 
 have frequently proved repulsive to cultivated and reflecting 
 minds. To suggest and refute some of these objections, is 
 the design of the present discourse. 
 
 The first objection of this character which I shall state, is 
 the unparalleled simplicity of the gospel. Here is a book, 
 professing to corne from God, and to give information of the 
 highest possible moment to man ; information such as the 
 profoundest sages and philosophers never could impart. 
 Here is a scheme of salvation, claiming to have emanated 
 from eternal wisdom ; and to solve all the doubts, to remove 
 all the difficulties, and provide for all the exigencies, of the 
 case. We open the volume ; we examine the scheme ; and 
 what do we find . ? No parade of philosophy ; no investiga-
 
 tions of science ; no labored discussion of abstract principles ; 
 no formal distribution of topics ; nothing, in short, remotely 
 resembling a system of theology, or ethics, framed by man. 
 All is plain, artless, unstudied, unadorned. A few simple 
 points may be said to comprise the whole system. The 
 incarnation of the Son of God ; our redemption by his blood ; 
 our sanctification by his Spirit ; our becoming interested in 
 these stupendous blessings by faith ; the unfailing connexion 
 of this faith with universal holiness, with all pious affections, 
 and all virtuous conduct these principles, as obvious as 
 they are important, constitute the essence of the grand scheme 
 of our salvation. He who rightly understands them, pos- 
 sesses the key to the whole gospel, and to the whole system 
 of its religion. 
 
 These principles, so simple in themselves, are conveyed to 
 us with the utmost plainness of manner. The God of heaven, 
 in his word, has mercifully adapted himself to the feebleness 
 of our capacities, and to this infancy of our existence. Like 
 a kind father, lisping with his children, he has given us 
 heavenly truths in earthly language. Listening to his instruc- 
 tions with a childlike docility, we may be assured of finding 
 the path to heaven. We need not fear "a mistake in any 
 essential point, either of truth or duty. 
 
 Shall this simplicity of the gospel offend and disgust us ; or 
 shall it fill us with admiration and gratitude ? Shall it be 
 viewed as a defect, or an excellency of the highest order ? 
 Does it not instamp on the gospel the character of divinity ? 
 Does it not proclaim that the Author of the universe is the 
 Author of the Bible too ? In the works of man, an expen- 
 sive and complicated machinery is frequently employed to 
 accomplish a few inconsiderable results. While in the works 
 of God, the most stupendous and diversified effects are fre- 
 quently seen to spring from the operation of a single cause. 
 It is in a few simple laws which govern matter and motion, 
 that all the amazing and endless phenomena of this fair uni-
 
 verse originate. Thus the Author of nature retires behind 
 his own work, and permits himself to be seen only in the 
 astonishing and ever varying results of his secret and silent 
 operation. In contemplating the wonderful law of attraction, 
 which pervades the natural world, we are struck with nothing 
 so much as the simplicity of the principle, combined with the 
 immense extent and variety of its effects. How signally, in 
 these respects, does it resemble that principle of heavenly love 
 which pervades every department of the plan of our redemp- 
 tion, and which binds together the universe of holy souls. 
 
 One thing is most evident. Had the gospel come to us in 
 an abstract and philosophic form ; had it abounded with those 
 investigations and abstrusities which please men of specula- 
 tive minds ; it would have been wholly unadapted to the 
 generality of the race. Its grand object would have been 
 lost. Most men want the talents, or the leisure, or the incli- 
 nation, for subtile and laborious investigations. But they 
 have minds to be informed. They have consciences and 
 hearts to be addressed. And they have souls to be saved. 
 Almost all the ancient religions mocked the great mass of 
 their votaries with senseless fables, and reserved their secrets 
 for philosophers. Christianity knows no such odious distinc- 
 tions. It looks with equal eye on all. But it delights to 
 descend to the lowest forms of humanity; to adapt itself to 
 all their weaknesses and wants. The meek and lowly Saviour 
 reveals the choicest secrets of his religion to babes ; that is, 
 to the docile and humble, however feeble their capacities, 
 however unfurnished their minds. 
 
 But while we confess the unparalleled simplicity of the 
 gospel, and glory in it, we deny that it is a meagre, uninstruc- 
 tive system. It is rich in truths equally profound and sub- 
 lime. Each of its great principles, simple as it is in itself, 
 opens boundless sources of thought, and leads the inquiring 
 mind into a world of wonders. " We account the Scriptures of 
 God," says the great Newton, " the most sublime philosophy."
 
 Christianity, we admit, has its mysteries. And this has 
 been a topic of complaint, even with those who, in the same 
 breath, have complained of its simplicity. Let us attend, for 
 a moment, to this objection. 
 
 That the gospel contains not only many things which 
 unaided reason could never have discovered, but likewise 
 many things which, when revealed, our minds cannot fully 
 comprehend, is readily admitted. In this respect, the gospel 
 is precisely similar to all the other works of God. Will any 
 one deny that creation, in all its parts, abounds with incom- 
 prehensibles ? Within and without us; above, beneath and 
 around ; in the vast and the minute of nature ; in the animate 
 and inanimate worlds ; in the vegetable and mineral king- 
 doms ; in our own bodies and souls ; in their intimate con- 
 nexion and mutual sympathy ; we find exhaustless, inexpli- 
 cable wonders. And shall the Book of God alone, that 
 emanation of eternal wisdom, be entirely level to our 
 capacities ? 
 
 Other considerations bear still more directly on the point. 
 The Bible comes to teach us something of God ; something, 
 too, which we have not learned before, and which nature 
 could not teach. How natural, indeed how inevitable, that 
 this something should be that of which we find in our minds 
 no archetype. How natural, that it should be perfectly new 
 and astonishing utterly without the range of our previous 
 thoughts and conceptions. And if, even when the object is 
 presented, it is found too mighty for our feeble minds to 
 grasp, shall this be thought strange ? Shall it be made a 
 reason for disbelief ? We may then commence atheists at 
 once. For natural religion, in presenting a God self-existent, 
 eternal and omnipresent, places before us an object which we 
 can neither distinctly conceive, nor fully comprehend. 
 
 And farther : the Bible comes to relieve us in a desperate 
 case in a case where all the efforts of reason, and the re- 
 sources of philosophy, leave us without remedy and without
 
 3 
 
 hope. We are sinners. And if sinners are saved, then 
 either the divine law and government and glory must sink, or 
 their salvation must come in a method strange, unsuspected, 
 surprising, mysterious. This last is the real fact. The 
 mysteries of the gospel, what are they, but so many vast 
 resources of the Deity so many grand achievements of infi- 
 nite wisdom and love and condescension, in behalf of a 
 ruined race ? 
 
 Suppose the subjects of an earthly empire were perishing, 
 by thousands, of some dire disease a disease so singular as 
 to admit no relief, unless administered by one in the same 
 lowly station with the sufferers. Suppose the sovereign him- 
 self, touched with their woes, should abandon his palace, and 
 concealing his person beneath the meanest attire, should visit 
 their hospitals and their hovels ; should familiarize himself 
 with the most disgusting forms of their wretchedness, that he 
 might give health to the diseased, and life to the dying. 
 What celebrations could equal such condescension ? And 
 what would be the ingratitude of refusing to such a sovereign 
 his proper dignities and honors ; of denying that he ever pos- 
 sessed them ; and this under the pretence that the condescen- 
 sion was incredible was absolutely impossible ? 
 
 To believe what we cannot completely comprehend, and 
 to act on that belief, is neither irrational, nor at variance with 
 daily and universal practice. Of the proper nature of dis- 
 eases, of medicines, and of the process of cure, physicians 
 know almost nothing ; and the great mass of mankind, abso- 
 lutely nothing at all. Yet men know themselves to be dis- 
 eased ; remedies are prescribed and applied ; and cures are 
 effected ; just as if all were plain and understood. And if 
 reason be the highest prerogative of man, the highest preroga- 
 tive of reason itself is to believe whatever the God of truth has 
 revealed, and to believe it on his simple testimony. 
 
 It is objected against the gospel, that it is, throughout, of a 
 humbling character and tendency. It frowns indignantly on
 
 every form of human pride. It strips us of that self-valuation in 
 which some have placed the essence of dignity, and' of virtue. 
 
 All this we readily admit. The gospel is indeed a hum- 
 bling system. It originated in the free and self-moved mercy 
 of God. Every where it takes it for granted that man is a 
 sinner, a rebel against his Maker ; that sin is a tremendous 
 evil, and deserves an awful and endless punishment. It offers 
 an undeserved salvation ; a salvation spurned by the proud, 
 and welcomed only by the humble. It inspires a spirit of 
 self-abasement. To this point tend all its doctrines, all its 
 precepts, all its promises, all its denunciations. 
 
 This, we contend, is not the gospel's reproach, but its 
 honor ; its prime excellence. It is fit that the pride of our 
 hearts should be humbled ; that all human glory should be 
 laid in dust, and God alone exalted. Why so reluctant 
 to take our proper place as sinners ? What satisfaction, what 
 real honor, in bearing about a bold front, as if we had no 
 guilt to confess, and no pardon to implore ? And what is that 
 bright moment in which the first gleam of real joy finds its 
 way to the heart ? It is the moment when it begins to be 
 humble when, abandoning all its proud pretensions, and 
 self-justifying pleas, it casts itself on the infinite compassion, 
 the sovereign mercy of an offended, yet forgiving God. 
 Then peace and hope and pardon come. Then an air of 
 heaven breathes on the heart, before desolate and wretched. 
 Then the High and Lofty One who inhabits eternity, comes 
 down and dwells in the happy soul. 
 
 If, my hearers, the heaven of Christianity is a heaven of 
 perfect humility ; if there, none is great but God ; if saints 
 and angels combine to lose themselves in ascribing glory to 
 their Eternal King; if this is the very essence of their 
 felicity ; then let us look well to our religion. A religion 
 which does not make us genuinely humble ; which leaves the 
 pride and self-sufficiency of our hearts unsubdued : which 
 
 perhaps affords nutriment and strength to these hateful dispo- 
 2
 
 10 
 
 sitions ; is not the religion we want. It may flatter us ; but it 
 will flatter to betray, and to destroy. In the arrogance of 
 our minds, we may hope to scale the heavens ; to force our 
 way, through cherubim and a flaming sword, to the tree of 
 life ; but the attempt will be as abortive, as it is impious. 
 
 If to these momentous considerations, any thing could be 
 superadded, we might say, that pride is the grand foe, even 
 of temporal enjoyment. Shooting up within us in baleful 
 luxuriance, it finds its way, by a thousand ramifications, to 
 every source of human comfort, and infuses bitterness and 
 poison into them all. What but pride renders us dissatisfied 
 with Providence ; discontented with our lot ; restless in pros- 
 perity; wretched in adversity? Poverty, unkindness, neg- 
 lect, reproach, disappointment, all have their stings; but they 
 might all be repelled, or evaded, did not our own pride 
 acuminate and direct them to the heart. The proud man is 
 a perfect sensitive plant, shrinking from every touch, and 
 shrivelled by every breeze. Or, to use the more expressive 
 language of Scripture, he is like the troubled sea, when it 
 cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. O how 
 kind is that gospel, which, designing to restore us to peace, 
 aims its mortal blow at the grand enemy of our peace. Not 
 content with the tedious process of cutting off the streams, it 
 dries up the very fountain by which they are supplied. It 
 makes us humble. 
 
 In this great point the gospel stands alone. Almost all the 
 ancient systems of philosophy and ethics leave the pride of 
 the human heart unsubdued and unassailed. The philoso- 
 phers of Greece and Rome seem to have regarded the task 
 as too hardy, and too hopeless. Nor had they weapons to 
 attack this giant sin with any prospect of success. Indeed, 
 the enemy had a citadel in their own breasts. All their views 
 on the subject were indistinct and confused. That they had 
 not so much as a speculative idea of humility, as a virtue, is 
 evident from their language, in which they confounded it with
 
 11 
 
 meanness and abjectness of spirit. In how many Christian 
 communities do the same sentiments and language prevail. 
 We so often hear of an honest pride, a noble pride, a generous 
 pride, and even a necessary pride, that we almost forget that 
 pride in all its forms is hateful. While to great numbers, 
 humility and meekness convey no idea, but that of a tame, 
 spiritless, servile character. It is time that our language 
 were reformed. And surely it is time .that our sentiments on 
 topics of vital interest were assayed and corrected by the 
 standard of the gospel. 
 
 We proceed to consider another objection against this divine 
 system ; an objection drawn from its unyielding, unassimilat- 
 ing character. The gospel pays little regard to the factitious 
 distinctions of society. It bends not to the maxims of worldly 
 policy, nor to the caprices of fashion, nor to the refinements 
 of polished life, nor to the lax morality of a dissipated age. 
 It is equally unaccommodating to the speculations of philoso- 
 phy ; nor will it modify its principles, in compliment to any 
 imaginary or real improvements in art, or science, or litera- 
 ture. On all these points, the fact is confessed. And may 
 not Christianity, in each case, be completely justified ? 
 
 It never was designed, surely, to interfere with the whole- 
 some order of society, nor to trample down its salutary dis- 
 tinctions. It renders to all their dues. It pays a decent 
 respect to station and rank. But it connects with them, too, 
 peculiar duties and responsibilities. It faithfully warns them 
 of peculiar dangers. Not unfrequently it dispenses its smiles 
 and rewards by rules exactly the reverse of those which 
 obtain in the world. It plucks the laurel from the brow of 
 the ambitious, ruthless conqueror, to place it on the head of 
 the humble man, who subdues his own passions, and is con- 
 tent to do good in silence. In short, it approves, it loves, it 
 honors, it rewards nothing but SIMPLE GOODNESS. It passes 
 by, with mortifying indifference, the schemes of statesmen, 
 the exploits of heroes, and the learned labors of mere scholars
 
 12 
 
 and philosophers. It even blasts with its deadliest frown the 
 admired productions of prostituted genius, and perverted 
 talents ; consigning their authors to the depths of infamy and 
 shame. Is not Christianity then the best friend of individuals, 
 and of society-? 
 
 Among the multitudes who acknowledge the general ex- 
 cellence of the morality of the gospel, there are not a few 
 who think it unnecessarily strict and precise. Many a man 
 engaged in traffick, who would not be thought destitute of a 
 conscience, reconciles himself to occasional, and not unfre- 
 quent deviations. Yet who sees not that this very strictness, 
 were it but universally practised, would shed the happiest 
 influence, not only on all commercial transactions, but on the 
 whole intercourse of society. Many a grave politician, too, 
 deems the morality of the Bible, however useful to indi- 
 viduals, altogether inconvenient to states ; and without scruple 
 sacrifices the right to the expedient. Narrow, shortsighted, 
 wretched policy ! Cannot the interests of our country be 
 supported without violating the eternal laws of heaven ? 
 Then let them sink. But what man of reason and reflection 
 can for a moment suspect it ? Were the Fathers of New 
 England mere novices and drivellers, in regarding the Bible 
 as their pole-star, and the interests of religion and virtue as 
 the main concern ? Let the profusion of blessings poured on 
 them by indulgent Heaven, declare. Let the fair and rich 
 patrimony which they have transmitted to us, declare. 
 When, when shall we behold the delightful spectacle of a 
 whole nation imbibing the spirit of Christianity, and regulat- 
 ing by the principles of eternal truth, its policy, its laws, its 
 administration at home, and its intercourse abroad ? Would 
 such a nation sink to a mean and degraded condition ? Would 
 it not be the happiest, the most dignified nation on which the 
 sun looks down ? Would not its example point out to a 
 gazing, admiring world, the path to real prosperity, and hap- 
 piness, and glory ?
 
 13 
 
 In commercial and populous cities, accumulated wealth 
 never fails to induce luxury, dissipation, and an excessive 
 rage for amusement. Pleasure spreads her snares, and is 
 pursued through all her varied haunts. With thousands, 
 amusement becomes the habitual pursuit, and the grand end 
 of life. The gospel comes, and speaks to these triflers, of 
 death, of judgment, of interminable joys and woes. It re- 
 minds them that they were not sent into the world to be 
 amused ; but to serve God and man, and to prepare for the 
 high destinies of eternity. It warns them that a life of levity 
 is a life of guilt j that many of their chosen pleasures pollute 
 the imagination, and corrupt the heart ; and that the most 
 innocent, if pursued as a business, enervate the mind, banish 
 serious thought, and close the soul against God and religion. 
 And it faithfully warns them of the folly, the madness, the 
 ruin of dreaming away those precious, fleeting moments on 
 which their salvation depends. But in thus calling them off 
 from the mere phantoms of enjoyment, it does not leave them 
 without resource. It invites them to the fountain of pure and 
 everlasting felicity. It bids them possess pleasures real, 
 rational, elevated, unfailing the unknown delight of opening 
 the heart in love to God, and love to man the luxury of 
 doing good the joy of an approving conscience the trans- 
 port of Christian hope the sublime, heart thrilling anticipa- 
 tion of happiness beyond the grave. 
 
 In an advanced state of society, and especially in the cir- 
 cles of opulence and refinement, it is apt to be discovered 
 that the principles and laws of Christianity, however suitable 
 to the vulgar, are less adapted to informed and polished 
 minds. A new code is introduced ; and the general homage 
 transferred to a new sovereign, termed Fashion. And truly, 
 the pretensions of this new sovereign are far from modest. 
 Not content with prescribing laws to dress, to equipage, to 
 the intercourse of society, to the exterior of manners, she 
 claims to mould and govern the very essence of manners,
 
 and of morals and religion too. As a substitute for the rigid 
 and repulsive system of the gospel, she prescribes a soft and 
 easy religion ; a religion which has little to disgust the proud, 
 the worldly, the gay, or the voluptuous. And shall Chris- 
 tianity, the daughter of the skies, bend in homage to this 
 earth-born, self-created sovereign ? Shall her consecrated 
 ministers descend from their elevation, and unite with the 
 thoughtless crowd in their worship of the idol ? Shall they, 
 with inverted ambition, court the world's smile, 
 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ? 
 
 Shall they, in compliance with the popular whim, preach a 
 religion which alarms no conscience ; which neither mortifies 
 nor disturbs the latent corruptions of the heart ; which 
 scarcely gives to open vice a blush, or a fear . ? Or shall 
 they, in the face of opposition, of ridicule, of scorn, dare 
 preach the gospel the gospel in its naked simplicity the 
 gospel in its uncompromising strictness ? 
 
 But reason and philosophy, not less than fashion, prefer 
 their claims ; and frequently have arrayed themselves with a 
 still more formidable front, against the religion of the gospel. 
 Not that we admit that between the gospel and genuine phi- 
 losophy, there is the least discrepance. Our religion courts 
 inquiry. It shrinks not from the most rigid investigation. 
 From the very hottest furnace of genuine criticism, it has 
 ever come forth uninjured, brightened, and triumphant. Yet 
 there is a spirit of bold speculation, in which it cannot be 
 approached without a degree of impiety. Surely it will not 
 be denied, that there are certain great points on wliich the 
 Scripture speaks a language explicit, unequivocal and deci- 
 sive. Nor can it be less clear, that in every such case, 
 nothing remains to mortals, but implicit belief and acquies- 
 cence. To demur, on points like these ; to subject them to 
 the ordeal of our own reason, what is it, but to call in ques- 
 tion the wisdom of the Eternal, to rejudge his judgment, and
 
 15 
 
 deny his truth ? What is it, but to renounce the benefit of 
 Revelation, to renounce Revelation itself, and plunge in the 
 cheerless, shoreless gulf of skepticism and infidelity ? 
 
 To instance, for a moment, in the great question of the 
 future state of the wicked. That their punishment will be 
 properly endless, we have precisely the same evidence from 
 Scripture, as of the endless felicity of the righteous. The 
 point being thus definitively settled, and by the only compe- 
 tent tribunal, should it not be for ever put to rest ? Shall 
 we unsettle our own minds, or the minds of others, in a point 
 of such vital importance, by any plausible reasonings which 
 go to diminish the evil of sin, and to mitigate its punishment ? 
 To estimate the evil, and the desert of sin, may it not be 
 needful that we should know, more fully than we can possibly 
 know in the present state, the excellencies of the Being it 
 offends, tbe perfection of the law it violates, and its own 
 malignant aspects, tendencies, and actual consequences, as 
 they regard both this and other worlds ? Is it wise, in a 
 point of such moment, to call in the imagination and the 
 passions, to blind the judgment? Who but God himself can 
 certainly know what he will do with his offending creatures ? 
 When he lias made and declared his decision, shall man call 
 it into question ? Is it doing honor to the Sovereign of the 
 world, to suppose that he will decide the final states of men 
 by other rules, than those he has explicitly proclaimed ? 
 Shall selfish mortals arrogate to themselves to be more mer- 
 ciful than their Creator ? Shall criminals ascend the judgment 
 seat, and pronounce sentence in their own case ? We may 
 ask farther : shall the spiritual physician administer poison, 
 because it is sweet ? Shall he confine himself to opiates, 
 because they give present ease? Shall the victim of fatal 
 disease be soothed and flattered, when the hand of death is 
 upon him ? Shall the spiritual watchman, whose first duty it 
 is, to warn the wicked, decline the merciful warning ? Shall
 
 16 
 
 he, by crying peace, till destruction comes, incur the guilt of 
 cruelty the guilt of blood ? 
 
 While the gospel resists the efforts of reason and philoso- 
 phy to disprove or conceal its doctrines, it refuses to be 
 modified by them. Attempts of this kind have been wit- 
 nessed in every age. Men of subtile and speculating minds, 
 perhaps friends to the gospel, but not perfectly reconciled to 
 the simplicity of its doctrines, have aimed to improve and to 
 recommend them, by heterogeneous mixtures of their own. 
 Indeed, there is something plausible in the attempt to show 
 that all the philosophy and logic and learning in the world 
 are capable of being pressed into the service of religion. In 
 a qualified sense, this is even the fact. But there is another 
 fact which has been too much overlooked. These auxiliaries, 
 however useful and efficient in arraying the evidences of 
 Christianity, and establishing its truth, have much less to do 
 in expounding its doctrines. Here, their office is altogether 
 subordinate. And when they forget their humble station and 
 duty ; when, instead of submissively inquiring what the 
 Author of the Bible has taught, they assume to show what he 
 ought to teach, they forfeit every claim to confidence. Their 
 light becomes darkness, and their wisdom, mere hallucina- 
 tion. We undervalue not the rich and splendid contributions 
 of learning to the cause of piety. From geography and 
 geology, from researches in ancient history, from the various 
 manuscripts and versions, from erudite criticism, the most 
 important confirmation has arisen to the truth and divinity of 
 the Bible. These weapons, once ostentatiously brandished 
 on the side of infidelity, have been triumphantly wrested from 
 its hands, and employed with effect in defence of the Scrip- 
 tures. But the grand and most interesting doctrines of the 
 Bible are found on the very surface of its pages. They 
 claim to be seen by their own light, and to rest on their own 
 peculiar principles. They borrow no aid from human phi-
 
 17 
 
 losophy ; no splendor from human eloquence. They ask no 
 recommendation, but from their own unadorned simplicity 
 and beauty. 
 
 But it may ^e asked, perhaps, Is not this an age of great 
 and unexampled improvements? Is not the human mind 
 on its rapid march to perfection ? Has not a flood of light 
 recently burst upon the world ? Amidst the improvements 
 of art, and the not less astonishing revolutions of science, 
 shall religion alone remain stationary ? Since in other sci- 
 ences, many principles have long been received as truths, 
 which have ultimately been exploded as errors ; and many 
 truths, long latent, have by time and investigation, been 
 brought to light, may not a similar process be expected in 
 religion ? May not many of its first principles remain yet 
 undiscovered ? And may not many points which the most 
 enlightened Christians now hold as truths, be exploded, in 
 some age of superior illumination, as so many errors and 
 falsehoods ? 
 
 Our reply to these questions is simple and brief. The 
 arts and sciences are inventions of man. What man invents, 
 as it is of course imperfect, he may improve ; and he may 
 improve without end. Religion is a revelation from God. 
 Like its Author, it is perfect, and is incapable of improve- 
 ment. It admits no change, no progress, no diminution, no 
 addition. Christianity was complete and consummate in its 
 very infancy. Or rather, it had no infancy. Like the first 
 parent of the human race, it came from the hand of its 
 Author, mature in all its faculties ; perfect in all its attributes. 
 By every past attempt to improve it, it has only been dete- 
 riorated and debased. Nor is any thing better to be antici- 
 pated for the future. Far sooner might weak, aspiring mor- 
 tals hope to add lustre to the sun, or beauty and order to this 
 fair and well adjusted creation, than to improve, by the re- 
 finements of learning and philosophy, that religion which has 
 3
 
 18 
 
 come to us direct from heaven, and which, in all its features, 
 bears the impress of its perfect and divine Author. 
 
 We admit, indeed, that in one great instance, Christianity 
 has undergone a process of reformation. Bu*, what was that 
 reformation, other than the removal of the dust and rubbish, 
 the ignorance, and error, and gross superstition, which during 
 a night of a thousand years, had been gathering around the 
 religion of Christ ? In other words, what was it, but a 
 return, or more properly, an approximation, to the grand 
 elementary principles of this divine religion, and to the sim- 
 plicity and purity of its earliest and best days ? 
 
 It has been objected against Christianity, that it is rigid, 
 indeed impracticable, in its demands ; that it enjoins a purity 
 absolutely incompatible with our present state of being ; in 
 fine, that it permits us to rest in nothing short of absolute 
 perfection. 
 
 That the gospel erects a lofty standard of morals ; that its 
 claims in point of purity are large ; that it bids us aim even 
 at perfection ; is not denied. That it enjoins any duties which 
 are, strictly speaking, impracticable, is not admitted. On 
 the whole, we have a right to contend, that the objection 
 itself stamps the religion of the Bible with a character of ex- 
 cellence utterly unparalleled, and even unapproached, in any 
 other system of morals or religion which the world has seen. 
 
 From the very constitution of the human mind, it results, 
 that in order to the actual attainment of even a moderate 
 degree of moral excellence, the aims must be large and 
 elevated. No man ever rises higher than the standard which 
 he proposes to himself. The universal tendency is, to fall 
 below such a standard. Had Christianity embraced in its 
 system of morals, the allowance of a single sin, the defect 
 would have been fatal. A single sin indulged is like a gan- 
 grene, which gradually and surely spreads its deleterious 
 influence through the whole system. The gospel, in pro-
 
 19 
 
 posing nothing less than perfection, as the object of our 
 pursuit, has effectually provided for our arriving at lofty 
 attainments. The object being grand and sublime, there is 
 an inspiration imparted to the very aim. 
 
 Farther : let it be considered that if the gospel standard is 
 high, and its duties arduous, its motives likewise are motives 
 of immense and indescribable force. Take, for instance, the 
 high demands it makes upon us respecting love to our 
 enemies, and forgiveness of injuries. What duties can be 
 harder than these, to flesh and blood? How do all the 
 hateful propensities of our nature rise in arms against them. 
 But behold the Saviour. Remember that the simple feeling 
 which brought him down from heaven to earth, was love ; 
 all-conquering, unconquerable love, to enemies and to rebels 
 and we were those enemies and rebels. Behold him on 
 the cross. See those eyes raised to heaven in pity for his 
 unrelenting crucifiers. And hear that voice : FATHER, FOR- 
 GIVE THEM; FOR THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO. And 
 now, does not every feeling of resentment and revenge die 
 within you at once ? Do you find it hard to forgive, to love, 
 the unkindest enemy you ever had f Or do you find it easy, 
 delightful, inevitable ? 
 
 But beside the all-powerful motives, there are all-powerful 
 aids too. Nothing is to be done, nothing is to be attempted, 
 by the power of unassisted nature. A HOLY SPIRIT offers 
 his mild, but effectual influence, to subdue every corruption, 
 to inspire every holy disposition, to excite, to strengthen, and 
 carry into act, every virtuous purpose. This HEAVENLY 
 FRIEND is ever at hand ; nay more, is ever within us, if we 
 are Christians ; waiting to impart his sacred influence, and 
 more ready to bestow, than we to ask it. How inestimably 
 precious is this provision of eternal mercy. What a sovereign 
 antidote against despondence. What an exhaustless spring 
 of high designs, of holy resolutions, of strenuous efforts ; of
 
 20 
 
 untiring, unconquerable zeal and perseverance in the path of 
 duty. 
 
 In fine : as holiness, and holiness alone, is the happiness of 
 intelligent and immortal beings, it follows, that to require it, 
 in the largest measures, and by the most imperious obliga- 
 tions, is only to impose on us the duty of being sublimely and 
 exquisitely happy. Shall this, in our Creator, be deemed 
 unkind ? Shall it be made a topic of complaint ? What 
 would a license to sin be, but an invitation to be miserable ? 
 Is there a soul that has begun to escape the iron bondage of 
 corruption, that does not sigh and long for complete deliver- 
 ance ? Is there a heart that has known the ardors of heav- 
 enly love, that does not pant to be all inflamed with the 
 sacred passion ? Is there a saint in glory who would wish 
 his obligations to holiness relaxed ? Is there a seraph who 
 " adores and burns" around the throne of God, who would 
 consent to be less firmly bound to that throne ? And what 
 are the highest attainments of Christians on earth, but feeble 
 approximations to the purity and bliss of the celestial 
 state ? 
 
 Time will permit us to consider but a single additional ob- 
 jection against Christianity. By many it has been thought to 
 conceal within itself the seeds of enthusiasm, and to impart 
 this mischievous spirit to its votaries. 
 
 Enthusiasm properly denotes an excessive mental excite- 
 ment ; an extravagant ardor of feeling. To determine, 
 therefore, its existence in any given case, we must first 
 estimate the feelings excited, the object to which they are 
 directed, and their relative proportion or disproportion. 
 
 To those who, devoted to the cares, the business, the 
 amusements, or the ambitions of the world, regard religion as 
 a secondary thing, the deep and absorbing interest of its real 
 votaries must naturally appear extravagant. To those whose 
 faith in the Scriptures is feeble and vacillating, the settled,
 
 21 
 
 earnest conviction of those who attach to them a divine and 
 all-controlling authority, must seem misplaced and delusive. 
 Those who think it of little importance what a man believes, 
 will consider the zeal which is expended in defence of the 
 truth, a mere waste of time and temper. Those who view 
 all pretensions to vital piety as craft, or delusion, will view 
 the friends of vital piety as either unsound at heart, or 
 touched in the brain. Those who hope to see heaven without 
 conversion, will regard all serious concern about conversion, 
 as a needless trouble. Those who feel no anxieties for the 
 spiritual interests and prospects of their neighbors and fellow- 
 countrymen, will view the anxieties of others as gloomy and 
 absurd ; and their endeavors to arouse them, as officious and 
 unkind. Those who perceive little need of a public reforma- 
 tion of manners, will regard the advocates of the cause as 
 righteous overmuch. Those who believe that the heathen 
 can live happily and die safely, without the gospel, will not 
 think highly of the wisdom of employing great exertion or 
 expense to evangelize them. 
 
 But there are other views of the subject. What, my be- 
 loved hearers, if religion be in fact the grand, all-important 
 object of life ; which being secured, all is secured ; which 
 being lost, all is lost? What if the Bible be indeed the word 
 of the Eternal God ; written by his inspiration, and stamped 
 with all his authority ? What if its truths, so obnoxious to 
 human pride, and human depravity ; so disgusting to the nice 
 and sickly palate of a polished age ; furnish the only medicine 
 for the diseases of the mind ? And what if the wilful rejec- 
 tion of these truths should prove, in its very nature, an act of 
 self-exclusion from everlasting blessings ? What if those 
 despised things, conversion, a new heart, faith in a crucified 
 Redeemer, should prove the only passports to heaven ? What 
 if a life spent in thoughtless gaiety, or in anxious devotion to 
 the world, in neglect of God, of prayer, of the soul, though
 
 22 
 
 not stained with gross vice, should terminate in bitterness, 
 and anguish, and despair ? What if every human being be 
 absolutely bound to make, not only his own spiritual interests, 
 but the spiritual interests of others too, the objects of his 
 grand and habitual concern ? What if a general reformation 
 of manners, and the preservation of religious institutions in 
 their purity, be the only means of saving our free and favored 
 country from going down to the common grave of republics ? 
 What if the heathen really and pressingly need the gospel at 
 our hands ; and what if, in case we withhold it, they will 
 bitterly upbraid us before the tribunal of God ? 
 
 One thing is certain. If religion be not the grand object; 
 if the immortal interests of ourselves and others be not the 
 chief concern ; we must wholly change our estimate of num- 
 bers of our race, who have ever been regarded as lights of 
 the world, and ornaments of their species. And can it be, 
 that Abraham, in quitting all that is dear to man, that he 
 might become an heir to brighter worlds, and a blessing to 
 distant ages, was chargeable with weakness and folly . ? Were 
 the apostles, in leaving their little all for their Saviour, con- 
 tent with toil and suffering ; content with a martyr's crown 
 were they ignorant of the true value and end of life ? Was 
 Paul a weak enthusiast, when, with the ardor and rapidity of 
 a seraph, he explored distant regions and seas, encountering 
 every form of danger, and suffering, and toil ; anxious only 
 that he might finish his course with joy, and the ministry he 
 had received of the Lord Jesus . ? 
 
 But it is while looking at that Saviour himself; to the 
 heaven from which he came down ; to the garden in which 
 he agonized ; to the cross on which he expired ; to the 
 matchless LOVE which prompted the whole that we get the 
 brightest views of the worth of the soul, the worth of religion, 
 and our own ouligations of entire self-devotion to its interests. 
 With these objects full in view, we shall feel how unworthy
 
 23 
 
 we are of the charge of enthusiasm. Our warmest love to 
 such a Saviour will seem cold ; our liveliest gratitude, un- 
 grateful ; and our tenderest pity for our fellow sinners, a 
 species of guilty apathy. We may lament, indeed, that our 
 exertions for our Saviour are not animated by purer motives, 
 by simpler aims, by more of his own heavenly meekness and 
 humility ; but never, never can we suspect that they can 
 reach an ardor worthy of the cause. Nor will we fear that, 
 on the bed of death, we shall regret any thing that we have 
 done, or suffered, or sacrificed, for Christ and his church. 
 
 REVEREND AND DEAR BROTHER, 
 
 Providence has changed your place, but not your duty. 
 In transferring you from that distant sphere in which you 
 have, for years, delighted to preach the gospel of your 
 Saviour, it bids you preach the same gospel in the midst of 
 this great and flourishing metropolis. This, we doubt not, is 
 your fixed and unalterable purpose. Convinced, by all your 
 observation and experience, as well as by the testimony of 
 Heaven, that THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST is THE POWER OF 
 GOD TO SALVATION, you will never, never be ashamed of it. 
 Convinced that its most offensive truths are pre-eminently 
 kind and salutary ; that they humble to exalt ; that they 
 wound to heal and save ; you will neither conceal nor disguise 
 them. You will not cease to proclaim them in all their sim- 
 plicity and energy. 
 
 And charged with a gracious message, you will deliver it 
 with a grace. The love of Jesus, your favorite theme, will 
 enliven every sermon, and perfume every prayer. It will im- 
 part tenderness to your aspect, heavenly compassion to your 
 feelings, and an unaffected, winning kindness to all your 
 demeanor. 
 
 Coming to your new charge in this spirit, you may hope to 
 bring blessings with you. To some, indeed, your preaching
 
 24 
 
 will too probably be a savor of death unto death ; but to 
 others it will be a savor of life unto life. You may not carry 
 the crowd ; but you will lead a humble and happy few to 
 their Saviour, and to heaven. You may not receive the 
 plaudit of the licentious and the gay ; but the blessing of 
 souls ready to perish shall come upon you. You may not 
 dazzle the world ; but you shall shine as the brightness of 
 the firmament, and as the stars for ever and ever.
 
 ADDRESS, 
 
 Institution in ^wfierst, 
 
 BY HEMAN HUMPHREY, D. D. 
 
 OK OCCASION OF HIS 
 
 INAUGURATION TO THE PRESIDENCY OF THAT INSTITUTION, 
 
 OCT. 15, 1823. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 FHINTED BY CROCKEB AND BBEWSTSB, 
 
 No. SO, ConJiill. 
 
 1825.
 
 ADDRESS. 
 
 IT is a deeply afflictive and mysterious dispensation of 
 Providence, which has so lately bereaved this infant 
 seminary of its head, and by which I am now brought 
 with inexperienced and trembling steps to its thresh- 
 hold. If prayer offered to God without ceasing for 
 Dr*Moore, on his sick bed, could have prolonged his 
 invaluable life; if professional assiduity could have 
 warded off the fatal stroke; or if agonized affection 
 could have shielded him in her embrace, he had not 
 died and left this favourite child of his adoption to an 
 early and perilous orphanage. Committed to his pa- 
 ternal guardianship in its infancy, there was but one 
 earthly object dearer to his heart. While, therefore, 
 he daily commended it to the benediction of Heaven, 
 and rejoiced in the rapid developement of its powers, 
 he did all that experience, affection and assiduity could 
 do, to cherish its growth, and to lay deep the founda- 
 tions of its future usefulness. So completely had he
 
 identified himself with its interests, that no hostile 
 weapon could reach it without first piercing his heart. 
 He felt all its perplexities and adversities as if they 
 had been his own: and as some compensation for 
 these, he enjoyed, in a high degree, its brightening 
 prospects; its youthful and buoyant anticipations. 
 
 With what ability Dr. Moore presided over this 
 Institution; how cheerfully he devoted to it all his 
 tinue and talents; with how many difficulties he had to 
 struggle, when every thing was to be done and the 
 means of doing were so scanty and precarious; with 
 what filial love and veneration he was regarded by his 
 pupils; how liberal and disinterested were all his views 
 and measures; how successful were his appeals to an 
 enlightened Christian public in behalf of the seminary; 
 and how his dying eye kindled with joy and thankful- 1 
 ness, when he was told that an important measure for 
 increasing the funds had succeeded all these things 
 are best known to those, who were most intimately 
 associated with him in his plans and labours, and they 
 will be long and gratefully remembered. 
 
 The question has often occurred to a thousand anx- 
 ious minds, How could such a man, in such a station, and 
 at such a time be spared? And who can describe that 
 deep and electrical throb of anguish, which smote the 
 heart of this institution, when he breathed his last, 
 and every student felt that he had lost a father? O 
 what a shuddering was there within these walls, when 
 that funeral pall, which hung portentous for a few 
 days in mid heaven, was let down by hands unseen 
 upon yonder dwelling! That pall is not yet removed. 
 It conceals at once from mortal view, the venerated
 
 form of our departed friend, and the awful depths of 
 infinite wisdom in taking him away. And who, since 
 the dyinof agonies are over, would call the sainted 
 spirit back, to revive the troubled dream of life in a 
 sleep that is now so peaceful? "I heard a voice from 
 heaven saying unto me, write, blessed are the dead 
 which die in the Lord from henceforth; yea, saith the 
 spirit, that they may rest from their labours, and their 
 works do follow them." 
 
 If Dr. Moore himself wished to live yet longer, it 
 was, we confidently believe, more for the sake of 
 others, than for his own. And while he did live, it 
 was his ardent devotion to the interests of the church 
 and of sound learning, which prompted him to efforts 
 beyond his strength, if not immediately prejudicial to 
 his life. It certainly would have gratified his benevo- 
 lent heart, to have been permitted to see the Institu- 
 tion over which he presided, relieved from all its em- 
 barrassments, and taking rank in form, as well as in 
 fact, with the older Colleges of New England. And 
 if faith is any thing, it can scarcely be said, that he 
 'died without the sight.' With what confidence he 
 spoke of the future prosperity and usefulness of the 
 seminary, particularly towards the close of his life, 
 many who hear me can testify. 
 
 If we estimate the length of life, by what a man 
 actually accomplishes for the best good of his kind, 
 we shall see, that Dr. Moore, though taken away in 
 the high meridian of his usefulness, was "old and full 
 of days." To say nothing here, of the ability with 
 which he filled other important stations, and of the 
 good which he did in them all, the services rendered
 
 6 
 
 by him to this Institution, within less than the short 
 space of two years, were sufficient to entitle him to 
 the gratitude of thousands now living, and of far 
 greater numbers who are yet to be born. Broad and 
 deep are the foundations which he assisted in laying 
 upon this consecrated hill. Strong was his own arm 
 freely was it offered for the great work, and power- 
 ful was the impulse which his presence and ever cheer- 
 ing voice gave to the wakening energies of benevo- 
 lence around him. But highly as his various plans 
 and counsels and labours are now appreciated, future 
 generations, in walking over this ground, with the 
 early history of the College before them, will, there 
 is little reason to doubt, place him still higher among 
 its distinguished benefactors. It will then more fully 
 appear, what and how much he did, to give shape and 
 character to an Institution, which we believe is des- 
 tined to live and bless the church, in all coming ages. 
 The time will not permit me to dwell longer upon 
 a theme, which is at once so 'pleasant and mournful to 
 the soulj' nor could I, on the other hand, have said 
 less, without doing injustice alike to the occasion and 
 to my own feelings, called, as I am this day, to occupy 
 the chair which has been left vacant, by the mournful, 
 though serene departure of my highly venerated 
 friend. 
 
 It is possible, too, that at this interesting moment, 
 I might be indulged in speaking of the struggles and 
 misgivings and breaking of ties which it has cost me, 
 to tear myself away from the quiet and much loved 
 scenes of pastoral labours, and to exchange them all, 
 for an untried and highly responsible sphere of liter-
 
 ary action. But why should I look back? Why so 
 fondly covet the mysterious pleasure of feeling in ev- 
 ery rending heart-string, all those struggles again? 
 Rather let me 'forget the things which are behind, 
 and reach forth unto those things which are before' 
 looking up daily to heaven for strength and wisdom 
 and grace bespeaking also the prayers, relying on 
 the efficient aid, and throwiog myself upon the Chris- 
 tian candour of the friends and patrons of this rising 
 seminary. 
 
 Convened as we are this day, in the portals of sci- 
 ence aud literature, and with all their arduous heights 
 and profound depths and Elysian fields before us, edu- 
 cation offers itself as the inspiring theme of our present 
 meditations. This, in a free, enlightened and Chris- 
 tian state, is confessedly a subject of the highest mo- 
 ment. How can the diamond reveal its lustre from 
 beneath incumbent rocks and earthy strata? How 
 can the marble speak, or stand %rth in all the divine 
 symmetry of the human form, till it is taken from the 
 quarry and fashioned by the hand of the artist? And 
 how can man be intelligent, happy, or useful, without 
 the culture and discipline of education? It is this that 
 smooths and polishes the roughnesses of his nature. 
 It is this, that unlocks the prison house of his mind 
 and releases the captive. It is the transforming 
 hand of education, which is now in so many heathen 
 lands moulding savageness and igaorance, pagan fanat- 
 icism and brutal stupidity, revenge and treachery and 
 lust; and in short, all the warring elements of our 
 lapsed nature, into the various forms of exterior de- 
 cency, of mental brilliancy and of Christian loveliness.
 
 a 
 
 It is education that pours light into the understanding, 
 lays up its golden treasures in the memory, softens the 
 asperities of the temper, checks the waywardness of 
 passion and appetite and trains to habits of industry, 
 temperance and benevolence. It is this which quali- 
 fies men for the pulpit, the senate, the bar, the prac- 
 tice of medicine and the bench of justice. It is to ed- 
 ucation, to its domestic agents, its schools and colleges, 
 its universities and literary societies, that the world is 
 indebted for the thousand comforts and elegancies of 
 civilized life, for almost every useful art, discovery 
 and invention. 
 
 Education, moreover, is power physical, intellect- 
 ual and moral power. To be convinced of this, we 
 need only compare our own great republic with the 
 myriads of pagan or savage men, in any part of 
 the world. How astonishing the difference, in every 
 important respect! ^or what can the ignorant hordes 
 of central Africa or Asia do, either in arts or in arms? 
 What to make themselves happy at home, or re- 
 spected abroad? And what, on the other hand, cannot 
 civilized America accomplish? 
 
 In a word, education, regarding man as a rational, 
 accountable and immortal being, elevates, expands and 
 enriches his mind; cultivates the best affections of his 
 heart; pours a thousand sweet and gladdening streams 
 around the dwellings of the poor as well as the man- 
 sions of the rich, and while it greatly multiplies and 
 enhances the enjoyments of time, helps to train up the 
 soul for the bliss of eternity. 
 
 How extremely important, then, is every inquiry 
 which relates to the philosophy of the human mind
 
 to the early discipline and cultivation of its noble pow- 
 ers to the comparative merits and defects of classical 
 books and prevailing systems of instruction to the 
 advantages accruing from mathematical and other ab- 
 struse studies to the means of educating the children 
 of the poor in our public seminaries to the present 
 state of science and literature in our country; and to 
 the animating prospects which are opening before us. 
 All these topics and many more, nearly related, pre- 
 sent themselves to the enlightened and philanthropic 
 mind, as it looks abroad from some commanding emi- 
 nence, or ranges .at leisure over the wide and busy 
 fields of human improvement. It must be obvious, 
 however, upon a moment's reflection, that it would 
 take many a long day to traverse a space so ample; to 
 drink of every Castalian fountain in the way; to take 
 the altitudes of Parnassus; to measure the steeps of 
 science; and to see what is going forward in a thou- 
 sand splendid literary halls and wonder working labora- 
 tories. How little then, can be done within the brief 
 hour, which is alloted to the present exercises. Upon 
 many very interesting objects and enclosures we can 
 scarcely bestow a passing glance, and can linger for a 
 few moments only, where most we might love to 
 dwell, or at least to sit down at our leisure and enjoy 
 the goodly prospect. 
 
 In treating of education, we may advantageously 
 divide the subject, into the three great branches, of 
 physical, intellectual and moral improvement. Under 
 these heads, we shall include all that is requisite to 
 form a sound and healthy body, a vigorous and well 
 stored mind, and a good heart. If the first of these, 
 2
 
 10 
 
 or what I choose to call the physical part of educa- 
 tion, has not been wholly overlooked, (as it certainly 
 has not,) in the most popular systems, still, it may well 
 be questioned, whether it has yet received that degree 
 of attention, which its immense importance demands. 
 
 Such, in our present condition, is the mysterious con- 
 nexion between body arid mind, that the one cannot 
 act, except on a very limited scale, without the assist- 
 ance of the other. The immortal agent must have an 
 "earthly house" to dwell in; and it is essential to vig- 
 orous and healthful mental operations, that this house 
 should be well built, and that it should be kept in good 
 repair. Now, it is the province of physical education, 
 to erect the building, and in carrying it up, to have 
 special reference to its firmness and durability; so that 
 the unseen tenant, who is sent down to occupy it, 
 may enjoy every convenience, and be enabled to work 
 to the very best advantage. 
 
 That is undoubtedly the wisest and best regimen, 
 which takes the infant from the cradle, and conducts 
 him along through childhood and youth, up to high 
 maturity, in such a manner, as to give strength to his 
 arm, swiftness to his feet, solidity and amplitude to his 
 muscles, symmetry to his frame and expansion to all 
 his vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch of 
 education, comprehends not only food and clothing; 
 but air, exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever 
 else is requisite to the full developement of the phys- 
 ical constitution. 
 
 If, then, you would see the son of your prayers and 
 hopes, blooming with health, and rejoicing daily in the 
 full and sparkling tide of youthful buoyancy; if you
 
 11 
 
 wish him to be strong and athletic and careless of fa- 
 tigue; if you would fit him for hard labour and safe 
 exposure to winter and summer; or if you would 
 prepare him to sit down twelve hours in a day with 
 Euclid, Enfield and .Newton, and still preserve his 
 health, you must lay the foundation accordingly. You 
 must begin with him early, must teach him self-denial, 
 and gradually subject him to such hardships, as will 
 help to consolidate his frame and give increasing en- 
 ergy to all his physical powers. His diet must be 
 simple, his apparel must not be too warm, nor his bed 
 too soft. As good soil is commonly so much cheaper 
 and better for children than medicine, beware of too 
 much restriction in the management of your darling 
 boy. Let him, in choosing his play, follow the sug- 
 gestions of nature. 
 
 Be not discomposed at the sight of his sand hills in 
 the road, his snow forts in February, and his mud- 
 dams in April; nor when you chance to look out in 
 the midst of an August shower, and see him wading 
 and sailing and sporting along with the water-fowl. 
 If you would make him hardy and fearless, let him 
 go abroad as often as he pleases, in his early boyhood, 
 and amuse himself by the hour together, in smoothing 
 and twirling the hoary locks of winter. Instead of 
 keeping him shut up all day with a stove, and gradu- 
 ating his sleeping room by Fahrenheit, let him face 
 the keen edge of the north wind, when the mercury is 
 below cypher, and instead of minding a little shiver- 
 ing and complaining when he returns, cheer up his 
 spirits and send him out agaii% In this way, you will 
 teach him that he was not born to live in the nursery,
 
 12 
 
 nor to brood over the kitchen fire; but to range 
 abroad as free as the snow and the air, and to gain 
 warmth from exercise. I love and admire the youth, 
 who turns not back from the howling wintry blast, 
 nor withers under the blaze of summer: who never 
 magnifies 'mole-hills into mountains,' but whose daring 
 eye, exulting, scales the eagle's airy crag, and who is 
 ready to undertake any thing that is prudent and law- 
 ful, within the range of possibility. 
 
 Who would think of planting the mountain oak in 
 a green-house, or of rearing the cedar of Lebanon in 
 a lady's flower pot? Who does not know that in or- 
 der to attain their mighty strength and majestic forms, 
 they must freely enjoy the rain and the sunshme, and 
 must feel the rocking of the tempest? Who would 
 think of raising up a band of Indian warriors, upon 
 cakes and jellies and beds of down, and amid all the 
 luxuries and ease of wealth and carefulness? The 
 attempt would be highly preposterous, not to say 
 utterly ridiculous. Very different is the course 
 which nature points out. It is the plain and scanty 
 fare of these sons of the forest, their hard and cold 
 lodging, their long marches and fastings, and their con- 
 stant exposure to all the hardships of the wilderness, 
 which give them such Herculean limbs and stature; 
 such prodigious might in the deadly fray, and such 
 swiftness of foot in pursuing the vanquished. 
 
 I am far, however, from saying, that such training, 
 would ensure to every child the arm of Achilles, or 
 the courage of Logan, or the constitution and daring 
 of Martin Luther. Some would doubtless sink under 
 a vigorous early discipline; but not near so many, as is
 
 13 
 
 generally supposed. The truth is, there is a mistaken 
 tenderness which daily interferes with the health giv- 
 ing economy of heaven. Too many parents, instead 
 of building upon the foadtlation which God has laid, 
 first subvert that foundation by misplaced indulgencies, 
 and then vainly attempt to build among the ruins. 
 They cross and perplex nature so much, in her efforts 
 to make their children strong and healthy, that she at 
 length refuses to do any thing, and the doating parents 
 are left to patch up the shattered and punv constitu- 
 tion as well as they can, with tonics and essences. In 
 this way, not a few young men of good talents, are 
 rendered physically incapable of pursuing their stud- 
 ies to any advantage. They can never bear the 
 fatigue of close arid long continued application. The 
 mind would gladly work, but the earthly tabernacle is 
 so extremely frail, that every vigorous effort shakes it 
 to the foundation. It is like setting up the machinery 
 of a furnace, in a mere shed, without studs or braces 
 or like attempting to raise the steam for a large ship, 
 in a tin boiler. Whatever talents a youth may possess, 
 he can accomplish but little in the way of study, with- 
 out a good constitution to sustain his mental efforts; 
 and such a constitution is not a blessing to be enjoyed 
 of course. Like almost every other gift of heaven, it 
 is to be obtained by human providence, and in the use 
 of means adapted to the end. How many who begin 
 well, ultimately fail of eminence and usefulness, 
 through excessive tenderness, and for want of skill and 
 care in their early physical education, it is impossible 
 to say; but that many a young man is doomed to lin- 
 gering imbecility, or to a premature grave by this kind
 
 14 
 
 of mismanagement; and that the subject on which I 
 have hazarded the foregoing remarks, ii intimately 
 connected with the vital interests of the church and 
 the state, will not, I think, be questioned. 
 
 One thing more, I deem iflmportant to say, before 
 I dismiss the present topic. The finest constitution, the 
 growth of many years, may be ruined in a few months. 
 However good the health of a student may be when 
 he enters college, it requires much care and pains to 
 preserve it; and there is a very common mistake as to 
 the real cause why so many fail. Hard study has all 
 the credit of undermining many a constitution, which 
 would have sustained twice as much application 
 and without injury too, by early rising and walking, 
 and by keeping up a daily acquaintance with the saw 
 and the axe. Worthless in themselves, then, as are 
 the elements which compose this mortal frame, so es- 
 sential are its healthful energies to the operations of 
 mind, that so long as the body and soul remain united, 
 too much care can hardly be bestowed upon the 
 former for the sake of the latter. 
 
 The second great branch of education is intellectual; 
 and this, it must be confessed is vastly more important 
 and difficult than the first. It is the intelligent and 
 immortal mind, which pre-eminently distinguishes man 
 from the countless forms of animated nature around 
 him. It is this, which not only gives him dominion 
 over them all; but raises him to an alliance with 
 angels; and through grace, to converse with God him- 
 self. Mysterious emanation of the Divinity! Who 
 can measure its capacity, or set bounds to its progres- 
 sion in knowledge?
 
 15 
 
 But this intelligent and immortal principle, which 
 we call mind, is not created in full strength and matu- 
 rity. As the body passes slowly through infancy and 
 childhood, so does the mind. Feeble at first, it 'grows 
 with the growth and strengthens with the strength' of 
 the corporeal system. Destitute alike of knowledge 
 at their birth, the children of one family, or genera- 
 tion, have, in this respect, no advantage over those of 
 another. All, the high as well as the low, the rich as 
 well as the poor, have every thing to learn. No one 
 was ever born a Newton, or an Edwards. It is patient, 
 vigorous and long continued application that makes the 
 great mind. All must begin with the simplest ele- 
 ments of knowledge, and advance from step to step in 
 nearly the same manner. Thus native talent in a child, 
 may be compared to the small capital with which a 
 young merchant begins in trade. It is not his fortune, 
 but only the means of making it. Or it may be lik- 
 ened to a quarry of fine marble, or to a mine of the 
 precious metals. The former, never starts up spon- 
 taneously into Cyprian Venuses nor does the latter, 
 of its own accord, assume the shape and value of a 
 shining currency. Much time and labour and skill are 
 requisite, to fashion the graceful statue, and to refine 
 and stamp the yellow treasure. 
 
 In every system of education, two things should be 
 kept steadily in view: -first, that the mind itself is to 
 be formed; is to be gradually expanded and strength- 
 ened into vigorous manhood, by the proper exercise of 
 its faculties; and secondly, that it is to be enriched and 
 embellished with various knowledge. In practice, 
 however, these two things cannot be separated. For
 
 16 
 
 * 
 
 at the same time, that the plastic hand of education 
 is strengthening and enlarging the mind, by subjecting 
 it to severe and sometimes painful discipline, this very 
 exercise, is continually enriching it with new and im- 
 portant ideas. Thus, to illustrate the point by a plain 
 similitude, we do not, when we begin with the child, 
 find the intellectual temple already built and waiting 
 only to be furnished; but we have got to lay the foun- 
 dation, and carry up the walls, and fashion the porti- 
 cos and arches, while we are carving the ornaments, 
 and bringing in all that is requisite to finish the edifice 
 and furnish the apartments. That, then, must obvi- 
 ously be the best system of mental education, which 
 does most to develope and strengthen the intellectual 
 powers, and which pours into the mind the richest 
 streams of science and literature. The object of 
 teaching should never be, to excuse the student 
 from thinking and reasoning; but to learn him how 
 to think and to reason. You can never make your 
 son, or your pupil a scholar, by drawing his diagrams, 
 measuring his angles, finding out his equations and trans- 
 lating his Majora. No. He must do all these things 
 for himself. It is his own application that is to give 
 him distinction. It is climbing the hill of science by 
 dint of effort and perseverance and not being carried 
 up on other men's shoulders. 
 
 Let every youth, therefore, early settle it in his 
 mind, that if he would ever be any thing, he has got 
 to make himself; or in other words, to rise by personal 
 application. Let him always try his own strength, and 
 try it effectually, before he is allowed to call upon 
 Hercules. Put him first upon his own invention; send
 
 17 
 
 him back again and again to the resources of his own 
 mind, and make him feel, that there is nothing too 
 hard for industry and perseverance to accomplish. 
 In his early and timid flights, let him know that 
 stronger pinions are near and ready to sustain him, but 
 only in case of absolute necessity. * When in the rug- 
 ged paths of science, difficulties which he cannot sur- 
 mount impede his progress, let him be helped over 
 them; but never, let him think of being led, when he 
 has power to walk without help nor of carrying his 
 ore to another's furnace, when he can melt it down in 
 his own. To excuse our young men from painful'rnental 
 labour, in a course of liberal education, would be about 
 as wise, as to invent easier cradle springs for the con- 
 veyance of our children to school, or softer cushions 
 for them to sit on at home, in order to promote their 
 growth and give them vigorous constitutions. By 
 adopting such methods, in the room of those distin- 
 guished men, to whom we hav^been accustomed to 
 look for sound literary and theological instruction; for 
 wise laws and the able administration of justice, our 
 pulpits and courts and professorships and halls of legis- 
 lation, would soon be filled, or rather disgraced, by a 
 succession of weak and rickety pretenders. 
 
 In this view of the subject, it becomes a very nice 
 not to say difficult question, how far it is expedient to 
 simplify elementary books in our primary schools; but 
 more especially, in the advanced stages of a liberal 
 education. I am aware, that much may be said in 
 favour of the simplest and easiest lessons for children; 
 and I freely admit, that several elementary writers of 
 the present day, are entitled to much credit for what 
 3
 
 18 
 
 they have done in this humble, though highly impor- 
 tant sphere. I am convinced, however, that even 
 here the simplifying process has been carried too far. 
 The learner, in many cases, receives too much assist- 
 ance from his author. Little or nothing is left him to 
 find out by his own study arid ingenuity. His feelings 
 are interested and his memory is taxed; but his judg- 
 ment is not called into exercise; his invention is not 
 put to the test, and of course, his mind does not grow. 
 Moreover; too many, who would be thought stu- 
 dents of a distinguished rank, by having their abridg- 
 ments arid elements and conversations and other pa- 
 tented stereotype continually before them, early im- 
 bibe the persuasion, that almost any science may be 
 mastered in a few weeks; and, of course, that the 
 time which used to be spent upon languages, the ma- 
 thematics and other branches of a public education, 
 was little better than thrown away. Even in our 
 Colleges, and partljfj am apt to think from the same 
 cause, there is much complaint of needless prolixity 
 and obscurity, in some of the larger classical books. 
 It seems to be taken for granted, that every thing 
 should be made as plain and easy for the learner as 
 possible. Hence, to be held in check during a long 
 and painful hour or more, by a single proposition in 
 Euclid, is considered an intolerable hardship by those, 
 who dislike nothing so much as close and slowly pro- 
 ductive thinking. It seems never to have occurred 
 to their minds, that this is the very kind of exercise, 
 which is indispensable, to give scope and energy to the 
 intellectual power*.
 
 19 
 
 In itself considered, it would be very agreeable, no 
 doubt, to master conic sections, quadratic equations, 
 spherics and fluxions, all in a month. But if this 
 could be done, the student would lose incomparably 
 more, than he could possibly gain by the saving of 
 time and labour. He would lose nearly all the ad- 
 vantage which he now derives, from a long course of 
 severe mental discipline. Indeed, could all the fields 
 of science and literature be explored in a few weeks, 
 or months; could some new method be invented to 
 supersede the necessity of hard study altogether, the 
 consequences would be truly deplorable. That hour 
 would mark the boundaries of human improvement. 
 From that moment, the march of mind would be ret- 
 rograde. Within one generation, there would be no 
 giants left in the earth; for how could the race be 
 perpetuated, without the aliment which has in time 
 past added so many cubits to their stature? Once re- 
 lease man from the necessity of bringing his powers 
 into vigorous action, and nothing could prevent him 
 from sinking into sloth and imbecility. 
 
 Let me here, in connexion with the foregoing re- 
 marks, offer a few thoughts upon the method of 
 teaching by lectures; a mode which is so highly and 
 deservedly popular in the most flourishing institutions 
 of our own country, as well as in all the foreign Univer- 
 sities. Without lecturers, in various branches of science, 
 no College could maintain a respectable standing for 
 a single year; and it is greatly to be wished, that more 
 professorships might be founded in most of our public 
 seminaries. But even here, there are certain limits, 
 beyond which it would not be wise, nor safe to go.
 
 20 
 
 It is easy to see, that so much of a four years resi- 
 dence in College, might be taken up in hearing lectures, 
 as to leave but little time for hard study. Nor is this 
 all. When a young man knows, that he is surrounded 
 by distinguished professors, who are all the while 
 thinking and writing for his benefit, he will be apt to 
 excuse himself from close application, and to rest 
 contented with what he can take down, or remember 
 in the Lecture-room. This arises from that kind of 
 vis inertia, which must be reckoned among the laws of 
 our fallen nature. We are, for the most part, so ex- 
 
 tremelv averse to mental effort, that if we can find 
 
 j 
 
 substitutes to trim the midnight lamp, we shall em- 
 ploy them, even in spite of conscience and our better 
 judgment. Who is there that would not prefer tak- 
 ing as many eagles as he wants from the hands of the 
 coiner, to bringing up the ore from the dark caverns 
 of Potosi, and carrying it through the mint by the 
 sweat of his own brow? Let every student, then, be 
 on his guard against those temptations to indolence, 
 which lurk beneath some of his highest privileges. 
 Let him be thankful for the assistance of able pro- 
 fessors, but let him depend more upon his own indus^ 
 try than upon them. It were better for a young man 
 never to hear a lecture in College, than to estimate his 
 attainments by the amount of instruction which he 
 receives, rather than by his own diligence and success 
 in study. 
 
 I cannot dismiss the present topic, without advert- 
 
 ino 1 to the new modes of itinerant lecturing, which are 
 
 o . 
 
 becoming extremely fashionable in various parts of 
 our country. To condemn them in the gross, would
 
 21 
 
 be doing injustice to some individuals of distinguished 
 merit: for it cannot be denied, that they have reduced 
 much valuable information, to a cheap and portable 
 form, and have in this way contributed to diffuse a 
 taste for science and literature among all classes of 
 people. These are honourable exceptions; but what 
 shall we say of those pedantic smatterers in every 
 thing, who are coming up upon the breadth of the 
 land; whose advertisements stare us in the face from 
 a thousand hand-bills and news-papers; who are ready 
 to promise, and if you please, to bind themselves for 
 a very trifling consideration, not only to point out a 
 much shorter road, than even a royal one, to the tem- 
 ple of fame., but to conduct their marvelling followers 
 to the very pinnacle, before the disciples of Bacon, 
 Newton and Reid can fairly begin to rise, by the an- 
 cient steep and rugged path. What need, according 
 to these wonderworking teachers, of six, or ten years 
 study, when they can lay open all the arena of sci- 
 ence in half as many weeks or evenings! Nay so far 
 is this literary necromancy sometimes carried, that 
 even a single lecture is expected to do more for the 
 awe stricken tyro, than he could gain by months of 
 the closest application in the old way. While I ap- 
 peal to your own observation, for the correctness of 
 this statement, I am far from wishing to hold up any 
 meritorious individual, to public reprobation, or con- 
 tempt. Let every one receive the just reward of his 
 ingenuity and usefulness. Equally foreign is it from 
 my present design, to represent all attempts at im- 
 provement, in the methods of teaching, as visionary 
 and hopeless. I believe, on the contrary, that great
 
 22 
 
 improvements are yet to be made, and that even now, 
 writing, geography and some other branches, are much 
 more advantageously taught than they were twenty 
 years ago. But I have no hesitation in pronouncing, 
 a great part of what is pompously styled lecturing, 
 upon natural philosophy, chemistry, astronomy, history, 
 mnemonics and the like, the most arrant quackery, 
 that ever disgraced the records of learning in New 
 England. It is the mere froth and sediment or, 
 shall I not rather say, it is the sulphurated hydrogen 
 and carbonic acid of science and literature. So far is 
 it from raising the general standard of education, that 
 its direct tendency is to discourage application, to fos- 
 ter pedantry, and to beget a general contempt for that 
 long and tedious process, by which men have hitherto 
 risen to eminence in general knowledge, and in all the 
 learned professions. 
 
 I do not however mention these time and book and 
 labour saving expedients, as if there was any very se- 
 rious cause of alarm from this quarter. These Pro- 
 tean forms of literary quackery, cannot hold the 
 ascendency long in any enlightened community. And 
 in spite of their present claims to public favour, it 
 cannot be doubted, that intellectual education, in most 
 of its branches, is steadily on the advance. Great 
 light, has within the last thirty years, been thrown 
 upon the science of mind, and the present ardour of 
 philosophical speculation, promises still more brilliant 
 results. There is, upon the whole, a steady and 
 mighty advance in the great empire of cultivated in- 
 tellect, which we trust nothing will seriously impede, 
 and to which no definite limits can be assigned.
 
 In connexion with this part of our subject, or 
 rather in continuation of it, I cannot help calling your 
 attention for a moment, to those rapid and splendid 
 conquests of general science, which shed such a glory 
 upon the age in which we live. What scholastic en- 
 trenchment is there which she has not carried what 
 moss-grown battlement on which she has not planted 
 her standard? What height is there which she has 
 not surveyed what depth has she not explored? 
 What desert of sand, or snow, has she not traversed 
 what arctic sea or streight has she not navigated 
 what ice of four thousand winters has she not seen 
 what mountain or heavenly parallax has she not meas- 
 ured what mineral has escaped her search what 
 stubborn resistances in the great field of experiment, 
 has she not overcome what substance has she not 
 found means to break, or fuse, or solve, or convert into 
 gas? ^ 
 
 It is indeed wonderful to think, how the boundaries 
 of human knowledge are by the aid, and under the 
 directing eye of human intellect, extending in every 
 direction. Every camp that is lighted for the pur- 
 poses of discovery in one-department, sheds a portion 
 of its radiance upon some other, or perhaps upon ma- 
 ny others at the same time: and thus, by the inter- 
 mingling and reflection of rays from so many points, 
 the progress of discovery is greatly and increasingly 
 facilitated. Objects which fifty years ago were 
 scarcely visible in the dim horizon, are now left by its 
 retrocession far within the vast circumference. The 
 ever busy hand of experiment is daily laying open 
 new wonders and making new discoveries in air, earth
 
 24 
 
 and water. Sotne of the great agents of nature, 
 which had been at work in secret from the foundation 
 of the world, have recently been detected in their 
 mysterious operations, and made subservient to the 
 health and convenience of man. Science has scaled 
 those awful barriers, which less than a century ago, 
 it would have been thought the height of madness 
 and impiety to attempt; and she is now successfully 
 exploring far wider regions beyond, than were ever 
 included in her ancient dominions. Thus while the 
 astronomer is polishing his glasses, finding out the lon- 
 gitude, watching the return of the comets, and looking 
 for new constellations in the blue depths of ether, the 
 mechanical philosopher is lengthening his levers, per- 
 fecting his screws and pullies, and combining and con- 
 centrating all the prodigious energies of fire and wa- 
 ter. And last, but not least, the chemist is rejoicing 
 in the midst of his newly discovered attractions, affin- 
 ities and antipathies: and if in subjecting every known 
 substance to his acids, his blow-pipe and his defla- 
 grator, he has not yet converted the baser metals into 
 gold, he seems to be in a fair way, at least, of trans- 
 muting charcoal into diamonds.* 
 
 The train of our meditations, falls in so naturally 
 here, with the following bright and philosophical an- 
 ticipations of a distinguished writer, that I shall offer 
 no apology for laying them before you in his own 
 words. Speaking of the progressive improvement of 
 the human race, he mentions by way of example, the 
 history of mathematical science, in which the advan- 
 
 * I here allude to some very interesting experiments, by Professor Silliman of Yale College, 
 of which he has given a particular account, in the American Journal of Science and Arts: Vol. 
 V. and VI.
 
 25 
 
 ces of discovery may be measured with greater pre- 
 cision than in any other. 
 
 "Those elementary truths of geometry and of as- 
 tronomy," he remarks, "which, in India and Egypt, 
 formed an occult science, upon which an ambitious 
 priesthood. founded its influence, were become, in the 
 times of Archimedes and Hipparchus, the subjects 
 of common education in the public schools of Greece. 
 In the last century,..a few yeafs of study were suffi- 
 cient for comprehending all that Archimedes and Hip- 
 parchus knew; and, at present, two years employed 
 under an able teacher, carry the student beyond those 
 conclusions, which limited the inquiries of Leibnitz 
 and of Newton. Let any person reflect on these facts: 
 let him follow the immense chain which connects the 
 inquiries of Euler with those of a priest of Memphis; 
 let him .observe, at each epoch, how genius outstrips 
 the present age, and how it is overtaken by medioc- 
 rity in the next; he will perceive, that nature has fur- 
 nished us with the means of abridging and facilitating 
 our intellectual labour, and that there is no reason for 
 apprehending that such simplifications can ever have 
 an end. He will perceive, that at the moment when 
 a multitude of particular solutions, and of insulated 
 facts, begin to distract the attention, and to overcharge 
 the memory, the former gradually lose themselves in 
 one general method, and the latter unite in one gen- 
 eral law; and that these generalizations, continually 
 succeeding one to another, like the successive multipli- 
 cations of a number by itself, have no other limit, 
 than that infinity which the human faculties are una- 
 ble to comprehend." 
 
 How cheering, how ennobling is this intellectual 
 march of our species! Who but must aspire to a place 
 4
 
 26 
 
 in the ranks, if not to the honour of bearing a stand- 
 ard? Who is there, that will not contribute by every 
 proper means in his power, to facilitate so illustrious 
 a march; to elevate, expand and strengthen the im- 
 mortal mind, as it still presses on in the path of dis- 
 covery, and looking upward, pants for a wider range, 
 a clearer vision, and worthier attainments in a brighter 
 world? 
 
 The third and last great branch of education is 
 moral I use the word moral here, in the largest 
 sense, as comprehending all the instruction, restraints 
 and discipline which are requisite, for the government 
 of the passions, the moulding of the affections, the 
 formation of an enlightened conscience and the ren- 
 ovation of the heart. I do not merely say that this 
 branch is indispensable for in a setose it is every thing, 
 What would a finely cultivated mind, united to the 
 best physical constitution be, without moral principle? 
 What but mere brute force, impelled by the combin- 
 ed and terrible energies of a perverted understanding 
 and a depraved heart? How much worse than phys- 
 ical imbecility, is strength employed in doing evil? 
 How much more to be dreaded than the most pro- 
 found ignorance, is a high state of mental cultivation, 
 when once men have broken away from the control 
 of conscience and the Bible. The reign of terror and 
 atheism, under whose bloody seal the demon of an- 
 archy once presided over a great and polished metrop- 
 olis, affords so good an illustration here, that I hope I 
 shall be indulged in the hackneyed allusion. What 
 availed all the erudition of the National Institute, and 
 all the learning of the Encyclopediasts, in the hands 
 of men, who could bow the knee to the meretricious 
 goddess of reason, and write over the tomb, that death
 
 27 
 
 is an eternal sleep? It was not the blind and unlet- 
 tered frenzy of the multitude, but the cool and calcu- 
 lating genius of infidel philosophy, which put the 
 wheels of revolution in motion in France; and it was 
 the friction, occasioned by that tremendous impulse, 
 which set the whole machinery of the government on 
 fire, and burnt down the palace, the altar and the 
 throne together. Now, take away all the restraints, 
 and sanctions of religion, and something like this might 
 be expected to happen in any state, and in spite of 
 the highest intellectual attainments. Without the 
 fear of God nothing can be secure for one moment. 
 
 O 
 
 Without the control of moral and religious principle, 
 education is a drawn and polished sword, in the hands 
 of a gigantic maniac. In his madness he may fall 
 upon its point, or bathe it in the blood of the innocent. 
 Great and highly cultivated talents, allied to skepti- 
 cism, or infidelity, are the right arm that "scatters 
 firebrands, arrows and death." After all the dreams 
 of human perfectibility, and all the hosannas which 
 have been profanely lavished upon reason, philosophy 
 and literature, who, but for the guardianship of relig- 
 ion, could protect his beloved daughters, or be safe 
 in his own house for one night? What would civil 
 government be in the profound sleep of conscience, 
 and in the absence of right moral habits and feelings 
 what, but an iron despotism on the one hand, or in- 
 toxicated anarchy on the other? 
 
 Let any system of education, which leaves out God 
 and the scriptures, prevail for a short time only, in 
 your families, schools and Colleges, and what would 
 be the consequences? How long would you have any 
 domestic circles to love, or to live in? How long 
 would children reverence their parents, or listen to the
 
 28 
 
 voice of their teachers? The truth is, moral habits 
 and religious sanctions, cannot be dispensed with. 
 The world would be one vast and frightful theatre of 
 misery and crime without them. What anxious and 
 unremitting care, then, should be bestowed upon the 
 religious education of children. How assiduously 
 should the fond parent labour to imbue the mind of 
 the little prattler upon his knee, with the knowledge 
 and fear of God. It is needless to say, that if you do 
 not sow the good seed, and sow it early, the enemy 
 will be sure to preoccupy the ground: and if you sleep 
 after it is sown, he will not fail of scattering tares 
 among the wheat. If, then, your "heart's desire and 
 prayer to God" is, that your son may be virtuous, 
 useful and pious, "train him up in the way he should 
 go" teach him from the cradle to obey you in all 
 things; to govern his own passions, and to exercise all 
 the kind and generous feelings of his heart. Let that 
 system of religious education which is begun in the 
 family, be carried into the primary school, from thence 
 into the academy and up to the public seminary. 
 Such a course of moral instruction, is the more im- 
 portant in this country, on account of the free and 
 republican character of all our institutions. Our civil 
 government is happily a government of moral influ- . 
 ence. It derives its supremacy not so much from the 
 pains and penalties of the statute book,, as from the 
 virtue and intelligence of the people. Now the per- 
 manent safety of such a community, demands a high 
 tone of moral and religious principle in the great mass 
 of the governed; and it must be obvious, I think, that 
 the freer any state is, the more virtue is necessary to 
 secure private rights, and to preserve the public tran- 
 quillity. A government of opinion, founded on the
 
 29 
 
 morality of the Gospel, exerts a silent and -invisible 
 influence, which like the great law of attraction keeps 
 every thing in its place, without seeming to exert any 
 influence at all. 
 
 Now, as the literary institutions of every country, 
 must receive their shape and character from the gen- 
 ius of the government, the management of a College 
 in our own free and happy land, must be the unseen 
 efficiency of moral influence, much more than the 
 frowning shall, or shall not of the written law. But 
 how can this influence be established and maintained 
 over the natural restlessness and ardency of youth? 
 Clearly in no other way but that which I have just 
 pointed out. They must be brought under the sway 
 of an enlightened conscience arid of good habits in 
 early childhood. They must in the strictest sense of 
 the terra be religiously educated from their most 
 tender years. 
 
 There is another view of the point before us, which 
 immensely enhances the importance of a religious ed- 
 ucation. If human existence was bounded by this 
 'inch or two of time,' or if nothing which we can do 
 for our children could have any influence upon their 
 eternal destiny, the consequences of faithfulness, or 
 unfaithfulness would be comparatively trifling. But 
 when we think of their immortality of what it is to 
 rise and shine and sing or to sink and wail in outer 
 darkness forever, and then remember that we have 
 the keeping of their precious souls, how can we help 
 trembling under the weight of such a responsibility? 
 Every system of education should have reference to 
 two worlds; but chiefly to the future, because the pre- 
 sent is only the infancy of being, and the longest life 
 bears no proportion to endless duration. Every in-
 
 sfnicfor should keep distinctly in view, and remind Im 
 pupils daily of that long, long hereafter from which a 
 thousand earthly ages will shrink into nothing. 
 
 Viewed in the light of eternity, and as qualifications 
 for the kingdom of God, what is health and what are 
 talents of the highest order? What are the richest 
 literary acquisitions? They may dazzle him, but noth- 
 ing can shine without holiness beyond the grave. It 
 is moral worth, it is piety of heart, or the want of it, 
 which will fix the destiny of the undying soul. With- 
 out the image of God, the stupendous intellect of 
 Gabriel would be nought, but mighty rebellion and 
 suffering to all eternity. Nor on the other hand, is 
 there a human soul, bearing that image, though dwell- 
 ing in the most humble clay, and merely looking 
 through the grates of its prison, but that will ere 
 3ong rise to glory and "walk in white" and sing with 
 angels. What prayers, what instructions, what un- 
 wearied efforts then, should be employed in the relig- 
 ious education of every child. It is true, indeed, that 
 no human agency however long or faithfully exerted, 
 can give a new heart: but it is equally true, that God 
 employs instruments to accomplish all his gracious 
 purposes. He works by means, no less in the moral 
 than in the natural world. The means he has in this 
 case prescribed. In numberless instances has he made 
 them effectual to the saving conversion of the soul. 
 Let parents, teachers and ministers then, do their 
 duty, in humble reliance on the divine promises, and 
 wait in hope and prayer for the blessing. May a 
 worm, then, like one of us, aspire to the* honour and 
 happiness of guiding immortals to heaven of assist- 
 ing to prepare them for "an exceeding and eternal 
 weight of glory?" Who would exchange such a priv-
 
 31 
 
 ilege for the diadems of all the Caesars? This is a de- 
 lightful theme. It warms and expands and elevates 
 and fills with holy exultation the heart of chnstian 
 benevolence. But I have already detained you so 
 much longer than I intended, that instead of leaving 
 room for enlargement on this point, I shall be con- 
 strained to pass over in silence most of the collateral 
 topics, which I had reserved for the closing pages of 
 the present address. 
 
 I am aware, that the view which I have sketched 
 of the three capital branches of education, has no 
 claim to originality in the general outline. Nor is 
 this concession made with any reluctance. On the 
 contrary, I rejoice to know, that the system which I 
 would recommend, has been in high favour with the 
 wise and good, ever since the Plymouth Colony found 
 **a lodge in the wilderness." Our forefathers were 
 fio less the friends of sound learning, than of civil and 
 religious liberty. However scanty their means might 
 be, it was their earnest desire to raise up men of 
 stature, and not pigmies, to be their successors in 
 bearing the sword of the magistrate, and the ark of 
 the testimony. If they placed a high estimate upon 
 natural genius and mental cultivation, it was with the 
 hope that both would be made subservient to the in- 
 terests of religion. Hence were the earliest and now 
 most flourishing Colleges of NewEngland,dedicaled"Jo 
 Christ and the Church" by their pious founders. And 
 in looking over their stellated triennial records, for 
 the names of those who "were of old men of renown," 
 it is peculiarly animating to find, how many of them 
 were as much distinguished for their piety, as for their 
 talents and erudition. We confidently believe, that 
 those venerable seats of science, from which the "wor-
 
 32 
 
 thies" of so many generations have gone out, to bless 
 and enlighten the churches, and to become the firm- 
 est pillars in the state, will be more and more distin- 
 guished in the annals of future times. The dedica- 
 tion of which I have just spoken, was not a vain and 
 empty ceremony. There was meaning in every 
 word. It was the love of Christ constraining the 
 heart, which prompted to extraordinary efforts and 
 sacrifices, in laying the foundations of Harvard, of 
 Yale, of JNassau Hall, and of Dartmouth. The same 
 spirit we trust, has predominated among the founders 
 of those kindred seminaries, which have more recently 
 sprung up in various parts of our land. In reference 
 to the Institution, which is now just rising into being 
 before our eye, we heed not the reproach of weakness 
 and presumption when we say, that our confident ex- 
 pectations of its future growth and prosperity, rest 
 chiefly upon its being consecrated to Christ and the 
 Church, and being daily commended to God in so many 
 closets and families. May Christ and the church be 
 inseparable from all the prayers and hopes and wishes 
 and gifts of its benefactors; and may 'Christ be form- 
 ed in the heart of every student, the hope of glory/ 
 Then, not only will it live; but be worthy to live. 
 Then will the blessing of many ready to perish 
 come upon its sons. 
 
 The observations which I have made in this ad- 
 dress, upon the three great branches of education, 
 have so direct a bearing upon the question of age, in 
 reference to entering College, that I hope I shall be 
 indulged in a few additional remarks. On this subject, 
 no general rule can be laid down which will apply to 
 every case. Some lads have more maturity, both of 
 bodv and mind, at twelve, than others have at fifteen,
 
 33 
 
 or sixteen. Still, there is a general order of nature, 
 which should be carefully studied and observed. By 
 strictly attending to this, \ve shall be able to fix, with 
 a good degree of precision, upon the age when the 
 generality of youth, are physically and mentally pre- 
 pared for admission into a public seminary. This, I 
 am fully convinced, is not so early as parental partial- 
 ity and young ambition are apt to suppose. Neither 
 the physical constitution and health, nor the intellect- 
 ual powers, nor the moral habits of a mere child, 
 are sufficiently established and consolidated, to render 
 it either profitable, or safe for him, to encounter the 
 many difficulties and temptations of a thorough classical 
 course. All experience proves, that not one lad in a 
 hundred, at the age of thirteen, or fourteen, can 
 grapple with natural and mental philosophy, or with 
 the higher branches of mathematics. In order to do 
 this, the mind must have attained to something like 
 maturity, and this it does not ordinarily do, till near 
 the close of minority. If a student can graduate at 
 twenty, or even a year or two later, he ought, in 
 almost every case to be satisfied. His education is 
 much more likely to be thorough, than if he had en- 
 tered very young. It cannot be doubted that many 
 have lost the greater part of their junior year, as well 
 as much of the sophomore and senior, merely by en- 
 tering college too early, and being driven on through 
 studies to which their minds were not yet equal. 
 Many, also, by too much confinement, and by intense 
 application in the greenness of their growth, have 
 early closed both their studies and their lives together. 
 Nor are these the only objections to premature ma- 
 triculation. A child can rarely form a correct esti- 
 mate of the value of a good education so that if he 
 5
 
 34 
 
 was able to press on, with the older competitors, he 
 is not so likely to feel the importance of diligence in 
 study. And what may be more than all, is the ex- 
 posure of his morals, at the critical age, when he is 
 most likely to be led into temptation. 
 
 To the question, 'what then shall we do with our 
 sons, when they are fitted for College at an early age? 7 
 I answer, put them upon a preparatory course, which 
 will require more time, by embracing a wider range 
 than is commonly taken. In some respects, I know, 
 a student may be too well fitted, but there are stud- 
 ies, particularly those which require thought and inven- 
 tion, on which I should think he might bestow a year 
 or two, without much danger. Perhaps the better 
 way, however, in most cases would be, to reserve a 
 considerable portion of time between the ages of 
 twelve and sixteen, for manual labour. Nothing is so 
 likely to give the lad a good constitution, and make 
 him willing to study, as being obliged to wipe the sweat 
 from his own brow through the long summer months, 
 and to learn a little from his own experience, how much 
 toil it costs to carry him through college. 
 
 Another topic on which I had intended to enlarge, 
 is the education of indigent pious youth for the Gospel 
 ministry. And I was the more desirous of stating my 
 views somewhat at length, on account of the benevo- 
 lent origin and leading design of this institution. But 
 I must not trespass longer on your patience, than just 
 to glance at the subject. A new era in the history of 
 the American church is begun, by means of those 
 efforts which are now in successful operation, to ed- 
 ucate the pious poor, and prepare them for the holy 
 ministry. Hundreds of young men of promising tal- 
 ents, are at this moment members of our academies
 
 35 
 
 and Colleges, who but for the hand of Christian char- 
 ity would have remained in their native obscurity; and 
 thousands more will assuredly be assisted by the same 
 bounty to acquire a competent education for the sacred 
 office. This, certainly, is one of the animating signs 
 of the times in which it is our privilege to live. Why 
 were not education societies thought of fifty or a 
 hundred years ago? They might be reckoned among 
 the glories of any age. But experience has already 
 proved, that no ordinary judgment and discretion are 
 necessary, in selecting talents and piety from the shop 
 and the field in the distribution of hard earned char- 
 ity and in the general superintendance of a long list of 
 beneficiaries. It is not every pious youth, who has 
 talents for the pastoral office, or the missionary service. 
 Some, no doubt, are very devoted christians and very 
 desirous of becoming preachers too, whom no pains or 
 expense could ever qualify for the desk. Such may 
 think it hard to be rejected, especially if some of their 
 indigent companions are taken; but there ought to be 
 firmness and independence enough, to follow the dic- 
 tates of an enlightened judgment in an affair of so 
 much importance. It can be no advantage to any 
 young man, to be taken from the sphere in which God 
 designed he should act, and placed in one which he 
 can never fill: and most certainly, we have no right to 
 waste the sacred deposits of charity, upon well ascer- 
 tained imbecility, or dullness, though allied to the 
 purest motives in the applicant. Nor, in my opinion 
 would it be wise, even if funds were ever so ample, to 
 recal our industrious, indigent young men from the 
 plow, or to bid them lay down their tools, and then 
 carry them through all the stages of education, with- 
 out requiring any thing more of them, than a diligent
 
 36 
 
 attention to their studies. The change would, in the 
 first place, greatly endanger their health. Active and 
 laborious habits cannot be exchanged at once, for the 
 
 O 7 
 
 sedentariness of the school-room, with either comfort 
 or safety: and why should not the beneficiary make 
 his needful exercise, contribute if he can, towards his 
 own support? 
 
 Besides; to excuse him for several years from all 
 labour and hardship, would, in a great measure, dis- 
 qualify him for the very service in which it must be 
 the duty of many to engage. We want young men 
 for the ministry, who are inured to self denial and who 
 will be ready to "endure hardness as good soldiers of 
 Jesus Christ," wherever he may send them. We 
 want soldiers for this holy war, who will cheerfully 
 march to the frontiers, and pitch their tents in the 
 dark interminable forests of the west and south. We 
 want missionaries to go forth and gather congregations 
 from the cabins of the wilderness, and to carry the 
 Gospel to far distant pagan millions. Now what is 
 the best wdy, to prepare indigent piety for these ar- 
 duous and self-denying labours? Certainly not to re- 
 move it ffom the straw cot, and pillow it upon the 
 softest down. Certainly not to excuse the young man 
 from all concern about his own support. On the con- 
 trary, he ought to be distinctly informed, when he 
 lays down the hoe and the broad axe, that he is to 
 help himself as far as he can, and to expect no more 
 charitable aid, than his necessities may absolutely re- 
 quire. That youth is not worthy of being assisted by 
 the late and early earnings of pious indigence, nor 
 even by the bounty of Christian affluence, who is not 
 willing to endure privations, and to make every rea- 
 sonable exertion in his own behalf.
 
 37 
 
 Moreover, entire reliance upon charity, during sev- 
 eral years of the forming age, can hardly fail of im- 
 pairing, if it .does not destroy that independence of 
 mind, which is essential in every high and difficult en- 
 terprize. If such a state of dependence is not quite 
 synonymous with anxious servility, it is too much to 
 expect from it, that free arid independent develope- 
 ment of talents and designs, which gives the brightest 
 promise of future usefulness. The best intentioned 
 patrons of indigent merit, are sometimes capricious? 
 and who in the midst of conflicting caprices, and earn- 
 estly desirous of pleasing all, can act like himself? 
 Better, therefore, to struggle and fare hard through 
 every stage of education, than for the sake of being 
 wholly supported, to run the hazard of acquiring a 
 kind of tame neutrality of character in such a school. 
 
 I hope that in speaking thus freely, I shall not be 
 thought indifferent to the comfort of those pious de- 
 pendent youth, on whom the hopes of the church are 
 now fixed. Let them receive all needed assistance. 
 Few, probably, are in danger of being injured by receiv- 
 ing too much, while owing to the scantiness of our char- 
 ities, many are subjected to very great embarrassments. 
 In the struggles and discouragements of this latter 
 class, I feel, and trust I always shall feel a lively inter- 
 est. Haud ignarus mali miseris succurrere disco. 
 
 But if I am not mistaken, the views which I have 
 ventured to express on this highly important and del- 
 icate subject, accord with the sentiments which are 
 now generally entertained, by the enlightened friends 
 of charitable education; and they afford a sufficient 
 answer to a popular objection against the system. 
 We are charged with demanding the widow's mite, 
 and the poor servant girl's wages, to support a host of 
 healthy young men in ease and idleness. This is un-
 
 38 
 
 true. We demand nothing. We are anxious, indeed, 
 to increase the number of well educated ministers by 
 bringing forward the pious poor, and are not ashamed 
 to ask the Christian public to assist us. But we require 
 the beneficiaries to be saving, and to rely on their own 
 earnings as far as their health and circumstances will 
 allow. All we ask is, that when they have done what 
 they can, they may be helped forward by the hand 
 of charity. 
 
 These I take to have been the views of the benev- 
 olent founders of this Institution. They intended to 
 help those, who are willing to help themselves. 
 While, therefore, the indolent and the extravagant 
 will be scrupulously rejected, the deserving poor of 
 every denomination, who have respectable talents and 
 desire to consecrate them to God in the ministry, will 
 be cheerfully patronized. The funds of the Institu- 
 tion, indeed, will not enable the Trustees to do all 
 they could wish; but they rely on the further aid of 
 that Christian benevolence which is enabling them to 
 do so much; and the hope is indulged, that arrange- 
 ments may ere long be made, in connexion with the 
 seminary to furnish convenient, health giving and pro- 
 ductive labour, for all the indigent students, whether 
 they have the ministry in view or not. And here, let 
 me just remark, that I think poor young men of good 
 talents, who are not counted pious, have been too litj 
 tie regarded in the benevolent plans of this remarka- 
 ble age. Why should they not be educated with the 
 hope, that God will change their hearts and make 
 them eminently useful? And why to this end, should 
 not funds be raised to assist them? Who can tell 
 how much they might do, to bless the state, the church 
 and the world?
 
 39 
 
 In looking round, this day, from the spot where wa 
 now stand; in thinking of the past and then of the 
 future, what emotions of gratitude and hope fill the be- 
 nevolent mind! Whence these walls built in troublous 
 times these goodly edifices which greet the eye and 
 gladden the heart from afar? Whence this youthful 
 band of brethren, dwelling together in unity, improv- 
 ing their minds by an elevated course of study, and so 
 many of them walking, as we trust, in the "ways of 
 pleasantness, in the paths of peace?" Whence all that 
 our eyes now see and our ears hear? Verily God 
 hath heard the prayer of his servants and blessed the 
 work of their hands. Hitherto, may they say, hath 
 the Lord helped us! 
 
 And will he frown all that is before us into ruins 
 and forgetfulness? Will he forsake this comely daugh- 
 ter of Zion in her tender years, and after giving her 
 so many tokens of his favour? We cannot believe it. 
 He may afflict her still more, but surely he will cher- 
 ish her growth, he will comfort her heart, he will raise 
 her up friends. Under his smiles and sustained by 
 his arm, she will hold on her way, and as she advan- 
 ces, will scatter blessings with both her hands upon 
 many, who are famishing for the bread of life. She 
 will not envy her elder sisters, who have riches, ward- 
 robes and more attendants and are moving in higher 
 spheres than her own: but she will emulate their vir- 
 tues, rejoice in their prosperity, strive to deserve their 
 affection, and seek for herself that "adorning of a 
 meek and quiet spirit, which in the sight of God is of 
 great price." In this quiet, modest and beneficent 
 course, who can wish her any thing but success? Where 
 is the hand, that would rudely thrust her back, or the 
 heart that can triumph in her disappointments, that
 
 40 
 
 can rejoice in her afflictions? But should she be 're- 
 viled, let her not revile again.' Should one 'cheek be 
 smitten let her turn the other also!' Let the same mind 
 be in her which was in Christ Jesus arid she can have 
 nothing to fear. 
 
 As we cast our eyes down the long track of time, 
 from this consecrated eminence, how many bright and 
 interesting visions croud upon our view. We, indeed, 
 shall soon be gone; but other generations will come, and 
 what may they not enjoy and accomplish, canopied as 
 they will be, by those Arcadian skies, invigorated by 
 the pure breath of the mountains, and inspired to 
 rapture and to song as they look abroad upon all the 
 riches, life and beauty of this great amphitheatre? 
 How many favoured sons of this institution, will hold 
 sweet converse here, with the muse that loves the 
 hill of Ziori! How many statesmen, historians and 
 orators will be trained on this ground, to shine in sen- 
 ates, to grace the bar, to adorn the bench of justice, 
 and to record the doings of the wise, the brave and 
 the good. But more than all that has been mention- 
 
 o 
 
 ed, what may not this seminary do for the churches 
 at home what victories may she not gain in distant 
 lands, by sending forth her sons under the banner of 
 the cross, and clad in armour of heavenly temper to 
 fight the battles of her King? 
 
 Who is there in this assembly, that is not ready to 
 answer, May these glowing anticipations be more than 
 realized, in the future prosperity and usefulness of this 
 Institution? May it live to gladden and bless the church 
 through all future generations; and in that world, 
 where holiness is perfect and knowledge is transcend- 
 ant, may all its founders, patrons and friends meet and 
 dwell together forever in the presence of God and 
 the Lamb.
 
 PREACHED JULT'lZ, 1807, 
 
 AT THE 
 
 FUNERAL 
 
 OF THE 
 
 REV. ALEXANDER MACWHORTER, D. D. 
 
 SENIOR PASTOR OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, 
 IN 
 
 NEWARK, 
 
 * 
 
 NEW-JERSEY. 
 
 BY EDWARD D. 'GRIFFIN, A. M, 
 
 SURVIVING PASTOR OF SAID CHURCH. 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY S. COULD) 
 OPPOSITE THE CITY-HALL, 
 
 1807.
 
 - 

 
 TO THE 
 
 CONGREGATION 
 
 UNDER THE AUTHOR'S PASTORAL CHARGE. 
 
 MY DEAR FRIENDS, v_ 
 
 THE following sermon, preached in memory 
 of a pastor justly dear to us all, and now pub- 
 lished at your request, and for your special use, 
 I affectionately dedicate to you. 
 
 In the biographical part, I have descended to a 
 minuteness of detail, which I am aware would be 
 uninteresting to strangers; but certainly not to 
 you and the bereaved family, whose common 
 gratification I have had chiefly in view. You 
 will jind several pages of narrative that were o- 
 mitted in the delivery, and other matter which 
 was necessarily reserved till the subsequent Sab- 
 bath. Neither the time nor the occasion admitted 
 of presenting the entire sermon on the day of the
 
 IV 
 
 interment ; but I trust no apology is necessary for 
 laying the whole before you in the present form. 
 
 That God may comfort you under your bereave- 
 ment, and render this discourse in some degree use- 
 ful to you, is the anxious desire and prayer of 
 
 . 
 Your affectionate Pastor, 
 
 EDWARD D. GRIFFIN. 
 
 Newark, Aug. 10, 1807.
 
 
 A SERMON. 
 
 PSALM CXIL 6. 
 
 THE RIGHTEOUS SHALL BE IN EVERLASTING 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 IT is with trembling and distress that I present 
 myself under this awful stroke of the Almighty, to 
 address my afflicted congregation, and to mingle my 
 sorrows with our widowed church. Standing in the 
 place from which our friend has so often addressed 
 us, and oppressed with the sight of these solemn 
 badges of wo, I have no heart to speak. But duty 
 has assigned my task, and I will perform it as well 
 as I can. It is not to utter my own complaints that 
 I have entered this house of God ; but to speak a 
 word of comfort to my friends, and to execute the 
 last sad office of respect and love to my departed fa- 
 ther.
 
 The words which I have read are susceptible of a 
 double construction, as the term everlasting may be 
 understood either in a limited or an absolute sense. 
 They import either that the righteous man shall long; 
 be remembered with affection and reverence on earth, 
 or that he shall be had in eternal remembrance before 
 God and the inhabitants of heaven. Both positions 
 may be supported as general truths ; and from the 
 double meaning evidently contained in many max- 
 ims, as well as predictions, of the Old Testament, es- 
 pecially in those which are couched in such indefinite 
 terms, we may reasonably presume that both ideas 
 are expressed in these words. We shall therefore 
 dwell a few moments on each. 
 
 I. The righteous shall be long remembered with 
 affection and reverence on earth. This however is 
 true only as a general proposition, which admits of 
 many exceptions. Piety is not the door to fame in 
 the splendid circles of the great. Many of the ex- 
 cellent of the earth have been overlooked in their 
 life, and forgotten in their death. Thousands have 
 given their bodies to the flames to gain a martyr's 
 crown ; 
 
 " Yet few remember them. They liv'd unknown, 
 " Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, 
 " And chas'd them up to heav'n. Their ashes flew
 
 " No marble tells us whither. With their names 
 " No bard embalms and sanctifies his song : 
 " And history, so warm on meaner themes, 
 " Is cold on this."* 
 
 Yet notwithstanding this complaint of the poet, one 
 of the wisest observers of human affairs has stated it 
 as a general maxim, that the memory of the just is 
 blessed, but the name of the -wicked shall rot. Men 
 of the world, by their intrepidity in vice and their 
 impenetrable assurance, by the brilliancy and point 
 of their wit, and their arts of address, may attract, 
 while they live, more attention than the truly good ; 
 but it is often otherwise when they are dead. The 
 infidel himself, while he praises the living sinner, 
 venerates the departed saint. It is not those who in 
 the circles of profaneness can raise the loudest laugh 
 against the religion of Christ, that posterity will 
 most revere ; but the sincere worshippers of God. 
 and the benefactors of mankind. While a thousand 
 titled libertines, who once dazzled the croud with 
 their stars and crescents, now sleep with vulgar dust, 
 with names that have scarcely reached the ear of 
 posterity, a Baxter, a Flavel, a Whitefield, an Ed- 
 wards, a Tennent, and a Davies, live still in the af- 
 
 * Cowper.
 
 fections of mankind, and are immortal. It was a 
 saying of a Jewish Rabbi, founded on ancient tra- 
 dition, " Whoever makes mention either of the just, 
 and does not bless him, or of the wicked, and does 
 not curse him, transgresses a positive precept." 
 However this traditionary precept may fail to be 
 observed towards the living, it is by the common 
 consent of mankind observed towards the dead. 
 
 II. The righteous shall be had in everlasting re- 
 membrance before God and the inhabitants of hea- 
 ven. Ten thousand ages hence, neither their per- 
 sons nor their works shall be forgotten. The small- 
 est act of charity which they performed, the faint- 
 est sigh which they breathed for sin, the feeblest de- 
 sire which they moved towards God, though long 
 forgotten by themselves, shall then be remembered 
 by Him. Their pious deeds shall be celebrated in 
 the circles of the redeemed, and among the count- 
 less millions of holy angels, when the exploits of an 
 Alexander, a C<esar, and a Bonaparte, shall be for- 
 gotten, or mentioned as we now mention the 
 
 destructive feats of mischievous children ; or rather 
 as we mention the actions of a Cain, a Cataline, or 
 an Arnold. When these heroes shall no longer 
 fill the trump of fame, and the page of history 
 which transmitted their names to posterity, shall long
 
 since have perished in the general conflagration, the 
 conflicts which these Worthies maintained with their 
 own hearts in secret, and the victories which they ob- 
 tained over themselves, shall make a conspicuous fig- 
 ure in the annals of heaven. Then, an Alexander who 
 faithfully laboured half a century in the gospel of 
 Christ, will have greater fame than the Alexander 
 who conquered Asia. 
 
 But with the inhabitants of heaven we leave the 
 fame of the righteous in that world ; our business is 
 to preserve their name on earth, Not only is there 
 a sacred pleasure in perpetuating in this world the 
 memory of the great and good, but it is an essential 
 benefit to society, as it gives continued force to their 
 example, and awes vice by the majesty of their au- 
 thority. But when one is removed who was not on- 
 ly great and good, but for a long course of years ac- 
 ted a conspicuous part in supporting the interests of 
 literature and the Church, it is due to him, it is due 
 to society, it is due to the Church of Christ, that the 
 memory of his actions should be more circumstan- 
 tially preserved. Such a one is fallen this day in our 
 Israel : and believing that the present is a pro- 
 per time to sketch the outlines of his history and cha- 
 racter, I must not detain you longer by abstract re- 
 marks, but must enter at once on this mournful task, 
 
 B 
 1
 
 6 
 
 1 am aware that funeral eulogies are prone to de- 
 generate into blind, indiscriminate praise. To a- 
 void the appearance of this evil, I shall be sparing 
 of general encomiums, content to let the history 
 and character of my departed friend speak for them- 
 selves. Fidelity on such occasions does not indeed 
 require us to hunt for imperfections. I shall only 
 be careful that in drawing the picture of his virtues, 
 I do not lay oa my colours with so lavish a hand as 
 to conceal the features I wish to present. I know 
 the suspicions attached to one supposed to be pre- 
 judiced by affection : I shall therefore be cautious 
 what I say. Standing as I do in this scene of death, 
 and by the awful remains of departed greatness, I 
 will hold myself bound as by the solemnity of an 
 oath, and every word shall be true according to my 
 best knowledge and belief. 
 
 DOCTOR MACWHORTER was of Scotch extrac- 
 tion. His maternal ancestors were among the first 
 emigrants from Scotland to the North of Ireland ; 
 and the family of his father removed to the same 
 country about the time of his father's birth. By 
 his mother he had the honour of descending from 
 martyrs. Both of her maternal grandparents fell a 
 sacrifice to papal fury, in the great Irish massacre of 
 1641, while England was convulsed by the civil
 
 7 
 
 wars of Charles I.* None of the family survived this 
 horrid scene except her mother, who, at that time an 
 infant, tvas concealed by her nurse, and preserved 
 from impending death. On so minute a providence 
 did the future existence of this luminary- of the 
 Church depend. His immediate parents, Hugh and 
 Jane, lived in the county of Armagh, in the North of 
 Ireland ; where his father was for many years a linen 
 merchant. The eldest of their children, whose 
 name was Alexander, was a son of distinguished 
 talents and piety ; and being intended for the gos- 
 pel ministry, spent two years at the university of 
 Edinburgh. At his solicitation, the family remo- 
 ved to America, about the year 1730, and settled 
 in the county of Newcastle, Delaware ; where his 
 father became a distinguished farmer, and an el- 
 der of the Church, under the pastoral care at first 
 of Mr. Hutchinson, and afterwards of Mr. Rodgers, 
 now Doct. Rodgers of New- York. Alexander di- 
 ed before he had completed his studies, leaving 
 a most excellent character : and our future pastor, 
 being born about a month after, bore his brother's 
 name. But so affected were the family with their 
 recent affliction, that his name was not suffered to 
 
 * They were hanged on a tree before their own door.
 
 8 
 
 be pronounced in the house for six months after 
 his birth. 
 
 The second Alexander, the youngest of eleven 
 children, was born July 15, 1734. O. S. It was 
 his happiness to be blessed with parents eminent 
 for piety, and abundant in their labours to train 
 up their children in the nurture and admonition of 
 the Lord. It was their custom to devote the eve- 
 ning of every Lord's day, among other seasons,, 
 to this tender and interesting service ; a practice, 
 which was common among pious parents of that 
 age ; would God it were as common now ! He 
 remembered, till the day of his death, the tender 
 solicitude of a father who would often take him 
 alone into the woods, and of a mother who no less 
 frequently would retire with him to a private a- 
 partment, to exhort him with tears, and to en- 
 treat him by all the anguish of a parent's heart 
 to be reconciled to God. These faithful admoni- 
 tions would often awaken him to temporary seri- 
 ousness and prayer ; and though they did not at once 
 produce an abiding effect, they were not lost. 
 
 In February, 1748, when he was in his 14th 
 year, he was deprived of his excellent father, who 
 at his death left four children, all of whom were
 
 many proofs of the happy effects of parental 
 faithfulness. They were all communicants in the 
 church, and lived and died agreeably to their pro- 
 fession.* The three eldest being already settled 
 in North Carolina, their mother, in the following 
 autumn, removed into that State, accompanied by 
 Alexander, who left his paternal estate, in Delaware, 
 under the care of a guardian. Here first commen- 
 ced his permanent religious impressions, under a 
 sermon preached by Mr. John Brown, (one of 
 those evangelical preachers who in that day were 
 called A r ew Lights^} from Ps. vii. 12. If he turn 
 not, he -will -whet his sivord; he hath bent his bow 
 and made it ready. An arrow of a different na- 
 ture reached his heart. The horrors of guilt, and 
 the terrors of eternal judgment, from that moment 
 assailed him, and for near three years filled him 
 with indescribable distress. He used daily to re- 
 pair to a copse of pines, near his brother's house, 
 
 * The eldest of these was Nancy, married to Alexan- 
 der Osborne ; the second was John j the third was Jane, 
 married to John Brevard. They are all deceased. Some 
 of them lived to advanced age$ and their descendants are 
 still numerous in North Carolina. 
 
 f Mr. Brown was afterwards a settled minister for ma- 
 xiy years in Virginia.
 
 10 
 
 v, here he resided ; and there, to use his own ex- 
 pressive words, -would dasfi himself on the ground, 
 looking for the earth to open and swallow him up. 
 Thus the seed of truth, which had been planted by 
 a father's care, and watered by a mother's tears, 
 was preparing to shoot. 
 
 After spending two or three years in Carolina, he 
 took his leave, (and, as it proved, his final leave) of 
 his mother, to pursue his education under the di- 
 rection of his guardian.* At first he was entered 
 in a private school in a small hamlet in Delaware, 
 which has since grown to a village by the name 
 of Newark. Thence he was removed to a pub- 
 lick school at West-Nottingham, Cecil county, Ma- 
 ryland, under the care of the Rev. Mr. Finley, af- 
 terwards President of the College of New-Jersey. 
 Here the darkness which had long involved him, 
 was dispersed; and he was enabled for the first 
 
 * Before his father's death, Doct. Rodgers, who had ta- 
 ken the charge of the congregation, had remarked the pro- 
 mising talents of this youth, at a time when he and the 
 other children of the neighbourhood were assembled to be 
 catechised by their minister. And now, after his return 
 from Carolina, he received from Doct. Rodgers some af- 
 fectionate attentions, which laid the foundation of that in- 
 timate friendship which ever after subsisted between them.
 
 11 
 
 time to rest his soul on Christ, to a degree that 
 gave him confidence, shortly after, to enter into 
 communion with Mr. Finley'k church. 
 
 Having continued two years in that school, in May, 
 1756, being in his 22d year, he joined the junior class 
 in the College which was then in this town. Thus 
 he began his publick career in science in the very 
 place which was destined to be the scene of his fu- 
 ture usefulness. The ground on which his youthful 
 feet trod, was reserved to be the resting place of his 
 weary limbs, after the labours of more than half a 
 century. 
 
 It was already determined to remove the College 
 to Princeton; on which account President Burr's 
 pastoral relation to this church had the year before 
 been dissolved. In October of this year the College 
 was removed, and Mr. Macwhorter belonged to the 
 first class which graduated at Princeton. He took 
 his degree in the autum of 1757, a few days after 
 the lamented death of Mr. Burr. 
 
 Having thus completed his academical studies, he 
 was on the point of returning to North Carolina, to 
 take his mother's counsel in regard to the future 
 course of his life, when he received the afflicting news
 
 
 12 
 
 of her death. This changed his purpose, and he en- 
 tered upon the study of Divinity, under the instruc- 
 tion of the Rev. William Tennent, the pious and 
 justly celebrated minister of Freehold, in this State. 
 
 In August following, (1758,) he was licensed to 
 preach by the presbytery of New Brunswick, which 
 sat at Princeton ; and in October was married to 
 Mary dimming, daughter of Robert Gumming Esq, 
 of Freehold, a respectable merchant, and high she- 
 riff of the county of Momnouth. By this marriage 
 he was introduced into a family connexion with his 
 revered instructor, Mr. Tennent.* 
 
 * Robert Gumming, Esq. was twice married. By the 
 first marriage he had three children : the eldest was Alex- 
 ander, who was a minister of the gospel for several years in 
 the city of New-York, and afterwards in the Old South 
 Church in the town of Boston, where he died, 1763 ; the 
 second was Lawrence ; and the third was Mary (Mrs. Mac- 
 whorter.) He formed a second marriage with Miss No- 
 ble, daughter (by a former husband) of Mrs. Tennent. By 
 her he had four children : the eldest was Catharine, mar- 
 ried to the Rev. Philip Stockton ; the second was Ann, 
 married to the Rev. William Schenck ; the third was John 
 Noble, now General Gumming of this town ; and the fourth 
 was Peggy* who died unmarried. 
 
 Doct. Macwhorter had five children: the eldest waa
 
 13 
 
 This congregation, after the dismission of Mr. 
 Burr, fell into a state of unhappy division, which 
 continued near four years ; some blaming the 
 Presbytery for removing their pastor ; others, their 
 neighbours for consenting to his removal. Certain 
 unpleasant disputes which existed at the same time 
 relative to the parsonage lands, were not calculated 
 to allay the animosity. In the collision of interests 
 and passions, too common on such occasions, the 
 people were long divided between different candi- 
 dates, until Mr. Macwhorter, on the 28th day of 
 June, 1759, preached his first sermon to them. At 
 once they fixed their eyes on him as the object of 
 their united choice. 
 
 Mr. Macwhorter had been appointed by the Sy- 
 nod of New- York and Philadelphia to a mission a- 
 mong his friends in North Carolina ; and with that 
 view he was ordained by his Presbytery, at Cran- 
 
 Mary, married to Samuel Beebe, Merchant, now of New- 
 York. She is deceased. The second was Ann, married 
 to the Rev. George Ogilvie ; the third was Alexander 
 Gumming, now Counsellor at Law in this town ; th^ 
 fourth was John, who was a Counsellor at Law, and died 
 a few months before his father ; the fifth was Hugh Ro- 
 bert, who died in infancy. 
 
 c
 
 berry, on the 4th day of July.* But Providence 
 jhad formed other designs concerning him. At that 
 Tery meeting of Presbytery, commissioners from 
 Newark appeared, and by their solicitations, second- 
 ed by the influence of Mr. Tennent, obtained him 
 for a supply. The people were so well satisfied 
 with his ministerial qualifications, that they harmo- 
 niously agreed to present him a call, and he was in- 
 stalled the same summer, at the age of 25, within 
 two years after he had graduated. 
 
 In the course of his ministry, he bore an impor- 
 tant part in all the leading measures, which, for near 
 half a century, have been adopted, to promote the 
 order and interest of the Presbyterian Church in the 
 United States. 
 
 He was among the first subscribers to the Wid- 
 ow? s Fund, which was established in 1761 ; and in 
 later life, was for many years a director of that be- 
 nevolent institution. 
 
 In 1764, the Synod renewed his appointment to 
 
 * Mr. Kirkpatrick, who had been appointed to accom- 
 pany him, was ordained at the same time.
 
 15 
 
 the mission into North Carolina ;* which gave him 
 an opportunity to revisit his family friends, from 
 whom he had been separated more than 12 years. 
 But this mission came near costing him his life. 
 While in Carolina, he was seized with the bilious 
 fever incident to the climate, which left him with 
 a hectick, accompanied with expectoration of blood, 
 that for two years threatened to put an early pe- 
 riod to his usefulness. Yet in this scene of af- 
 fliction, it pleased God, in the winter of 1764, 5, 
 to encourage him with a revival of religion in his 
 congregation. In the following summer, he received 
 a call from the united congregations of Center and 
 Poplar Tent, in North Carolina ; which, though it 
 presented him an opportunity to settle among the 
 children and descendants of his father, he thought 
 it his duty to reject. In 1766, the state of his health 
 became so critical, that he was induced to try the 
 experiment of a Northern journey; and a tour which 
 he made to Boston in the autumn of this year, proved 
 the means of his sudden and complete restoration. 
 From his first settlement in this place, he had been 
 regularly . subject to an attack of the pleurisy once 
 
 * In this mission, as well as in the one appointed by 
 Congress, afterwards to be mentioned, Mr. Spencer of Tren- 
 ton was associated with him.
 
 16 
 
 or twice a year ; but after this return of health, he 
 experienced no recurrence of the disorder as long 
 as he lived. Except a few short periods of illness, 
 and a paralytick affection in his hands, which he in- 
 herited from his father, and which grew upon him 
 as he advanced in years, he enjoyed vigorous health 
 even to old age. 
 
 Soon after his return from Boston, the congrega- 
 tion in that town, which had three years before be- 
 came vacant by the death of Mr. Gumming, his 
 brother-in-law, proposed to him to take a dismission 
 from his people, preparatory to receiving a call from 
 them ; as they had conscientious scruples about 
 calling a settled minister. This preliminary step 
 he refused to take, and the business went no fur- 
 ther. 
 
 In 1772, he was elected a trustee of the College of 
 New- Jersey, and continued a very important mem- 
 ber of that board till a few months before his death. 
 
 The smie year commenced the second revi- 
 val of religion under his ministry, which proved 
 more extensive than the former, and continued a- 
 bout two years. At the close of this period, in 
 1774, the congregation, under the animating influ-
 
 17 
 
 ence of their pastor, engaged with a laudible spi- 
 rit to erect a new church. A considerable sum was 
 raised for this purpose by subscription, and a quan- 
 tity of materials was collected ;* but the revo- 
 lutionary war, which commenced about this time, 
 interrupted the design ; and in the confusion which 
 followed for several years, all the materials were lost. 
 
 This town, from its central and exposed situa- 
 tion, shared largely in the troubles of the war. 
 Through the whole of that anxious period, Mr. 
 Macwhorter was an active friend of his country, 
 and partook with his afflicted congregation in the 
 hardships and perils of the revolution. This same 
 year, (1775,) he was appointed by Congress to visit 
 that district of North Carolina in which he had been 
 before, to employ his influence to bring over the e- 
 nemies of the revolution to the American interest. 
 But whatever zeal and abilities were exerted in this 
 enterprise, it issued, agreeably to his prediction to 
 Doct. Franklin, with little success. 
 
 In 1776, he was honoured with the degree of Doc- 
 
 * This design was carried so far, that early in 1775, 
 the trenches were opened for the foundation of the new 
 building.
 
 18 
 tor of Divinity by the corporation of Yale College. 
 
 In the following winter, when the American af- 
 fairs were at the lowest point of depression, when 
 Washington with a handful of half starved and 
 half naked troops, had fled through Jersey, and a- 
 bandoned the State to the ravages of the British 
 arms, the warm patriotism of our venerable father 
 carried him to the army, encamped on the Pennsyl- 
 vania shore, opposite to the city of Trenton, to con- 
 cert with Washington measures for the protection 
 of this State.* And he was there on the memorable 
 26th of December, \vhen the American troops cros- 
 sing the Delaware, took the Hessians, and turned 
 the tide of the war. 
 
 In the summer of 1778, at the solicitation of his 
 friend General Knox, he accepted the chaplainship 
 of his brigade, which lay then with the main army 
 at White Plains. During the few months that he 
 held this station, Washington was frequently his 
 auditor, and he was often Washington's guest. 
 
 * The Rev. Mr. Vanarsdale, of Springfield, feeling the 
 same glow of patriotism, accompanied him in this excursion.
 
 '19 
 
 While he was with the army, he was visited 
 with a severe affliction in his family. In the month 
 of July, Mrs. Macwhorter was struck with light- 
 ning, which scorching her head and body veiy 
 considerably, left her without any symptom of life. 
 Though she recovered her senses in a few hours, 
 she was unable to go abroad till the latter part of the 
 \vinter, and even then her life was for some time 
 very precarious. From this shock, her constitu- 
 tion which before had been feeble, never recov- 
 ered. The Doctor did not immediately take leave 
 of the army, but finding at length that his atten- 
 tions were necessary at home, he was obliged to 
 quit his station, and return to his family. 
 
 This affliction also prevented him from noticing, 
 as he otherwise would have done, an application 
 received in the month of June from the congrega- 
 tional church in the city of Charleston, in South 
 Carolina. But his attention was more seriously 
 turned to this subject in the following November, 
 by a regular call from that congregation. On this 
 occasion it was suggested to him, that the friends 
 of our College had fixed their eyes on him as 
 the future successor of President Witherspoon : 
 but notwithstanding this, his mind still inclined to- 
 wards Charleston. He had the call under considera-
 
 20 
 
 tion till February; but found at last that the state of 
 his family, and the critical situation of Charleston, 
 threatened at that time with an invasion, presented 
 difficulties which it was impossible to surmount. 
 
 In the following summer, (1779,) he received a 
 call from the congregation of Charlotte, Mecklen- 
 burg county, North Carolina, accompanied with an 
 invitation from the trustees of Charlotte Academy 
 to accept the presidency of that institution. 
 
 This was an infant Seminary, which promised, 
 under the fostering care of such a President, to be- 
 come an important seat of learning. It was situated 
 in the midst of his relatives, and in a part of the 
 country where he might hope to be removed from 
 the alarms of war. His congregation too had be- 
 come much deranged by the calamities of the revo- 
 lution, and his salary was deemed insufficient for his 
 support. All these things considered, he judged 
 it to be his duty to accept the call : and his friends 
 in the congregation, under existing circumstances, 
 did not oppose his removal. His pastoral relation 
 to this church was accordingly dissolved; and in Oc- 
 tober he took his leave of Newark, furnished, by 
 the liberality of his afflicted people, with every arti- 
 cle needful for his journey.
 
 21 
 
 Scarcely was he settled in his new abode, when 
 the troubles of the war found him there. The ar- 
 my of Cornwallis, scouring the country, entered 
 Charlotte. The Doctor with his family fled. 
 Upon his return, he found that he had lost his 
 library and furniture, with almost every thing that 
 he possessed. He remained in Charlotte about a 
 month after this calamity ; but apprehending new 
 inroads from the enemy, he quitted the place in the 
 autumn of 1780, and returned to Abington, in Penn- 
 sylvania, where he engaged to preach for the win- 
 ter. The people of Newark, hearing of his misfor- 
 tunes, and influenced by the mingled emotions of 
 sympathy and respect, invited him to make them a 
 visit. This he did in February, 1781. They soon 
 after sent him a regular call ; in consequence of 
 which he returned in April with his family ; and 
 though he was never reinstalled, he was consider- 
 ed and acted as the pastor of the congregation till 
 his death. 
 
 In the autumn of 1783, just at the close of the war, 
 the trustees of Washington Academy, in Somerset 
 county, Maryland, ignorant that Doct. Macwhor* 
 ter was permanently settled, offered him the presi- 
 dency of that institution, with a salary of 300 a 
 year. But though the principal object of the 

 
 institution was the education of pious youth for the 
 gospel ministry, and though the neighbouring coiuv 
 try opened an extensive field for his ministerial la- 
 hours, his attachment to a congregation which had 
 recently given him such ingenuous proofs of af- 
 fection, rendered it impossible for him to accept this 
 invitation* 
 
 The termination of the war was an event not 
 less happy for the pastor, than for the congregation. 
 No where was the effect more sensible than in this 
 place, which from that time commenced its rapid 
 growth from a few dispersed ranges of farm-houses, 
 to a large, beautiful, manufacturing town. The fol- 
 lowing year, (1784,) the long troubles of the pastor 
 and congregation, were succeeded by a glorious re- 
 vival of religion, which continued for two years. 
 In no period of the Doctor's ministry, was he ob- 
 served to be so deeply laden with a sense of ever- 
 lasting things, and so ardent in his desire to win 
 souls to Christ. Besides his labours on the Sab- 
 bath, he preached several times in the week, and 
 spent a part of almost every day in catechising, ex- 
 horting from house to house, or attending religious 
 societies. In this precious season, more than a 
 liundred souls were added to the church.
 
 23 
 
 This revival led to an important change in the 
 practice and discipline of the church. One eve- 
 ning in the autumn of 1785, when the Doctor's 
 mind was deeply impressed with divine things, he 
 expressed to two of his friends, in a private conver- 
 sation in which he was unusually tender and com. 
 municative, his concern for the want of discipline, 
 and the looseness which prevailed in the church ; 
 which he attributed to what has been called, the 
 half-ivay practice. It is still in the recollection of 
 those persons, in what a solemn and indignant man- 
 ner he deplored this practice, which he averred was 
 contrary to the usage of the primitive church, and 
 ' the opinion of the best fathers. He had found it 
 here, he said, when he was settled ; but added 
 with a sigh, how to get rid of it he did not know. 
 He stated the necessity of drawing a line of sepa- 
 ration between the clean and the unclean, and pro- 
 ceeded, in a distinct manner, to sketch the plan 
 which he approved ; which was precisely the same 
 that the session afterwards sanctioned, 
 
 As the subject was in a measure new to his friends, 
 they listened to it not without surprise : but the ve- 
 neration which they felt for their pastor, and the influ- 
 ence of his opinion, roused them at once to serious 
 attention to this matter. They soon became convin-
 
 ced, and were the means of convincing others. 
 Under the solemn impressions of that period, the 
 practice which the pastor had condemned began to 
 be contemplated in the congregation with increasing 
 concern. Still the hazard of a change was dread- 
 ed, and the doubts of some were to be overcome. 
 The more timid apprehended that a departure from 
 long established usage, might lead to contentions 
 and divisions. At length, however, after much in- 
 quiry and deliberation, the session, in 1790, took up 
 the subject in earnest. The Doctor publickly advo- 
 cated the proposed reformation, forcibly alleging 
 that no half-way members can be found in the bi- 
 ble, that there are but two classes of men, and 
 that they who are qualified to offer their children in 
 baptism, are equally fit for the other sacrament. 
 The decisive manner in which he treated these to- 
 picks, and others less distinctly recollected by the 
 surviving elders, removed every bar ; and it was 
 solemnly and unanimously decided, that from that 
 time, no persons should own the covenant U'ith a view 
 to offer their children in baptism, and to neglect the 
 Lord^s Supper ; and that the examination of candi- 
 dates for communion, which had been left to the mi- 
 nister only, should in future be conducted before the 
 session. And this has been the practice of the 
 church ever since. 

 
 25 
 
 . While this business was in agitation, the design 
 of erecting a new church, which had been inter- 
 rupted by the war, was resumed ; and met at once 
 with so much encouragement, that in September, 
 1787, in less than a month after the business was 
 moved, the Doctor had the pleasure of laying the 
 foundation stone ; not however on the same lot 
 that had been selected before the war. Urged 
 forward by the influence of some, and encouraged 
 by the liberality of all, he himself obtained by 
 subscription a large proportion of the sum expend- 
 ed on this spacious and elegant building. He 
 went into other congregations to solicit money and 
 materials ; and so zealous was he to serve and a- 
 nimate the congregation, that, during the following 
 winter, he was daily in the forests, selecting tim- 
 ber which had been given him, and encouraging the 
 workmen. On the first day of January, 1791, the 
 house was opened for publick worship, and was 
 soon after elegantly completed : and it " stands," 
 in the modest language of your benefactor, " as a 
 monument of the generosity and publick spirit of 
 this society." But your language will be : " It stands 
 as a monument of the love and indefatigable ex- 
 ertions of our deceased pastor." And my prayer 
 is, that it may stand as a lasting remembrancer of 
 his many warnings and instructions, which these 
 walls have reflected upon your ears.
 
 26 
 
 While the new church was erecting, the Doctor's 
 attention was called to another subject of a still 
 more important nature. He was one of those great 
 and good men, who, in 1788, had principal in- 
 fluence in settling The Confession of Faith, and 
 framing the Constitution of the Presbyterian Church 
 in the United States j and in transferring the au- 
 thority of the highest judicatory from the Synod 
 to a General Assembly, which met first in May, 
 1739. Ten years afterwards, when a board of 
 trustees for the General Assembly was incorpo- 
 rated by the Legislature of Pennsylvania, at their 
 session in the winter of 1798, 9, he was named 
 in the charter as one of the board, and continued 
 to hold this trust, until the growing infirmities of 
 age induced him, in 1803, to resign it. 
 
 In 1796, he was blessed with another revival of 
 religion in the congregation, by means of which 
 30 or 40 new members were added to the church. 
 In 1802, the fifth and last revival under his ministry 
 commenced. This continued two years ; and in 
 that period, 140 new members, besides those re- 
 ceived from other churches, were added to our 
 communion ; of whom 113 were received in the 
 course of 12 months. 
 
 In former years, Doct. Macwhorter had been
 
 27 
 
 employed by the trustees of our College to ob- 
 tain subscriptions in this town for the benefit of 
 that Seminary : and when by the late disastrous 
 conflagration the College edifice was consumed, 
 they appointed him, in the spring of 1802, to so- 
 licit benefactions in New-England, to aid in the e- 
 rection of a new College. Advanced as he was in 
 years, his publick spirit would not suffer him to 
 shrink from the task ; and in the issue he brought 
 more than 7000 dollars into the College funds. 
 On very many less important occasions, his singular 
 skill and publick spirit were called forth in a si- 
 milar way ; but these it is neither proper nor pos . 
 sible to enumerate. 
 
 My reverend father lived to a good old age. As 
 I have heard him say, he lived to see two worlds 
 die. He trod the path of life with those who have 
 long since gone to rest. Your fathers knew him ; 
 and he helped to fit those for heaven whose aged 
 dust now sleeps in that hallowed ground. He bap- 
 tised most of you, and will shortly meet those fa- 
 ces at the bar of God which he covered with the 
 
 sacramental water. When I have heard him 
 
 talk of the events of other times, and the well 
 known characters with whom he acted on the pub- 
 lick stage, before I had existence, and saw him a-
 
 28 
 
 . 
 
 lone amidst a younger race,' I have often con- 
 templated him as a venerable oak which once 
 stood in the midst of the forest : the ruthless axe 
 of time has laid his companions low ; and now he 
 stands alone on the open plain, and every wither- 
 ed leaf trembles in the blast. That trunk which 
 seventy winters had in vain assailed, must fall at 
 last, like the companions of his youth. He has 
 fallen, and is gathered to his fathers ! He no long- 
 er stands alone in the open plain ; he is surround- 
 ed once more by the companions of his youth, and 
 stands, we trust, transplanted and renewed among 
 the trees in the paradise of God. 
 
 Yes, he lived to a good old age, and saw what 
 changes the current of threescore years will make 
 in a transitory world. In the spring of 1806, at 
 the close of the last General Assembly that he at- 
 tended, he felt a desire to visit once more the place 
 of his nativity, which he had not seen for more 
 than 40 years. He made an excursion to New- 
 castle county ; and when he arrived on the ground 
 which had often been paced over with his infant 
 steps, he knexv it not Every thing was changed. 
 The information of strangers was necessary to 
 tell him that there his father lived. A cellar, half 
 filled by time, marked the spot where he first drew
 
 29 
 
 breath. He could find none that knew him, and 
 but one aged person that ever knew the family. He 
 requested only to be supplied with a glass from 
 the spring that used to slake his boyish thirst, that 
 he might say, " I have tasted that spring again ;" 
 
 and this desire fulfilled, he hastily turned and 
 
 left the scene forever. 
 
 On the evening of the 25th of December last, 
 he received an injury from a fall, from which he 
 never recovered. He went to the house of God 
 no more. In the first stages of his illness, he said 
 little which discovered the state of his mind, ex- 
 cept the often repeated sentence, It is the Lord, and 
 he does that which is perfectly right. In February, 
 when the dissolution of his aged consort was mani- 
 festly approaching, and his own nature was sinking 
 under infirmities, his younger son was taken off by 
 a disease, so rapid in its progress that his parents, 
 though in the neighbourhood, knew not that he was 
 sick till they heard that he was dead. At that awful 
 moment, I visited the father with a trembling heart, 
 expecting to find him overwhelmed with these com- 
 plicated calamities. But I found him composed and 
 submissive to a degree that told me, I had never 
 known this man of God before. From that time, 
 the submission and piety of his heart shone forth
 
 30 
 
 with increased loveliness ; his constitutional reserve 
 was in a measure gone, and his conversation often 
 breathed the tenderness and sweetness of gospel hu- 
 mility and comfort. On the 2d day of April, the 
 wife of his youth closed the long scene of her suf- 
 ferings, with all the interesting tokens of child- 
 like piety. He sustained the shock, as he had done 
 his other afflictions, with submission and patience. 
 He had now nothing to do but to make arrange- 
 ments for his own approaching dissolution. He sent 
 an affectionate and impressive farewell to his bre- 
 thren of the Presbytery ; he distributed his volumes 
 of sermons among his children, grand-children, and 
 relatives; and gave directions about his funeral. I 
 could never discover in him any solicitude about 
 death, except an anxiety to be gone. I die slow; I ne- 
 ver expected to die so slow, he would sometimes say. 
 One day I ventured to suggest to him a hope that 
 he might yet be continued with us, and begged him 
 not to despond. / have no despondency, said he ; 
 death and I have long been intimates. To a hint 
 that I could not do without him, he replied with 
 paternal tenderness, God will give you strength ac- 
 cording to your day ; only trust in him, and he will 
 support you under every trial I never discovered 
 any impatience in him, except when he was told 
 that he was better, and might possibly recover.
 
 31 
 
 When reminded that he was going to the compa- 
 nions of his youth, he replied with emotion, Yes, 
 there is a precious company of them ! ivhat a pre- 
 cious company ! When it was suggested that the 
 God whom he had long and faithfully served, would 
 not forsake him in old age, he answered with quick- 
 ness and apparent uneasiness, that he had no faith- 
 fulness of his own to rely on, that a review of his life 
 afforded him little satisfaction, that it had been mi- 
 serably polluted, and that his only hope rested on the 
 atonement of Uirist. He repeatedly lamented, in 
 strong language, the imperfection of his life, and dis- 
 carded every hope but that which the gospel affords. I 
 said to him, about three weeks ago, " You do not at 
 any time find your prospects clouded ?" He replied, 
 Ab, blessed be God! I have a steady hope. Always 
 patient, and always composed, he sometimes appear- 
 ed transported with Pisgah views. A few evenings 
 before his death, he was observed wrestling with God 
 for his release from the flesh. While he lay in the 
 struggles of death, I asked him whether he still en- 
 joyed the light of God's countenance. He lifted 
 his hands and eyes in a way of strong affirmation. 
 The last word which he uttered, was expressive of a 
 desire that we should unite with him in prayer. A few 
 minutes before he expired, he gave his hands to two 
 of his friends as a farewell token, and expressed by
 
 32 
 
 signs a wish to unite with us once more in prayer. 
 As the supplication was making that God would re- 
 lease him, and receive his departing spirit, he extend, 
 ed both of his arms towards heaven at full length, 
 Seemingly in the transports of faith and desire. It 
 was the last motion that he made. His hands fell and 
 moved no more. That moment the difficulty of his 
 respiration ceased ; he appeared perfectly at rest ; 
 and in five minutes breathed forth his soul, without 
 a struggle, into the bosom of his God. He expi- 
 red 37 minutes past 7 o'clock, on Monday evening, 
 the 20th instant, aged 73 years and 5 days. 
 
 Thus lived, and thus died Doctor Alexander 
 Macwhorter, after having served this people in the 
 gospel ministry 48 years. 
 
 The memory of the just is blessed! Let me die the 
 death of the righteous, and let my last end be like 
 his!* 
 
 * A church has been established in this town 140 years ; 
 during which time eight ministers, besides the one now 
 living, have been installed over it. 
 
 1. Mr. .. ... Pierson, having been episcopally ordain- 
 
 ed in or near Newark, in Eng-
 
 23 
 
 The aspect of Doct. Macwhorter was grave and 
 venerable, and strongly expressive of the properties 
 of his mind. His deportment was affectionate, pa- 
 ternal, and dignified ; calculated to inspire respect 
 
 land, came to this town with the 
 first settlers, in 1667; and died a* 
 bout the year 1680. 
 
 2, Mr. Abraham Pierson, son of the former, was for se- 
 veral years the colleague of his fa- 
 ther $ after whose death he con- 
 tinued to be the pastor of the con- 
 gregation only a few years. He 
 was dismissed, and afterwards set- 
 tled at Killingworth, in Connecti- 
 cut. His name is well known as 
 the first President of Yale-College. 
 
 3. Mr. John Prudden was settled about the year 1686, 
 
 and was dismissed about the year 
 1699. 
 
 4. Mr. Jabez Wakeman was installed in 1701, and died in 
 
 1704. 
 
 5. Mr. Nathaniel Bowers took the charge of the congrega- 
 
 tion about the year 1706, and was 
 dismissed about the year 1716. 
 
 6. Mr, Joseph Webb was installed Oct. 1719, and was 

 
 and dependance, and to repel the approach of pre- 
 sumptuous familiarity : yet in conversation he was 
 pleasant, and often facetious. At a great remove from 
 assumed importance and supercilious airs, which 
 
 dismissed about the year 1737. 
 
 7. Mr. Aaron Burr was installed about the year 1738, 
 
 and was dismissed in 1755, on ac- 
 count of the removal of the Col- 
 lege over which he presided. Pre- 
 sident Burr was married to a 
 daughter of the celebrated Presi- 
 dent Edwards ; and was the father 
 of Col. Aaron Burr, late Vice-Pre- 
 sident of the United States, and 
 of Mrs. Reeve, wife of the Hon. 
 Tappan Reeve, one of the Judg- 
 es of the Supreme Court in the 
 State of Connecticut. 
 
 8. Doct. Alexander Macwhorter was installed in the sum- 
 
 mer of 1759. He was dismissed 
 in October, 1779; but returned, 
 and took the charge of the congre- 
 gation again ; which he held till 
 his death. 
 
 It is remarkable that all the ministers that were ever 
 settled over this church were dismissed, except the first, 
 and one other who died young.
 
 35 
 
 never were connected with such a mind as his, he 
 was much of a gentleman, and an uncommon in- 
 stance of true dignity. 
 
 He possessed a powerful and scientifick mind, 
 with a most retentive memory. He was wise and 
 discerning, and had an eye that could penetrate the 
 characters of men, and look through the connexion 
 and consequences of things. His apprehensions 
 were not quick, but unusually just. He possessed 
 little fancy, but a deep and solid judgment. His 
 genius had no uncommon share of vivacity ; it 
 held a stately and even coxirse. It had no wings ; 
 but it stood like the pillars of the earth. He ne- 
 ver would have gathered laurels in the paths of po- 
 etry ; but he would have filled with superior dig- 
 nity the seat of justice. His passions, like his un- 
 derstanding, were strong ; but ordinarily held by 
 strong restraints. With far less imagination than 
 intellect, he was no enthusiast in any thing. He 
 was never sanguine ; but cool, deliberate, and cau- 
 tious, to a degree that approached even to timidity ; 
 inclined rather to contemplate the difficulties of an 
 enterprise, than to calculate on success. Great, 
 as he was, he was a man of most unaffected and 
 consummate modesty. It was impossible for a 
 mind thus constructed to be ru.sb. He used to sav
 
 36 
 
 that the second requisite in a minister of the gospel 
 is prudence ; and he possessed this virtue, I may 
 say, almost to excess. 
 
 The furniture of his mind resembled its construe- 
 tion. He was more thoroughly versed in classical 
 literature than in Belles-Lettres ; and loved the 
 Mathematicks better than Milton or Pope. He 
 was a proficient in some of the Oriental langua- 
 ges. He had looked into the Syriack, had made 
 considerable progress in the Hebrew, and was cri- 
 tically acquainted with the Greek and Latin. He 
 was well furnished with theological and literary sci- 
 ence in general. He was a firm supporter of the 
 great doctrines of grace ; as his discourses which 
 you have heard from this sacred place, can wit- 
 ness ; and as his body of sermons, left among you 
 as a lasting monument of his love, sufficiently attest. 
 
 In the former part of his ministry, he was a pun- 
 gent and popular preacher : and though the ardour 
 of his addresses was necessarily abated by age, his 
 sermons continued to be instructive, and were 
 heard with affection by a people, who in his im- 
 paired voice still recognised the accents of a father. 
 His preaching was solid, judicious, and often mov- 
 ing. It was not the transient glare of the comet ;
 
 37 
 
 "but the strong and steady light of the sun. He re- 
 garded with sovereign contempt the pretty brillian- 
 cies and fustian declamation of those who show us 
 how an apostle did not preach. 
 
 But he never appeared in his might so perfectly 
 as in a deliberative assembly ; especially when his 
 cautious and penetrating mind had leisure to exa- 
 mine well the bearings of the subject. .Thoroughly 
 versed in all the forms of presbyterial business, with 
 a skill at management rarely surpassed, he filled a 
 great space in the judicatories of our church. His 
 voice was listened to with profound respect, and 
 the counsels suggested by his superior wisdom, en- 
 lightened and swayed our publick bodies. 
 
 In the services of the sanctuary, and in all his 
 parochial labours, he added to faithfulness great 
 method and punctuality; and, with a uniformity 
 peculiar to himself, was always the same. He was 
 a distinguished peace-maker; and by his skill in 
 settling disputes, added to his other excellent ma- 
 nagement, he greatly promoted the harmony and 
 strength of the congregation. A liberal contribu- 
 tor himself to all charitable designs, and possessing 
 a happy talent to awaken the same disposition in 
 others, he was the means of forming a ministerial
 
 38 
 
 and charitable people, as well as a numerous and 
 orthodox church. And though there are, in every 
 place, some spirits which never can be excited by 
 human influence to generous actions, he probably 
 left as few of this description as can be found in 
 any other congregation equally numerous. He was, 
 I believe, in a great measure, the instrumental cause 
 of the distinguished temporal and spiritual blessings 
 which have been bestowed on the congregation, by 
 keeping alive in them that publick and charitable 
 spirit which God delights to honour. 
 
 In every point of view, he was a great benefactor 
 of the congregation ; and you in return loved and 
 revered him in no common degree. The delicate 
 respect which you paid to him in advanced age, the 
 full support which you continued cheerfully to af- 
 ford him, when his power to serve you was impaired, 
 and even after it had totally ceased, and your anx- 
 ious attentions to him in his last illness, were instances 
 of justice and ingenuousness which you must now 
 review with satisfaction. They were instances of jus- 
 tice and ingenuousness of which he himself was ten- 
 derly sensible. / leave, said he with tears, the 
 kindest and best people that ever minister had. 
 
 Yes, you loved and revered him in no common
 
 39 
 
 degree, as your countenances and conduct this day 
 attest. But he is gone ! and you will see his face 
 no more ! No more will his anxious soul weep over 
 you and your children. You must go to him ; 
 
 but he will not return to you. Yes, he. is 
 
 gone ! He is removed from you ! alas ! he is remov- 
 ed from me ! My father ! my father ! the chariot 
 of Israel, and the horsemen thereof! Oh ! that I 
 might catch his falling mantle, with a portion of his 
 spirit, and be to you, in some degree, what he 
 has been! 
 
 The occasion calls for a word of condolence to 
 the bereaved children. 
 
 With heartfelt sympathy, my dear friends, I par- 
 take of all your sorrows. The extent of your ca- 
 lamity is not hid from me while I consider my own. 
 Few there are that could have lost so much in a 
 single friend : but instead of repining, you have rea- 
 son to bless God that you had such a friend to lose. 
 You have reason to bless God for sparing him to 
 you so long ; and yet more, that he has left you so 
 rich a legacy ^n his examples and prayers. As Be- 
 za said of Calvin, and as Mather said of Flavel, 
 since your father is dead, life will be less sweet, and 
 death less bitter to us. Henceforth there will be less
 
 40 
 
 to bind our hearts to earth, and more to draw them 
 towards heaven. May the examples of your deceas- 
 ed father be set as beacons to direct your passage 
 to glory. May the counsels of his love long sound 
 in your ears; and the prayers which his quivering 
 lips poured forth for you in the midnight hour, come 
 up before the Lord as incense presented by the in- 
 terceding Angel. Deprived of your earthly parent, 
 seek, I entreat you, a Father in heaven who will ne- 
 ver die. To His arms, who delights to be known as 
 the Father of the fatherless, I affectionately commit 
 you ; and pray that you may find in Him a Parent, 
 and an everlasting portion. 
 
 I turn now to my afflicted congregation. 
 
 The awful event which has hutig this house with 
 mourning, and covered with grief our widowed 
 church, ought not, and must not pass off merely 
 \vith a few sighs and tears. It ought to be, and it 
 must be improved as ontr of those solemn dispensa- 
 tions of Providence which are intended to rouse a 
 whole people from sleep, to croud vast ideas through 
 their minds, and to fix lasting impressions on their 
 hearts. 
 
 This is the proper time, my beloved hearers, to
 
 41 
 
 call to mind the instructions which your deceased 
 father imparted to ) r ou ; the good examples which 
 he set before you ; his manner of coming in and go- 
 ing out among you, for a long course of years ; and 
 all the interesting intercourse which you had with 
 him. If you would give scope to your thoughts, 
 you might recall scenes that would awaken your 
 tenderest aifections, and truths that would render 
 you as solemn as eternity. This is the proper time 
 also to consider deeply the business on which God 
 sent his servant among you ; the reception which 
 his heavenly messages met from you ; the awful ac- 
 count which you must give of your improvement of 
 them, when you shall meet your minister at the tri- 
 bunal of Christ ; and the influence which his mi- 
 nistry will have on your happiness or misery, ten 
 thousand ages after the funeral of this world. 
 
 Know, then, that he was sent among you as an 
 ambassador of heaven, to offer you, in the name of 
 his God, terms of reconciliation. He was not mere- 
 ly your father and friend, but your watchman, an 
 officer of Christ, whose commission was received 
 from heaven, and whose ministry and its effects have 
 been attentively noticed from the throne of the om- 
 niscient God.
 
 42 
 
 How he executed this commission, God is wit 
 ness ; and you are witnesses against yourselves. 
 JWicreforey I take you to record this day that he is 
 purs from your blood. He opened to you the great 
 doctrines of grace. He taught you the original fall 
 and total depravity of man. He pressed upon you 
 the absolute necessity of being born again, by the 
 supernal ural operation of the spirit of God on the 
 heart. While in one hand he offered you the un- 
 searchable riches of Christ, with the other he point- 
 ed the curse of a broken law against every unre- 
 generate sinner. He confined not his labours to the 
 pulpit ; but watched those softer moments of speak- 
 ing which promised him easier access to your hearts. 
 He visited your chambers of sickness, and counsel- 
 led and prayed by your beds of pain. With his pa- 
 ternal sympathy he soothed your griefs. While he 
 wept for you, he wiped the tear that trembled in 
 your eye. He warned and entreated you in pri- 
 \a e. He catechised you when you were children ; 
 and laboured, by prayers and tears, to imbue your 
 infant minds with the love of Christ. These things 
 Le did ; and these things are recorded in the rolls 
 of heaven, to bz preserved in everlasting remem- 
 brajtce, and to be exhibited on your trial at the last 
 day.
 
 43 
 
 The doctrines which he taught you he did not in- 
 deed seal with his blood ; but he gave a confirma- 
 tion of them in his death no less decisive. They 
 were the truths which supported his soul in his slow 
 approach to the shadow of death. They furnish- 
 ed the whole theme of his religious conversation, 
 and his only comfort in a near view of eternity. 
 Hume* and Voltaire, after spending their lives in 
 disseminating their pernicious errors, shrunk at last 
 from their own dogmas as from hell itself, and died 
 in the horrors of despair. But your minister, af- 
 ter spending 48 years in preaching the doctrines of 
 grace, left the world, triumphantly reposing on the 
 blessed truths which he had taught. His dying eye 
 said to us, in language not equivocal, " support 
 these precious doctrines, and they will support you." 
 We saw his arms extended towards heaven, with 
 passionate desires to depart, but five minutes before 
 he expired. We saw, after motion had ceased, 
 his still intelligent eye fixed with pity on a weep- 
 ing child, looking unutterable things, as though 
 he wished to express what he discovered on 
 the confines of the eternal world. In that precise 
 
 * This fact in regard to Hume is well known to the 
 religious people of Scotland, though much address has been 
 employed to conceal it from the world.
 
 44 
 
 posture he lay, preaching all his doctrines gyer a- 
 gain from the very vestibule of heaven, until Jjis 
 
 eyes closed ; and in one minute he was g.one ! 
 
 We had followed him so near the precincts of light, 
 that imagination could almost see him fly and en- 
 ter in ! He had looked back and spoken to us with 
 his eyes, so near the heavenly gate, that we seem- 
 ed almost to hear his voice, the next moment, a- 
 mong the choir of the redeemed ! We seemed al- 
 most to see the companions of his youth pressing 
 forward to embrace and welcome him to glory ; 
 and to hear their loud congratulations ! Then it 
 was that I felt the reality of that separate state of 
 conscious being of which he had so often spoken. 
 " There flies that soul," said I, " which but just 
 now spoke out of those swimming eyes ! Yonder is 
 my father, whose accents have been so familiar to 
 me, and with whom I went to the house of God in 
 company /" 
 
 Yes, while his body lies insensible before you, 
 his soul still lives in a conscious state. He loved 
 you much ; and in the abodes of bliss will, I 
 doubt not, often think of you. Perhaps he may 
 sometimes pass this way, to mark how you im- 
 prove the instructions which he left among you, and 
 whether you are coming after him to glory. I 

 
 45 
 
 have a strong persuasion that his former family and 
 flock will not be wholly excluded from his present 
 cares. Perhaps he will sometimes visit our assent' 
 blies, to hear those truths repeated which he so of- 
 ten preached, and to observe their effects on you. 
 Perhaps he may now be present ! Sainted Spirit ! 
 hast thou come to witness our griefs ? Do I see 
 thee hovering over our assembly ? O ! if thou 
 wouldst speak to us now, thy doctrines would no 
 
 longer be unheeded ! Alas ! he speaks no 
 
 more ! His ministry among us is then forever closed, 
 and sealed up to the judgment of the great day. 
 Nothing can be added to it, or taken from it. He 
 has done what he had to do, and has returned to 
 
 Him that sent him. But his ministry has not 
 
 done with us. Think not, that, except tears and 
 tender remembrance, you have nothing more to 
 do with your deceased pastor. As the Lord liv- 
 eth, you shall meet him again. When the dissolv- 
 ing heavens shall open, and disclose the Son of man, 
 coming in clouds to judge the world, your father, 
 we trust, will be in His glorious train. And when 
 the convulsions of that day shall burst the dormito- 
 ries of a thousand generations, his sleeping body 
 will rise ! Then, he who baptised you, he who 
 catechised you, he who warned and wept over 
 you, shall stand with you in judgment. Then, 

 
 all the scenes which have passed between you and 
 him shall be examined, and an account taken how 
 you improved his ministry in general, and each 
 sermon in particular. Every hour that you sat 
 under the sound of his voice, shall be found to 
 have been big with life or death. The effects of 
 improving or resisting his ministry, shall be felt 
 
 through every hour and moment of eternity ! 
 
 Oh ! did you consider this while your minister liv- 
 ed ? Did you consider this while his agitated soul 
 was pleading over you? Did you consider this 
 while you were bearing his clay-cold body to the 
 house of God ? Did you consider, that you were 
 attending one who must be a witness, either for or 
 against you, in the day that shall decide the des- 
 tinies of all men, and whose ministry must either 
 help you to heaven, or sink you deeper in hell ? 
 
 1 see some of you tremble. But the half has 
 
 not been told you. If a review of his ministry be 
 so overwhelming at present, what will it be in the 
 day of judgment ! If in the land of peace ^ where- 
 in you trust, it has wearied you, then how will you 
 do in the swelling of Jordan ? 
 
 My dear hearers, I ask each of you what ac- 
 count your translated pastor has already given of 
 you in heaven ? What had he to relate ? What im-
 
 47 
 
 *> 
 
 provement have you in fact made of his ministry ? 
 Have you embraced the Lord Jesus Christ through 
 his instrumentality ? Or have you rejected all his 
 earnest entreaties ? I suppose that the greater part 
 of those who hear me, are either his spiritual child- 
 ren, or they who for years have slighted his invi- 
 tations. 
 
 You who are his spiritual children, have lost a 
 father indeed, and have good reason to remember 
 him more than any other created being. Your case a- 
 wakens peculiar compassion ; for you have lost, (so to 
 speak,) your all, and can never see his like again. 
 For though you have ten thousand instructers in 
 Christ, yet have ye not many fathers ; for in Christ 
 Jesus he hath begotten you through the gospel. And 
 though all other men. should forget him, by you 
 he will surely be had in everlasting remembrance. Yet 
 let your hearts be cheered with a prospect of en- 
 joying a more perfect union with him in a better 
 world. The seals of his ministry you are, and are 
 reserved to be his crown of rejoicing in the presence 
 of Christ. And I doubt not, that after all earthly ties 
 shall have ceased, between you and him will subsist 
 a special and most tender union forever. You shall 
 find all his predictions of good fulfilled ) and when 
 your happy souls shall feel their accomplishment,
 
 " high in salvation and the realms of bliss,'* then 
 shall you know, to your everlasting joy, that a pro- 
 phet has been among you. Wherefore, comfort one 
 another -with these -words. 
 
 Others, I fear, there are, who, though he was to 
 them as a very lovely song of one that hath a plea- 
 sant voice, have never accepted the message which 
 he brought them from God. Content with loving 
 the man, and weeping perhaps under his affection- 
 ate sermons, they have never repented of their sins 
 nor bowed to the sceptre of Christ. Such will yet 
 know, alas ! when it is too late, that more than a 
 soother of their ear, that a prophet of the Lord has 
 been among them. When they shall feel the curse 
 which he denounced, forever fastened on their souls, 
 when every sermon which he preached shall be 
 as a thunderbolt, riving the nerves of their hearts, 
 then shall they know, to their eternal confusion, 
 that a prophet has been among them. In the re- 
 gions of hell, equally as in heaven, our father and his 
 ministry shall be had in everlasting remembrance. 
 Oh ! how will they look back to the days when 
 they sat under the melting voice of their minister ! 
 
 to seasons when tears of compassion choked 
 
 his words, as he entreated them to have compas- 
 sion on themselves \ " Ten thousand worlds," they
 
 49 
 
 will cry, " for one more sermon, for one more prayer, 
 of our ancient minister !" but it will be too late. 
 
 Are there not some in this assembly, who have 
 lived ten, twenty, or thirty years under his ministry, 
 who are yet unreconciled to God ? Are there not 
 some whom he baptised more than forty years ago, 
 who still remain aliens from the Commonwealth of 
 Israel ? Are there not some who can remember the 
 day of his instalment ; who have sat under his 
 calls during the whole course of his ministry ; and 
 instead of growing up for heaven, have grown grey 
 in sin, and are now almost ripe for judgment ? Al- 
 mighty God ! pierce their hearts with conviction, 
 ere thou smite them with thy curse ! 
 
 All those who remain uninterested in the blessings 
 of the gospel, at the close of our father's ministry, 
 I adjure, in the name of God, to make a solemn 
 pause. Pause, I beseech you, at this awful crisis. 
 Your minister is gone ; and you are not the better 
 for him ! He came on God's errand, he delivered 
 his message, he has done his work, and returned ; 
 and you have rejected his minis fry / The harvest 
 is past L , the summer is ended, and you are not saved ! 
 
 - Is there then no hope ? Yes, blessed be 
 
 God ! one hope remains : set your anxious minds
 
 50 
 
 to recollect the doctrines which he taught, and the 
 duties which he inculcated ; and hasten to believe the 
 one, and practise the other. O ! yield, for once, to 
 the voice of anxious friendship ! Or, if the accents 
 of your living pastor be unheeded, listen, I conjure 
 you, to that reverend voice which seems to issue 
 from the eternal world, from a Soul which now 
 has seen the amazing rewards or torments in re- 
 serve for you. Methinks I hear him cry, " O my 
 poor, dear people ! whom I laboured so long to 
 save ; do not let my ministry crush you to the low- 
 est hell !" Heard you not that voice ? And can 
 
 you resist it? No, you cannot, you must not,r* 
 you shall not, if prayers or tears can move you. 
 I will deluge you with my griefs ; I will kneel 
 and clasp your feet. By the shades of your pious 
 fathers, who also stretch forth their hands to you, 
 by the bowels of Christ, hear that voice from hea- 
 ven, which on earth you disregarded ! Ye who 
 have slumbered away an inestimable season, never 
 to be recalled, days that are now " with the years 
 beyond the flood," awake ! At this late hour, arise 
 to improve his ministry : that when the radiant Saint 
 shall bend his eye tovvard the earth, to see whe- 
 ther the seed, sown in this beloved garden, shoots, 
 he may have the joy to see it springing up in your 
 hearts, and not the grief, (if grief could be in hea-
 
 Si 
 
 ven,) to discover that his labours will prove an tier, 
 nal curse to those whom he loved. Eternal Mer- 
 cy ! grant that thy servant, like another Sampson, 
 may do more execution in his death, than in his 
 life ! 
 
 And now, farewell, thou man of God ! my father ! 
 my friend ! Sweet be thy sleep in the tomb ! and 
 kind be thy thoughts of us in heaven ! Thou hast 
 
 left me alone, and I am solitary and weak. 
 
 Yes, I am weak and solitary, O my friends ! Crush- 
 ed by the weight of so great a charge, I cannot lift 
 up myself. I need and entreat your prayers. I need 
 your candour, your sympathy, your counsel, and 
 your support. Entreat God for me, that I may sus- 
 tain the weighty charge with prudence, fidelity, and 
 success ; that, like David, I may go forth, though 
 it be only with a sling and a stone, in the name of 
 the God of the armies of Israel. It comforts me to 
 remember the prayer which Solomon offered in his 
 distress, when left alone by his father to manage 
 the affairs of Israel. He complained that he was as 
 weak and unskilful as a little child. But he asked 
 wisdom of God, and the Lord gave it to him. I will 
 remember this ; and I will also press to my bosom 
 the paternal words of my dear departed friend : God 
 will give you strength according to your day t
 
 52 
 
 only trust in Him, and He will support you under 
 every trial. By the happy accomplishment of this 
 tender prediction, may / also find that a prophet 
 has been among us. Grant it, O my God ! through 
 Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 
 
 
 
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