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REMAINS
OF THE LATE
REV. CHARLES WOLFE, A. B.
LONDON
PRINTED BY S. AND II. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.
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REMAINS
Or THE LATE
REV. CHARLES WOLFE, A. B
CURATE OF DONOUCI-IMORE, DIOCESS OF ARA'AGH.
WITH A BRIEF
MEMOIR OF HIS LIFE.
BY THE
REV. JOHN A. RUSSELL, M. A
ARCHDEACON OF CLOGHER.
THIRD EDITION.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO., 33, PATERNOSTER ROW
M.DCCC.XXVII.
PREFACE.
IT was long a matter of painful doubt
to the Editor whether he should be justi-
fiable in committing to the press the col-
lection of Remains contained in this volume ;
convinced as he was that none of them
were ever designed for that purpose by the
Author himself, who, indeed, would have
shrunk from the idea of publication. How-
ever, his hesitation has been overborne by
the strong hope that they may prove gene-
rally instructive as well as interesting, and
afford a peculiar gratification to a wide circle
of friends.
b
520245
ii * * * *
: *- . v :s*:%/
VI PREFACE.
It was at first intended to publish the
Sermons only ; but, on a more mature con-
sideration, it seemed advisable to give a
short account of the Author, interspersed
with his poems and other remains, particu-
larly as many of them have been for a con-
siderable time in private circulation amongst
a few acquaintances, and would, most pro-
bably, have found their way to the press
in some other shape. In fact, their pub-
lication appeared inevitable ; and it there-
fore seemed better that they should go
forth to the public through the hands of
a friend, who was in possession of all the
original manuscripts, and who had also the
happiness of an uninterrupted intimacy and
communication with the Author, from the
time he entered college until his lamented
death.
The state in which the papers were
committed to him rendered it a task of
greater labour to select, arrange, and trail-
PREFACE. vii
scribe them for the press, than can easily
be imagined. This circumstance, and the
late arrival of some promised communica-
tions, caused a greater delay in the pub-
lication than the writer could have antici-
pated.
The miscellaneous nature of the work
may possibly render it more generally use-
ful than one exclusively upon religious sub-
jects. Many, who admire the raptures of
the poet, may be induced to regard with re-
verence the instructions of the divine : they
may feel a peculiar desire to mark what
thoughts a heart, animated by the Muse,
can bring forth when hallowed by a loftier
and purer inspiration.
The Editor is painfully conscious how
imperfect is the sketch which he has here
given of the Author's life and character ;
and must throw himself upon the indulgence
of the friends who are most deeply inter-
ested in the work, with an humble hope
Vlll PREFACE.
that they will make candid allowance for
any error of judgment, or defect in exe-
cution, which they may observe in the per-
formance of the pleasing but anxious task
he has had to fulfil.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Memoir . .... 1
" Jugurtha incarcerates, vitam ingemit relictam" . 8
Battle of Busaco ; Deliverance of Portugal . .19
Burial of Sir John Moore .... 29
Spanish Song . ... 37
The Grave of Dermid .... 38
Song . . 42
Song . .44
The Frailty of Beauty . . 45
The College Course ... 49
Patriotism . 64
Fragments of a Speech delivered in the Chair, in the
Historical Society . . 70
Farewell to Lough Bray . . . .97
Song . . . 99
The Dargle . . . . . .101
Birth-day Poem . . . . .108
Song . . . . - . .111
To a Friend . . . . .113
Speech before a Meeting of the Irish Tract Society,
Edinburgh, May 1821 . . .172
X CONTENTS.
SERMONS.
PAGE
SERMON I.
ECCLESIASTES, xli. 1.
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth 223
SERMON II.
HEBREWS, xi. 1.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for ; the evidence
of things not seen . ' . . . . 240
SERMON III.
GENESIS, i. 26.
And God said, Let us make man in our image, after
our likeness . . . . .257
SERMON IV.
MATTHEW, xiii. 44.
The kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a
field ; the which when a man hath found, he hideth,
and for joy thereof goeth, and selleth all that he hath,
and buyeth thatfeld .... 275
SERMON V.
MATTHEW, xi. 28.
Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden }
and I will give you rest . ., 288
SERMON VI.
MATTHEW, ix. 12.
They that be whole need not a physician^ but they that
are sick . ... 306
CONTENTS. XI
SERMON VII.
1 CORINTHIANS, vi. 20.
PAGE
Ye are bought with a price . . . 323
SERMON VIII.
COLOSSIANS, iii. 2.
Set your affections on things above, not on things on the
earth . . . . . .339
SERMON IX.
LUKE, ix. 23.
And he said to them ally If any man will come after me,
let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily and
follow me . . . . . 350
SERMON X.
MATTHEW, xi. 30.
My yoke is easy, and my btirden is light . . . 364
SERMON XI
ROMANS, v. 12.
By one man sin entered into the world . . 378
SERMON XII.
1 CORINTHIANS, xiii. 12, 13.
Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to
face : now I know in part ; but then shall I know
even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith,
Hope, Charity, these three ; but the greatest of these
is Charity ..... 395
Xll CONTENTS.
SERMON XIII.
ECCLESIASTES, viii. 11.
PAGE
Because sentence against an evil work is not executed
speedily ; therefore the heart of the sons of men is
fully set in them to do evil .... 409
SERMON XIV.
1 JOHN, iv. 10.
Herein is love, not that we loved God) but that he loved
us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our
sins . . . . .425
SERMON XV.
1 CORINTHIANS, x. 13.
There hath no temptation taken you but such as is com-
mon to man ; but God is faithful, who will not suffer
you to be tempted above that ye are able ; but will
with the temptation also make a way to escape, that
ye may be able to bear it . 437
APPENDIX.
Observations on Religious Poetry . 449
Jesus raising Lazarus .... 453
On the Death of Abel (prize poem) . . . 454
Graecia capta ferum Victorem cepit . . 461
Principiis Obsta . 462
Ira furor brevis est . . . . - 462
Miscellaneous Thoughts .... 463
REMAINS
OF
THE REV. CHARLES WOLFE.
IN attempting to sketch even a brief Me-
moir of a friend, whose existence had been for
many years blended with our own, there are
difficulties which may be more easily conceiv-.
ed than described.
It is hard to restrain the pen from the ex-
pression of feelings which to others would be
tedious and uninteresting. It is hard also
to speak fully and freely of the immediate
subject of the narrative, without an apparent
self-obtrusion. This, however, shall be care-
fully avoided in the present little work ; the
object of which is simply, to collect the
Remains, and record a few particulars of the
life and character of one, little known to the
B
2 REMAINS OF
world ; but who, throughout the circle in
which he moved, excited an interest which
cannot easily be forgotten, and diffused bless-
ings with which his name and his memory will
long be held in grateful association.
Amidst the pensive recollections awakened
by an attempt to record the life of a departed
friend, there may be much to afford comfort
and instruction to one's self, which it -vquld
be difficult, perhaps impossible, to convey to
an uninterested reader. It can easily be con-
ceived in general, with what a tender and
prevailing influence the instructions received
at former periods of life come home to the
heart, when they are associated with the recol-
lection of the amiable qualities, the exalted
principles, and the early death of a cherished
friend, from whom they have been imbibed.
" Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance
" (says an eloquent writer),* it will be a con-
" solation that they are not entirely lost to us.
" Wise monitions, when they return on us
" with this melancholy charm, have more pa-
" thetic cogency tharir when they were first ut-
" tered by the voice of a living friend." " It
* Foster's Essays, p. 16.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 1
" will be an interesting occupation to recount
" the advantages which we have received from
" beings who have left the world, and to rein-
" force our virtues from the dust of those
" who first taught them."
Such have been the feelings of the writer,
and such will probably be the feelings of other
friends upon the recollections which this little
memoir may awaken. But upon these senti-
ments it is unnecessary, as it would perhaps
be obtrusive, to dilate. I shall therefore pass
on to the immediate subject of the memoir.
To those who have personally known him
whose Remains are presented in this volume
to the public, it may be satisfactory to learn
some particulars of his life.
Charles Wolfe was the youngest son of
Theobald Wolfe, Esq. of Blackball, county
Kildare. His mother was the daughter of the
Rev. Peter Lombard. He was born in Dublin,
14th December, in the year 1791. The family
from which he was descended has not been un-
distinguished. Through the military achieve-
ments of the illustrious hero of Quebec, the
name stands conspicuous upon the records of
British renown. It has also been signalised
B 2
4 REMAINS OF
at the Irish bar, especially in the person of the
much-lamented Lord Kilwarden, one of the
same family, who was elevated to the dignity
of the judicial bench. At an early age the
subject of this memoir lost his father ; not
long after whose death the family removed to
England, where they resided for some years.
Charles was sent to a school in Bath in the
year 1801 ; from which, in a few months, he
was obliged to return home in consequence of
the delicacy of his health, which interrupted
his education for twelve months. Upon his
recovery, he was placed under the tuition of
Dr. Evans, in Salisbury, from which he was
removed in the year 1805 ; and soon after was
sent as a boarder to Winchester school, of
which Mr. Richards sen. was then the able
master. There he soon distinguished himself
by his great proficiency in classical knowledge,
and by his early powers of Latin and Greek
versification, and displayed ' the dawnings of
a genius which promised to set him amidst
that bright constellation of British poets which
adorns the literature of the present age.
The many high testimonies to his amiable
disposition and superior talents, which -are sup-
THE HEY. C. WOLFE. 5
plied by the affectionate letters of his school-
masters, shew that he was not overvalued by
his own family, with every member of which he
seems to have been the special favourite. I can-
not better describe the manner in which his cha-
racter as a boy was appreciated at school and
at home, and how deservedly it was so prized,
than in the following simple language of a very
near relative, to whom I am indebted for some
of the particulars of his life already mentioned.
" The letters I enclose you bear testimony to
" the amiable character of my dear, dear
" Charles, such as I ever remember it. Those
" from Mr. Richards I can better estimate than
" any one else, from knowing that he was not
" easily pleased in a pupil, or apt to flatter.
" He was greatly attracted by superior talents;
" but you will see that he speaks of qualities
" of more value. He never received even a
' slight punishment or reprimand at any school
" to which he ever went ; and in nearly twelve
" years that he was under my mother's care, I
" cannot recollect that he ever acted contrary
" to her wishes, or caused her a moment's
" pain, except parting with her when he went
" to school. I do not know whether he ever
6 REMAINS OF
" told you that he had, when a boy, a wish to
" enter the army, which was acquired by being
" in the way of military scenes ; but, when he
" found it would give his mother pain, he to-
" tally gave up the idea, which I am sure, all his
" life, he thanked God that he had done. In
" 1808 he left Winchester (where he had been
" three years), owing to our coming to Ireland,
" as my mother could not think of leaving him
" behind. His company was her first earthly
" comfort, and she could not relinquish it;
" indeed, we used to count the hours when the
" time drew near that he was expected. We
" were often told that we should spoil him, but
" you know whether it was so. When we arrived
" in Ireland, it was intended that he should go
" to some other school ; but he did not go to
" any, nor had he any one to read with him, so
" that he entered college with much less pre-
" vious instruction than most others. I believe
" you knew him soon after; and I need not tell
" you of him since, or what he has been, even if
" I could. I have never heard of a schoolfellow
" or a college acquaintance who did not respect
" or love him; but I will not say more to you"
The pleasing testimony to his character and
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 7
abilities contained in this extract is indeed
fully borne out by the accounts which some of
his schoolfellows have given of him to the
writer. They spoke of him with the strongest
affection, and represented him as the pride of
Winchester school. Some of the poems and
Latin verses by w r hich he distinguished him-
self there, shall appear at the close of this
volume.
In the year 1809, he entered the University
of Dublin, under the tuition of the late Rev.
Dr. Davenport, who immediately conceived the
highest interest for him, and continued to shew
it by special proofs of his favour. In a few
months after his entrance, the writer had the
happiness of becoming acquainted with him.
This casual acquaintance soon became a cordial
intimacy, which quickly ripened into a friend-
ship that continued not only uninterrupted, but
was cemented more and more by constant in-
tercourse, and by community of pursuits : it
was, above all, improved and sweetened by an
unreserved interchange of thoughts on those
subjects which affect our eternal interests, and
open to us the prospects of friendships which
death can only suspend, but not destroy.
8 REMAINS OF
Our author immediately distinguished him-
self by his high classical attainments, for which
he was early rewarded by many academical
honours. The first English poem which at-
tracted general notice was written very early
in his college course, upon a subject proposed
by the heads of the university. It evinces a
boldness of thought, a vigour of expression, and
somewhat of a dramatic spirit, which seems to
entitle it to a place in this little collection ; and
it shall therefore be presented first in order
to the reader. The prison-scene of Jugurtha
(which is the subject of the poem) gave the
author full scope for a masterly exhibition of
the darkest and deadliest passions of human
nature in fierce conflict. Disappointed ambi-
tion, revenge, despair, remorse, were to be re-
presented as raging by turns in the captive's
mind, or dashing, as it were, against each
other, and struggling for utterance. The sub-
ject was proposed in the following form
" JUGURTHA INCARCERATUS, VITAM INGEMIT
RELICTAM."
Well is the rack prepared the pincers heated ?
Where is the scourge ? How ! not employ 'd in Rome ?
THE KEV. C. WOLFE.
We have them in Numidia. Not in Rome ?
I'm sorry for it ; I could enjoy it now;
I might have felt them yesterday ; but now,
Now I have seen my funeral procession :
The chariot-wheels of Marius have roll'd o'er me :
His horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph, >
I have attain'd that terrible consummation
My soul could stand aloof, and from on high
Look down upon the ruins of my body,
Smiling in apathy : I feel no longer ;
I challenge Rome to give another pang.
Gods ! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause
Before his car, and scowl upon the mob ;
The curse of Rome was burning on my lips,
And I had gnaw'd my chain, and hurl'd it at them,
But that I knew he would have smiled again.
O v
A king ! and led before the gaudy Marius,
Before those shouting masters of the world,
As if I had been conquer'd ; while each street,
Each peopled wall, and each insulting window,
Peal'd forth their brawling triumphs o'er my head.
Oh ! for a lion from thy woods, Numidia !
Or had I, in that moment of disgrace,
Enjoy'd the freedom but of yonder slave,
I would have made my monument in Rome.
Yet am I not that fool, that Roman fool,
To think disgrace entombs the hero's soul,
For ever damps his fires, and dims his glories ;
That no bright laurel can adorn the brow
10 REMAINS OF
That once has bow'd ; no victory's trumpet-sound
Can drown in joy the rattling of his chains :
No ; could one glimpse of victory and vengeance
Dart preciously across me, I could kiss
Thy footstep's dust again ; then all in flame,
With Massiriissa's energies unquench'd,
Start from beneath thy chariot-wheels, and grasp
The gory laurel reeking in my view,
And force a passage through disgrace to glory
Victory ! Vengeance ! Glory ! Oh these chains !
My soul's in fetters, too ; for, from this moment,
Through all eternity I see but death ;
To me there 's nothing future now, but death :
Then come and let me gloom upon the past.
So then Numidia's lost; those daring projects
(Projects that ne'er were breathed to mortal man,
That would have startled Marius on his car),
Overthrown, defeated ! What avails it now,
That my proud views despised the narrow limits,
Which minds that span and measure out ambition
Had fix'd to mine ; and, while I seem'd intent
On savage subjects and Numidian forests,
My soul had pass'd the bounds of Africa !
Defeated, overthrown ! yet to the last
Ambition taught me hope, and still my mind,
Through danger, flight, and carnage, grasp'd dominion ;
And had not Bocchus curses, curses on him ! v
What Rome has done, she did it for ambition ;
What Rome has done, I might I would have done ;
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 11
What thou hast done, thou wretch ! Oh had she proved
Nobly deceitful ; had she seized the traitor,
And join'd him with the fate of the betrayed,
I had forgiven her all ; for he had been
The consolation of my prison hours ;
I could forget my woes in stinging him ;
And if, before this day, his little soul
Had not in bondage wept itself away,
Rome and Jugurtha should have triumph 'd o'er him.
Look here, thou caitiff, if thou canst, and see
The fragments of Jugurtha ; view him wrapt
In the last shred he borrowed from Numidia ;
'Tis covered with the dust of Rome ; behold
His rooted gaze upon the chains he wears,
And on the channels they have wrought upon him ;
Then look around upon his dungeon walls,
And view yon scanty mat, on which his frame
He flings, and rushes from his thoughts to sleep.
Sleep !
1 11 sleep no more, until I sleep for ever :
When I slept last, I heard Adherbal scream.
I'll sleep no more ! I'll think until I die:
My eyes shall pore upon my miseries,
Until my miseries shall be no more.
Yet wherefore did he scream ? Why, I have heard
His living scream, it was not half so frightful.
Whence comes the difference? When the man was
living,
Why, I did gaze upon his couch of torments
12 REMAINS OF
With placid vengeance, and each anguish'd cry
Gave me stern satisfaction ; now he's dead,
And his lips move not ; yet his voice's image
Flash'd such a dreadful darkness o'er my soul,
I would not mount Numidia's throne again,
Did every night bring such a scream as that.
Oh yes, 'twas I that caused that living one,
And therefore did its echo seem so frightful :
If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee ;
Wilt thou not be contented? But thou say'st,
" My father was to thee a father also ;
" He watch'd thy infant years, he gave thee all
" That youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came
" Than came a kingdom also ; yet didst thou"
Oh I am faint ! they have not brought me food
How did I not perceive it until now ?
Hold, my Numidian cruise is still about me
No drop within Oh faithful friend ! companion
Of many a weary march and thirsty day,
'Tis the first time^that thou hast fail'd my lips.
Gods ! I 'm in tears ! I did not think of weeping.
Oh, Marius, wilt thou ever feel like this ?
Ha ! I behold the ruins of a city ;
And on a craggy fragment sits a form
That seems in ruins also : how unmoved,
How stern he looks ! Amazement ! it is Marius !
Ha ! Marius, think'st thou now, upon Jugurtha ?
He turns ! he 's caught my eye ! I see no more !
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 13
The above poem was written in the first
year of his college course, at which early
period he had gained the highest distinction
amongst his contemporaries for his classical
attainments. Towards the close of the same
year, he had to sustain a severe domestic afflic-
tion, in the death of his mother, an event
which wrought upon his affectionate heart an
impression of the deepest regret.
As soon as he was enabled to resume his
studies, he entered upon them with diligence.
He did not, at first, apply with much inter-
est or assiduity to the course of science pre-
scribed in our university ; and it appears that
the circumstance which first led him to be-
stow upon it the attention proportioned to its
importance, was a desire to assist some less
gifted acquaintance in that branch of his aca-
demic pursuits. This was indeed truly charac-
teristic of his natural disposition, which ever
led him to apply himself with greater zeal in
promoting the advantage or interest of others
than his own. It had, however, a favourable
effect upon his own studies, as it drew out
his talents for scientific acquirements, and gave
such an impulse to his progress that he soon
14 11EMAINS OF
after won the prize from the most distin-
guished competitors, at an examination in
which the severer sciences formed the leading
subjects. When his circumstances, some time
afterwards, rendered it expedient for him to
undertake the duties of a college tutor, he dis-
charged the task with such singular devoted-
ness and disinterested anxiety, as materially to
entrench upon his own particular studies. He
was indeed so prodigal of his labour and of
his time to each pupil, that he reserved little
leisure for his own pursuits or relaxations.
At the usual period he obtained a scholar-
ship, with the highest honour, upon which he
immediately became a resident in college. A
new theatre of literary honour was opened to
him at the commencement of the same year,
where his genius for composition in prose and
verse, and his natural powers of oratorical ex-
cellence, had more ample sphere for exercise
and cultivation. In the Historical Society, of
which he was now admitted a member, they
were encouraged and expanded by the stimulus
of generous competition, and by constant men-
tal collision with the most accomplished and
enlightened of his fellow-students. He soon
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 15
obtained medals for oratory, and for composi-
tions in prose and verse; and was early ap-
pointed to the honourable office of opening the
sessions, after the summer recess, by a speech
from the chair. This was the grand post of
distinction to which the most successful speak-
ers in the society continually aspired. The
main object of the address was to unfold the
advantages resulting from the Institution, and
to expatiate at large upon its three leading
departments, History, Poetry, and Oratory.
Our author, though he had not fully completed
his speech, was received with the highest ap-
plause, and the gold medal was adjudged to
him by unanimous acclamation. This speech
seems never to have been written out fairly ;
but some fragments of it have been preserved,
which, with a few other of his early produc-
tions, shall be presented to the reader in the
course of this volume.
Most of his poems were written within a
very short period, during his abode in college ;
but the order in which they were composed
cannot be exactly ascertained. It is not the
editor's object to enter into any minute critique
upon the several fugitive little pieces which are
16 REMAINS OF
here collected together. They shall be accom-
panied principally with such brief notices as
may appear necessary to throw light upon the
occasions which gave rise to them, and the cir-
cumstances under which they were written.
The next specimen of his poetical talents,
which it may not be uninteresting to insert
here, seems to have been but little valued by
himself, as he never took the trouble of tran-
scribing more than a few lines from the first
rude sketch. His native modesty, and the fas-
tidious judgment which he exercised over all
his own compositions, led him often to under-
value what even his most judicious friends
approved and admired.
The subject of the present poem is one of
great historical interest. It chiefly refers to
the battle of Busaco, which first inspired the
allied armies with mutual confidence, and led
the way to those successful struggles which
terminated in the complete deliverance of Por-
tugal from the usurpation and tyranny of France.
A brief account of this engagement, extracted
from the Edinburgh Annual Register (vol. iii.
p. 462), may form an appropriate introduction
to the poem.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 17
" Busaco, which was now to become fa-
" mous in British history, had long been a
" venerable name in Portugal. It is the only
" place in that kingdom where the barefooted
-' Carmelites possessed what, in their language,
" is called a desert, an establishment where
" those brethren whose devotion flies to the
" highest pitch, may at once enjoy the ad-
" vantage of the eremite, with the security of
" the cenobite life ; one of those places where
" man has converted an earthly paradise into
" a purgatory for himself, but where super-
" stition almost seems sanctified by every
" thing around it. The solitude and silence
" of Busaco were now to be broken by events,
" in which its hermits, dead as they were to
" the world, might be permitted to feel all the
" agitation of worldly hope and fear. The
" British and Portuguese army was posted
" along the ridge, extending nearly eight
" miles, and forming the segment of a circle,
" whose extreme points embraced every part
" of the enemy's position, and from whence
" every movement of the enemy below could
" be immediately observed. On the 26th
" Sept. 1810, the light troops on both sides
c
18 BEMAINS OF
" were engaged throughout the line; at six
" on the following morning, the French made
" two desperate attacks upon Lord Welling-
" ton's position ; one on the right, the other
" on the left of the highest point of the sierra :
>' this spot is remarkable, as commanding one
" of the most extensive views in Portugal ;
" and on the very summit stands a cross,
" planted upon a basis of masonry of such
" magnitude, that it is said three thousand
" carts of stone were used in the work. One
" division of French infantry gained the top
" of the ridge, and was driven back with the
" bayonet ; another division, farther on the
" right, was repulsed before it could reach the
" top. On the left they made their attack
" with three divisions, only one of which
" made any progress towards the summit, and
" this was charged with the bayonet, and
" driven down with immense loss. Some of
" the Portuguese charging a superior force,
" got so wedged in among them, that they
" had not room to use their bayonets ; they
" turned up the but-ends of their muskets,
" and plied them with such vigour, as com-
" pletely to clear the way."
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 19
BATTLE OF BUSACO ; DELIVERANCE OF
PORTUGAL.
The breeze sigh'd sadly o'er the midnight flood ;
On Lisbon's towers Don Henry's spirit stood :
He wore not helm, he wore not casque ; his hair
Streamed like a funeral banner in the air :
In mournful attitude, with aspect drear,
He held reversed his country's guardian spear ;
Dark was his eye, and gloomy was his brow,
He gazed with sternness on the wave below ;
Then thrice aloft the deathful spear he shook,
While sorrow's torrent from his bosom broke :
Fiends ! may the angel of destruction shed
This blood-red cup of horrors on your head !
Throughout your camp may hell-born demons play,
Grin ruin to your host, and howl dismay !
Was it for this, dear, desolated shore !
I taught proud Commerce here her gifts to pour,
Allured from fairer Italy the maid,
And here the ground- works of the empire laid ?
Is there a bolt to mortal guidance given ?
Where are the thundVing delegates of Heaven ?
Through Europe's plains the tyrant's voice is heard,
And blood-red anarchy her flag has rear'd,
Rolled round her gorgon-eyes from native France,
And petrified the nations with a glance ;
Affrighted Italy her blasted vines
Has dropped, and Spain let fall her orange linos,
20 HE MAINS OF
And tough Teutonic forests, though they broke
Awhile her force, yet yielded to the stroke.
Where shall I turn, where find the free, the brave,
A heart to pity, and an arm to save ?
To Britain, glorious Britain, will I call,
Her bulwark, valour, and the sea, her wall.
Around her crest, Gaul's javelins idly play,
And glance with baffled impotence away ;
Her hands the reddening bolts of vengeance bear,
Fate 's on her helm, and death upon her spear ;
She scorns at Victory's shrine her vows to pay,
She grasps the laurel, she commands the day.
England, what ! ho ! as thus the spectre spoke,
All Lisbon's turrets to their bases shook :
England, what ! ho ! again the spectre cried,
And trembling Tagus heaved with all his tide,
England, to arms ! at this dread call advance !
Assist, defend, protect ! now tremble, France !
He spoke, then plunged into the river's breast,
And Tagus wrapt him in his billowy vest.
O'er seas, o'er shores the solemn summons pass'd,
It rode upon the pinions of the blast :
The midnight shades are gone, the glooms are fled,
See ! the dawn broke as Britain rear'd her head !
With Albion's spear upon her shield she smote ;
Through every island rung the inspiring note.
Roused at the sound, the English lion rose,
And burnt to meet hereditary foes ;
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 21
From Highland rocks came every Scottish clan ;
Forward rush'd Erin's sons, and led the van :
The Usurper shook, then sent each chief of name,
Partners of victory, sharers of his fame,
Who bore Gaul's standard through the hostile throng,
While Lodi trembled as they rush'd along ;
Who traversed Egypt's plains and Syria's waste,
And left a red memorial where they pass'd ;
Who bathed, midst French and Austrian heaps of slain,
Their gory footsteps on Marengo's plain :
And those who laid the Prussian glories low,
Yet felt a Brunswick's last expiring blow ;
Who on Vimeira's heights were taught to feel
The vengeful fury of a freeman's steel ;
Who hung on British Moore in his retreat,
And purchased dear experience by defeat.
Such were the chiefs that Gaul's battalia led;
Yet England came, they met .her, and they fled.
At dark Busaco's foot stood France's might,
The hopes of Britain occupied the height.
Gaul's mantling terrors to the summit tend,
Hold, Britain, charge not, the attack suspend ;
Hush'd be the British whirlwind, not a breath
Be heard within thy host, be still as death !
With gathering gloom comes France's dark array,
Rest, Britain, on thy arms, thy march delay
See ! France has gain'd the summit of the hill !
See ! she advances ! Soldier, yet be still
22 REMAINS OF
She's at our bayonets, touches every gun,
Now speed thee, England ! and the work is done.
Now where is France ? Yon mountain heap of dead,
Yon scattered band, will tell you how they sped ;
The dying groan, the penetrating yell,
May tell how quick she sunk, how soon she fell ;
Her sons are gone, her choicest blood is spilt,
Her brightest spear is shivered to the hilt.
Nor ceased they here ; but from the mountain height
Tempestuous Britain rolls to meet the fight,
Pours the full tide of battle o'er the plain,
And whelms beneath the waves its adverse train :
The vanquished squadrons dread an added loss ;
They skulk behind the rampart and the fosse ;
Why lingers Wellesley ? Does he fear their force ?
Dreads he their foot, or trembles at their horse ?
Alas ! by hands unseen he deals the blow,
By hands unseen he prostrates ev'ry foe.
One night (and France still shudders at that night,
Pregnant with death, with horror, and affright;)
One night on plans of victory intent,
A spy into the hostile camp he sent ;
It was a wretch, decrepit, shrivel'd, wild,
A haggard visage that had never smiled ;
The miscreant's jaws were never seen to close,
The miscreant's eyes had never known repose :
Swift to the Gallic camp she sped her way, .
And Britain's soldiers, ere the dawn of day,
THE REV. C. AVOLFE. 23
Heard through the hostile tents her footstep's tread ;
For Famine raging Famine claim'd her dead !
With frantic haste they fled the fatal post,
Long boldly held now miserably lost ;
Dismay, confusion through the rout appear,
Victorious Britain hangs upon their rear.
No, sweet Humanity ! I dare not tell
How infants bled, how mothers, husbands fell ;
I dare not paint the agonizing look,
The mother gave, when Gaul her infant took,
Took, and while yet the cherub's smile was fresh.
Pierced its fair limbs and tore its baby-flesh ;
I dare not paint the wife's transporting woe,
When sunk her husband by Massena's blow .
Hear, thou dread warrior ! hear, thou man of blood !
Hear, thou, with female, infant gore imbrued !
When, sinking in the horrors of the tomb,
The avenging angel shall pronounce thy doom
When war's loud yell grows faint, the drum's dead roll
Strikes languid, and more languid on the soul
When Britain's cannons may unheeded roar,
And Wellesley's name has power to fright no more,
Yon widow's shrieks shall pierce thee till thou rave,
And form a dread artillery in the grave !
Heard ye that burst of joy? From Beira's coast
To Algarve's southern boundaries it crost ;
It passed from undulating Tagus 1 source,
And burst where Gaudiana holds his course.
24 REMAINS OF
Farewell ! proud France! (they cried) thy power is broke;
Farev/ell for ever to thy iron yoke !
But blest for ever be old Ocean's queen.
Still on his bosom may she reign serene.
When on these plains our future offspring gaze,
To, them our grateful heart shall sound thy praise.
To Britain's generous aid these plains we owe,
For us she drew the sword, and bent the bow.
We sunk, we crouched beneath a tyrant's hand
Victorious Britain loosed the usurper's band.
We bow'd to France, obey'd each stern decree,
Majestic Britain rose and all was free.
It requires no apology for introducing here
a poem already well known to the public the
Ode on the Burial of Sir John Moore. For
some years past it has excited considerable inte-
rest in the literary circles ; and it was men-
tioned by a highly respectable authority, as
having been long a matter of surprise among
them, that its author had not revealed his name,
or published any other similar production.
Subsequently to this account, it has obtained
a very general popularity from the splendid
eulogium pronounced upon it by the late Lord
Byron. Little as the author himself seemed to
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 25
value the shadowy prize of poetic reputation,
or of any mere worldly distinction, it appears
but an act of literary justice to establish his
claim to the production of a poem so justly
and so honourably appreciated, by giving it a
place amongst his more valuable remains. The
noble poet's enthusiastic admiration of this
nameless and unpatronized effusion of genius,
is authenticated in a late work, entitled, "Med-
win's Conversations of Byron." The impress
of such a name upon the poetic merits of an
ode deemed not unworthy of his lordship's
own transcendent powers, is too valuable not
to be recorded here.
The passage alluded to occurs in vol. ii. p.
154, (second edit.) of the above-mentioned
publication, and is as follows :
" The conversation turned after dinner on
" the lyrical poetry of the day ; and a ques-
" tion arose as to which was the most perfect
" ode that had been produced. Shelley con-
" tended for Coleridge's on Switzerland, be-
" ginning ' Ye Clouds,' &c. ; others named
" some of Moore's Irish Melodies, and Camp-
" bell's Hohenlinden; and had Lord Byron
" not been present, his own Invocation in Man-
26 REMAINS OF
" fred, or the Ode to Napoleon, or on Prome-
" theus, might have been cited.
" ' Like Gray,' said he, < Campbell smells
" too much of the oil : he is never satisfied
" with what he does ; his finest things have
" been spoiled by over-polish. Like paintings,
" poems may be too highly finished. The great
" art is effect, no matter how produced.
" ' I will shew you an ode you have never
" seen, that I consider little inferior to the
' best which the present prolific age has
" brought forth.' With this, he left the table,
" almost before the cloth was removed, and
" returned with a magazine, from which he
" read the following lines on Sir John Moore's
" burial.
" * The feeling with which he recited these
" admirable stanzas I shall never forget. After
" he had come to an end, he repeated the
" third, and said it was perfect, particularly
" the lines
4 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
' With his martial cloak around him.'
" ' I should have taken the whole,' said
Shelley, ' for a rough sketch of Campbell's.'
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 27
" No,' replied Lord Byron ; ' Campbell
" would have claimed it, if it had been his/ "
The poem found its way to the press with-
out the concurrence or knowledge of the au-
thor. It was recited by a friend in presence
of a gentleman travelling towards the north of
Ireland, who was so much struck with it, that
he requested and obtained a copy ; and im-
mediately after, it appeared in the Newry
Telegraph, with the initials of the author's
name. From that it was copied into most of
the London prints, and thence into the Dublin
papers ; and subsequently it appeared, with
some considerable errors, in the Edinburgh
Annual Register, which contained the narra-
tive that first kindled the poet's feelings on the
subject, and supplied the materials to his mind.
It remained for a long time unclaimed; and
other poems,* in the mean time, appeared,
falsely purporting to be written by the same
unknown hand, which the author would not
take the pains to disavow. It lately* however,
* Amongst those was an " Address to Sleep/' which
appeared in Blackwood's Magazine.
28 REMAINS OF
seemed to have become the prey of some lite-
rary spoliators, whose dishonest ambition was
immediately detected and exposed. Indeed,
it is hard to say, whether the claims were
urged seriously, or whether it was a stratagem
to draw out the acknowledgment of the real
author. However, the matter has been placed
beyond dispute, by the proof that it appeared
with the initials C. W., in an Irish print, long
prior to the alleged dates which its false
claimants assign.
It is unnecessary to enter into further par-
ticulars upon this point, as the question has
been set at rest ; and as Captain Medwin, who
at first conjectured the poem to have been
written by Lord Byron himself, has avowed, in
his second edition of his work, that " his sup-
" position was erroneous, and that it appears
" to be the production of the late Rev. C.
" Wolfe." It may be interesting to prefix the
paragraph in the narrative of Sir John Moore's
burial, which produced so strong an emotion
in the mind of our author, and prompted this
immediate and spontaneous effusion of poetic
genius.
" Sir John Moore had often said, that if he
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 29
" was killed in battle, he wished to be buried
" where he fell. The body was removed at
" midnight to the citadel of Corunna. A
" grave was dug for him on the rampart there,
" by a party of the 9th regiment, the aides-
" du-camp attending by turns. No coffin
" could be procured, and the officers of his
" staff wrapped the body, dressed as it was, in
" a military cloak and blankets. The inter-
" ment was hastened ; for, about eight in the
" morning, some firing was heard, and the
" officers feared that if a serious attack were
" made, they should be ordered away, and not
" suffered to pay him their last duty. The
" officers of his family bore him to the grave;
" the funeral service was read by the chaplain ;
" and the corpse was covered with earth."
Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808, p. 458.
THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
I.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
Q'er the grave where our hero we buried.
30 REMAINS OF
II.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning ;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.
III.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
IV.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we stedfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
V.
We thought a as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the strnger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow !
VI.
Lightly they 'II talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,
But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 31
VII.
But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring ;
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
VIII.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory ;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone
But we left him alone with his glory !
The principal errors in most of the copies of
this poem were pointed out by an early friend
of the author in an eloquent letter, which ap-
peared in the Morning Chronicle, October
29th, 1824. One error, however, which oc-
curred in the first line of the third stanza, he
omitted to correct. The word " confined"
was substituted for " enclosed." manifestly for
the worse, as it appears somewhat artificial, and
inconsistent with the nervous simplicity of
thought and expression which marks the whole
poem. The third line of the fourth stanza has
been commonly altered thus " on the face of
" the dead." I cannot forbear quoting the
32 REMAINS OF
critical and just observations of the friend
above mentioned, upon this unhappy error.
" The expression as it has been printed, is
" common-place ; that for which it was igno-
" rantly substituted, is original and affecting.
" The poet did not merely mean to tell us
" the fact, that the comrades of Moore gazed
" on the face of their dead chief, but he
" meant to convey an idea of the impression
" which that form of death made upon them.
" * They gazed on the face that was dead,'
" gives not merely the fact, but the sentiment
" of death. It is like some of those fine scrip-
" tural expressions where the simplest terms
" are exuberant with imagination. It inti-
" mates the awful contrast between the heroic
" animation which kindled up that counte-
" nance just before in action, and its now cold,
" ghastly, and appalling serenity." Upon
another error which has universally prevailed,
in the seventh stanza, *the same eloquent friend
has observed, " The third and fourth lines
" have been thus given,
' And we heard by the distant and random gun,
' That the foe was suddenly firing :
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 33
" But it was originally written,
' And we heard the distant and random gun
' Of the enemy sullenly firing.'*
" I need scarcely point out to any reader
" of the least poetic taste the superiority of
" this passage to the fictitious one. The state-
" ment of the foe being suddenly firing, implies
" a new and vigorous attack, which was con-
" trary to fact. The lines, as Wolfe wrote
" them, are better poetry, and more agreeable
" to truth. They represent the enemy, who
" had come on with the flush of anticipated
" victory, now sullen in defeat, firing rather
" from vain irritation than useful valour, keep-
" ing up a show of hostilities by ' the distant
" and random gun,' but not venturing on any
" fresh and animated onset. In this way, the
* The writer of the ahove observation seems not to have
been aware, that the fourth line of this stanza was at first
written by the author as I have copied it. It was subse-
quently altered in the way he gives it, at the suggestion of a
literary friend; but it seems proper to print it as it actually
stands in the author's own manuscript, from which I take it.
There is no difference in sense; but, perhaps, some may think
the rhythm better as it was originally written.
D
34 REMAINS OF
" passage becomes as picturesque as it is con-
" cise and energetic."
It appears from the interesting conversation
in which the above poem was assigned so high
a place in the lyrical compositions of our lan-
guage, that Campbell's Hohenlinden was also
brought forward by some of the company as
one of the finest specimens of the same order.
This powerfully descriptive and sublime ode
was a peculiar favourite with our author. The
awful imagery presented in such a rapid suc-
cession of bold and vivid flashes, the burning
thoughts which break forth in such condensed
energy of expression, and the incidental
touches of deep and genuine pathos which cha-
racterise the whole poem, never failed intensely
to affect his imagination, and to draw out the
most rapturous expressions of admiration. It
was, indeed, the peculiar temperament of his
mind, to display its emotions by the strongest
outward demonstrations.
Such were his intellectual sensibilities, and
the corresponding vivacity of his animal spirits,
that the excitation of his feelings generally dis-
covered itself by the most lively expressions,
and sometimes by an unrestrained vehemence
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 35
of gesticulation, which often afforded amuse-
ment to his more sedate or less impressible
acquaintances.
Whenever, in the company of his friends,
any thing occurred in his reading, or to his
memory, which powerfully affected his ima-
gination, he usually started from his seat, flung
aside his chair, and paced about the room,
giving vent to his admiration in repeated ex-
clamations of delight, and in gestures of the
most animated rapture. Nothing produced
these emotions more strongly than music, of
the pleasures of which he was in the highest
degree susceptible. He had an ear formed
to enjoy, in the most exquisite manner, the
simplest melody, or the richest harmony.
With but little cultivation, he had acquired
sufficient skill in the theory of this accom-
plishment to relish its highest charms, and to
exercise a discriminative taste in the apprecia-
tion of any composition or performance in that
delightful art. Sacred music, above all, (es-
pecially the compositions of Handel,) had the
most subduing, the most transporting effect
upon his feelings, and seemed to enliven and
sublimate his devotion to the highest pitch.
D 2
36 REMAINS OF
He understood and felt all the poetry of music,
and was particularly felicitous in catching the
spirit and character of a simple air or a na-
tional melody. One or two specimens of the
adaptation of his poetical talents to such sub-
jects may give some idea of this.
He was so much struck by the grand na-
tional Spanish air, " Viva el Hey Fernando,"
the first time he heard it played by a friend,
that he immediately commenced singing it
over and over again, until he produced an
English song admirably suited to the tune.
The air, which has the character of an ani-
mated march, opens in a strain of grandeur,
and suddenly subsides, for a few bars, into a
slow and pathetic modulation, from which it
abruptly starts again into all the enthusiasm
of martial spirit. The words are happily
adapted to these transitions; but the air should
be known, in order that the merits of the
song should be duly esteemed. The first
change in the expression of the air occurs at
the ninth line of the song, and continues to
the end of the twelfth line.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 37
SPANISH SONG.
Air Viva el Rey FERNANDO.
The chains of Spain are breaking
Let Gaul despair, and fly ;
Her wrathful trumpet's speaking
Let tyrants hear, and die.
Her standard o'er us arching
Is burning red and far ;
The soul of Spain is marching
In thunders to the war.
Look round your lovely Spain,
And say shall Gaul remain ?
Behold yon burning valley
Behold yon naked plain
Let us hear their drum
Let them come, let them come !
For vengeance and freedom rally,
And, Spaniards ! onward for Spain !
Remember, remember Barossa
Remember Napoleon's chain
Remember your own Saragossa,
And strike for the cause of Spain
Remember your own Saragossa,
And onward, onward for Spain !
38 REMAINS OF .
The following little tale may serve to shew
with what feeling and refinement of taste he
entered into the spirit of our national melodies.
It was designed as a characteristic introduction
to the well-known and admired song, " The
" last Rose of Summer."
" This is the grave of Dermid : he was the
best minstrel among us all, a youth of a ro-
mantic genius, and of the most tremulous and
yet the most impetuous feeling. He knew all
our old national airs, of every character and
description : according as his song was in a
lofty or a mournful strain, the village repre-
sented a camp or a funeral ; but if Dermid
were in his merry mood, the lads and lasses
were hurried into dance with a giddy and irre-
sistible gaiety. One day our chieftain com-
mitted a cruel and wanton outrage against one
of our peaceful villagers. Derm id's harp was
in his hand when he heard it. With all the
thoughtlessness and independent sensibility of
a poet's indignation, he struck the chords that
never spoke without response, and the detes-
tation became universal. He was driven from
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 39
amongst us by our enraged chief; and all his
relations, and the maid he loved, attended our
banished minstrel into the wide world. For
three years there were no tidings of Dermid,
and the song and dance were silent ; when one
of our little boys came running in and told us
that he saw Dermid approaching at a distance.
Instantly the whole village was in commotion ;
the youths and maidens assembled in the green,
and agreed to celebrate the arrival qf their
poet with a dance ; they fixed upon the air he
was to play for them ; it was the merriest of
his collection. The ring was formed ; all
looked eagerly towards the quarter from which
he was to arrive, determined to greet their
favourite bard with a cheer. But they were
checked the instant he appeared ; he came
slowly and languidly and loiteringly along ;
his countenance had a cold, dim, and careless
aspect, very different from that expressive tear-
fulness which marked his features, even in his
more melancholy moments: his harp was
swinging heavily upon his arm ; it seemed
a burden to him ; it was much shattered, and
some of the strings were broken. He looked
at us for a few moments, then, relapsing into
40 REMAINS OF
vacancy, advanced, without quickening his
pace, to his accustomed stone, and sat down in
silence. After a pause, we ventured to ask him
for his friends : he first looked up sharply in
our faces, next, down upon his harp, then
struck a few notes of a wild and desponding
melody, which we had never heard before ; but
his hand dropped, and he did not finish it.
Again we paused then, knowing well that if
we could give the smallest mirthful impulse to
his feelings, his whole soul would soon follow,
we asked him for the merry air we had chosen.
We were surprised at the readiness with which
he seemed to comply ; but it was the same
wild and heart-breaking strain he had com-
menced. In fact, we found that the soul of the
minstrel had become an entire void, except one
solitary ray, that vibrated sluggishly through
its very darkest part : it was like the sea in a
dark calm, which you only know to be in mo-
tion by the panting which you hear ; he had to-
tally forgotten every trace of his former strains,
not only those that were more gay and airy,
biit even those of a more pensive cast ; and he
had got in their stead that one dreary, single
melody ; it was about a lonely rose that had
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 41
outlived all his companions ; this he continued
singing and playing from day to day, until he
spread an unusual gloom over the whole vil-
lage : he seemed to perceive it, for he retired
to the churchyard, and remained singing it
there to the day of his death. The afflicted
constantly repaired to hear it, and he died
singing it to a maid who had lost her lover.
The orphans have learnt it, and still chant it
over poor Dermid's grave."
Another of his favourite melodies was the
popular Irish air, " Gramachree." He never
heard it without being sensibly affected by its
deep and tender expression ; but he thought
that no words had ever been written for it
which came up to his idea of the peculiar
pathos which pervades the whole strain. He
said they all appeared to him to want indivi-
duality of feeling. At the desire of a friend
he gave his own conception of it in these
verses, which it seems hard to read, perhaps
impossible to hear sung, without tears.
42 REMAINS OF
SONG.
Air Gramachree.
I.
If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee ;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be :
It never through my mind had past,
The time would e'er be o'er.
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more !
II.
And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain !
But when I speak thou dost not say,
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary ! thou art dead !
III.
If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold, and all serene
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been !
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 43
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
T-hou seemest still mine own ;
But there I lay thee in thy grave
And I am now alone !
IV.
I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me ;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart,
In thinking too of thee :
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore !
He was asked whether he had any real in-
cident in view, or had witnessed any imme-
diate occurrence which might have prompted
these lines. His reply was, " He had not ;
" but that he had sung the air over and over
" till he burst into a flood of tears, in which
" mood he composed the words."
i
The following song was written, at the re-
quest of a lady of high professional character
as a musician, for an air of her own composi-
tion, which I believe was never published :
REMAINS OF
SONG.
I.
Go, forget me why should sorrow
O'er that brow a shadow fling ?
Go forget me and to-morrow
Brightly smile and sweetly sing.
Smile though I shall not be near thee;
Sing though I shall never hear thee :
May thy soul with pleasure shine
Lasting as the gloom of mine !
Go, forget me, &c.
II.
Like the Sun, thy presence glowing,
Clothes the meanest things in light ;
And when thou, like him art going,
Loveliest objects fade in night.
All things look'd so bright about thee,
That they nothing seem without thee ;
By that pure and lucid mind
Earthly things were too refined.
Like the Sun, Sec.
III.
Go, thou vision wildly gleaming,
Softly on my soul that fell ;
Go, for me no longer beaming
Hope and Beauty ! fare ye well !
Go, and all that once delighted
Take, and leave me all benighted ;
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 45
Glory's burning generous swell,
Fancy and the Poet's shell.
Go, thou vision, &c.
THE FRAILTY OF BEAUTY.
I.
I must tune up my harp's broken string,
For the fair has commanded the strain ;
But yet such a theme will I sing,
That I think she'll not ask me again :
II.
For I'll tell her Youth's blossom is blown,
And that Beauty, the flower, must fade;
(And sure, if a lady can frown,
She'll frown at the words I have said.)
III.
The smiles of the rose-bud how fleet !
They come and as quickly they fly :
The violet how modest and sweet !
Yet the Spring sees it open and die.
IV.
How snow-white the lily appears !
Yet the life of a lily 's a day ;
And the snow that it equals, in tears
To-morrow must vanish away.
46 REMAINS OF
V.
Ah, Beauty ! of all things on earth
How many thy charms most desire !
Yet Beauty with Youth has its birth,
And Beauty with youth must expire.
VI.
Ah, fair ones ! so sad is the tale,
That my song in my sorrow I steep ;
And where I intended to rail,
I must lay down my harp, and must weep.
VII.
But Virtue indignantly seized
The harp as it fell from my hand ;
Serene was her look, though displeased,
As she utter'd her awful command.
VIII.
" Thy tears and thy pity employ
" For the thoughtless, the giddy, the vain,-
" But those who my blessings enjoy
" Thy tears and thy pity disdain.
IX.
" For Beauty alone ne'er bestow'd
" Such a charm as Religion has lent ;
" And the cheek of a belle never glow'd
" With a smile like the smile of content.
THE REV. C. WOLFE, 47
X.
" Time's hand, and the pestilence-rage,
" No hue, no complexion can brave ;
" For Beauty must yield to old age,
" But I will not yield to the grave."
The history of Mr. Wolfe's college life is
too deficient in incidents of general interest to
dwell minutely upon it. He never took any
share in concerns of a public nature ; but, on
the contrary, endeavoured to shun all occasions
of notoriety. This portion of his life, accord-
ingly, supplies but little other materials for his
memoir than a short account of his studies,
and of his few desultory poetical efforts. Be-
fore we enter upon the more important part of
his life, or attempt to exhibit his character in
its more serious aspect, it may be well to col-
lect together, in this part of the volume, the
principal compositions by which he distin-
guished himself amongst his fellow- students,
and gave so fair a promise of future celebrity.
Two of those which obtained medals in the
Historical Society shall be given here at full
length, and such parts of his speech on opening
48 REMAINS OF
the sessions as the editor has been able to
collect with accuracy from the mutilated frag-
ments of the manuscript.
The prose composition which follows will
be principally interesting to those who are
conversant with the usual course of academic
studies. It seems unnecessary to add any
explanatory notes for such readers ; and per-
haps no helps of this kind, that would not be
absolutely tedious, could materially heighten
the interest to others.
Its general design and manner may pos-
sibly remind some readers of a beautiful paper
by Addison, in the Tatler, called, " The Vision
" of the Hill of Fame." I do not know that
the author was acquainted with it ; but even
though it may possibly have suggested the
outline of the plan to his mind, it will be found
that the imagery and descriptive parts are
perfectly original. In two or three instances,
the same characters which are introduced in
this vision appear in that of Addison ; but it
will probably be allowed that the peculiar ge-
nius and character of each is more distinctly
and fully brought to light in this little work of
fancy, and that, on the whole, it need scarcely
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 4*9
shrink from a comparison with the beautiful
paper above mentioned.
THE COLLEGE COURSE.
At the close of that eventful day to me
the period of a new existence, and the date to
which I yet refer many a pleasure and many a
pain on which I became the adopted son of
the university, I lay for a long time pensive
and sleepless, pondering on the state into
which I had entered, and anxious to ascertain
what treatment I was to expect from my second
mother ; till at length, though not naturally
superstitious, I took my gown, as yet perfect
and untorn, and folding it up with a sort of
sacred awe, (not totally devoid of pride at my
new dignity,) I placed it on the bed, and,
blessing the omen, reclined my head upon this
academic pillow. You smile, no doubt, at the
account I have often smiled at the recollec-
tion of it myself and yet the charm was suc-
cessful; for scarcely had I closed my eyes,
before it raised a vision which I shall never
forget, and upon the remembrance of which,
E
50 REMAINS OF
whether in the midst of occupation or the
midst of sorrows, I have often lingered with
fondness.
I fancied myself in front of those awful
portals, from which I had that day, for the first
time, emerged. They opened spontaneously ;
and I beheld a monster of a most extraordinary
appearance seated in the entrance. He had
three heads ; and a poet would have called
him Cerberus ; but I, to whom nature never
gave a simile, discovered his name to be Syl-
logism. Two of the heads grew from the same
neck ; one larger than the other. The third
grew from the other two, and always leaned to
the weaker side. It seemed not to have any
thing original ; but catching at the words which
fell at one time from the greater head, and at the
other from the smaller, it formed a ludicrous
combination from both. They all talked with a
sort of harsh and systematic volubility ; and yet
I was surprised to find that their whole gram-
mar consisted of one verb, one case, and one
rule in syntax. At this moment, an old man
advanced, of a most venerable and commanding
appearance; and Syllogism shrunk at his ap-
proach. Instantly I felt as if my mind was
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 51
unfolding itself, and that the recesses of my
heart, and the springs of my feelings, were
thrown open to his view. His visage was
emaciated with cares, but they were not the
cares of the world ; his cheeks were pale with
watching, but they were not the vigils of
avarice. He turned to me with a look of en-
couragement, and unfolded to my eyes a map
the most magnificent I had ever beheld it
was a map of the intellect. There I saw a
thousand rivers, and thousands and ten thou-
sands of rills and rivulets branching from them;
yet all these he traced to two grand sources ;
and the mountains whence those sources issued,
he told me, reached to heaven : and for that
very reason, clouds and impenetrable darkness
enveloped them. He then pursued them
through all their windings, pausing, at times,
to shew the delightful verdure of their banks
their mild and equable flow and often pointing
to the dreary desert occasioned by their ab-
sence, and the frightful precipice by their tor-
rents. At length he traced them to the one
grand ocean the ocean of knowledge. On this
were innumerable straits and quicksands : and
he shewed me the waters of probability, and
E 2
52 REMAINS OF
the wrecks of millions who had mistaken their
soundings : and lastly, those vast polar waters
which the Deity had locked with barriers of
eternal ice, and from which those who entered
them returned no more. I observed that he was
rather garrulous and fond of repetition ; but I
checked any disrespectful idea that might
occur, by recollecting it was the effect of his
condescension. He waved the roll at his de-
parture ; and retiring, he left me in admiration.
The next was one whose steps were irre-
gularly slow, and his paces measured with
extreme exactness. His eye was riveted upon
a chain which he was slowly linking ; the links
were eternal adamant, and the chain was in-
dissoluble. His look was the most contempla-
tive I had ever beheld : Reason seemed to-
tally to have expelled all the passions, (which
frequently share, and sometimes usurp her
throne,) and to reign uncontrolled upon his
brow ; until, at the close of about five minutes,
when he had- accomplished some happy link in
his chain, he gave a start of ecstacy, and Reason
seemed to share her throne with Joy, and to
reign triumphant and combined upon his brow.
Two other sages then approached him, and
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 53
from their conference, I collected that these
two were Plato and Pythagoras; and that their
intention was to lay the foundation of their
temple of science. Phythagoras laid the cor-
ner-stone: all mutually contributed their la-
bours ; but I observed that they consigned to
the first the arrangement of the materials.
More than half the work was effected, when
their strength began to droop, and I trembled
for the temple, I trembled for mankind ;
when a youth advanced, arrayed in a robe
depicted with strange symbols and characters ;
his language was almost wholly numerical, so
that I could not discover the country from
which he came ; but I believe he was an Arab :
he joined them with alacrity ; and the founda-
tion was complete.
Just at that moment a flourish of martial
music assailed my ear, so grand, that Plato,
Pythagoras, and the temple were forgotten,
and every sense was directed to the quarter
whence it issued. A flood of glory enveloped
him who entered, and concealed him, at first,
from my view ; but I heard the thunder of his
footsteps. At length, I perceived an old man
of the most august deportment : gods and men
54 REMAINS OF
appeared to obey him ; for he raised his sceptre
to heaven, and it thundered; he stretched it
over the earth, and a shock of a thousand
armies was heard ; he struck the ground, and
the groans of Erebus arose. His garment
flowed loose and unrestrained ; and a crown of
immortal amaranths overshadowed his brow,
in artless and unarranged luxuriance. I now
found that I had known him long before ; the
fire of heaven was in his eyes ; and this was
the cause that I did not at first recollect that
I had known him before ; for then he was
blind ; but the powers of darkness could no
longer control them, and they had " burst
" their cerements." I knew him now ; and
knowing him, I almost instinctively looked
for another, and that other came. Unlike the
rapid step of the former, his was composed
and majestic : his garment flowed not unre-
strained, but was adjusted with the most grace-
ful and admirable symmetry : his wreath was
not so luxuriant, but selected and combined
with a taste the most fascinating and charm-
ing : he held a golden ploughshare in his right
hand, and in his left a rich cluster of grapes ;
while bees fluttered in harmless swarms around
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 55
his garland. He approached the first with a
timid and hesitating step, and plucked some
of the amaranths from his crown : the first
turned to detect the theft ; but when he per-
ceived the exquisite judgment with which
they were disposed, he beamed forth an im-
mortal smile of approbation : it was the smile
of Apollo upon Mercury, when he found that
he had stolen his arrows.
Then came one in whose sparkling eye
and rosy cheeks wit and good humour for
ever beamed. I found I had known him
before ; and I confess I had the impudence to
run and shake hands with him. His crown
was of almost every leaf and flower that the
earth produces ; among the rest, the myrtle of
Venus, and the vine-leaf of Bacchus. At one
time he gave enforcement to virtue and morality,
with as much gravity as he could command ; at
another, he handed me a goblet with an en-
chanting familiarity. I observed that he had
an arrow from the quiver of Cupid ; yet, as
soon as he had anointed it with a juice he had
obtained from Momus, it became the shaft of
Satire. At length he retired, and bidding me
not to forget the happy hours we had spent
56 REMAINS OF
together, he followed the other two. Farewell,
immortal bards, I will not forget you ; I will
often turn from occupation and the world to
you ; and even when I enter on paths strewed
with the flowers of other poets, I will remem-
ber that many of the sweetest are yours !
Then appeared a hero in a Grecian habit,
who seemed deeply intent upon delineating a
portrait, and, from the inscription, I perceived
it to be that of Socrates. When it was per-
fected, he suddenly dropped the portrait, and
grasped his sword, but still retained the pen ;
at the same time, an invisible hand spread the
spoils of Persia over his shoulders.
Next came a Roman, whose words and ap-
pearance were widely at variance ; his loose
garments indicated his dissolute life, while his
language was chaste and succinct ; his ges-
tures indicated the debauchee, while historic
truth and philosophic morality issued from his
tongue.
The next was in the habit of a Carthaginian
slave ; modest wit and unaffected humour
came in all the simplicity of nature from his
lips: he held a volume which he incessantly
studied, and in which I perceived the name of
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 57
Menander. I then saw one, whose face it was
impossible to behold without laughter : the
most poignant and yet the most indirect satire
was depicted in every feature. I knew that he
was a native of the East, as he discharged his
arrows in the Parthian method ; but he wore a
Grecian garment, so truly graceful and genuine,
that it would not have disgraced the wardrobe
of Plato. Still 1 could not help .feeling some
indignation, when I saw him point his arrow in
the direction in which Homer departed, and
set his foot upon the image which Xenophon
had dropt. I believe he perceived my dis-
pleasure ; for he turned, and handing me three
volumes, which I found to be Herodotus,
Thucydides, and Xenophon, accompanied them
with such a beautiful flow of precepts upon the
mode in which I should imitate them, that I
totally forgot my resentment.
Two others then appeared, similar in many
respects, yet possessing some striking marks of
difference. The first wielded a vengeful lash,
under which folly and vice writhed in torture.
Bold, intrepid, and open was his brow ; and as
the streams of satire issued from his tongue,
Rome seemed to rise with all its debauchery
58 REMAINS OF
before me; yet, once that he extended his
theme to mankind in general, Rome and its
peculiarities were forgotten, and he burst forth
into a strain of such sublime morality, that I
listened in expectation that, in the next sen-
tence, I should hear the name of Christ issuing
from his lips. The second who appeared used
the lash with the same adroitness and severity,
but with more caution. He seemed fearful of
detection: his face was muffled in such a
manner, that many words escaped my ear, and
therefore I could not always fully understand
him.
Scarcely had they departed, when I thought
I heard the shout of countless multitudes ; and
a Grecian and a Roman entered, both in the
attitude of speaking. The first looked like Jove
haranguing the gods. The thunder seemed to
issue from his tongue, and the lightning from
his eye ; he stopped not to ornament, but all
was irresistibly simple and commanding. But
the second put me in mind of Apollo : the
Graces and the Muses seemed to throng around
the rostra on which he stood: the music of
Helicon was on his lips ; and his eye, though
devoid of the lightning of the former, beamed
THE IlEV. C. WOLFE. 59
with a steady and diffusive light, an eye
that told all that was within, and collected all
that was without. The first clanked a massy
chain, and defied me to elude it ; the second,
ere I was aware, had silently entangled me in
golden shackles. A civic crown appeared to
descend, and was just lighting upon the head
of the first, when I beheld one hastily advance,
and attempt to withdraw it ; he was equal to
his antagonist in agility, but inferior in strength,
and after a desperate contest he was compelled
to yield, and the crown rested for ever on the
victor's brow. Over the head of the last was
inscribed, in characters of living gold, " Pater
" Patria?," and tyrants, usurpers, women,
and hirelings, eagerly attempted in vain to
erase it.
But who can describe the scene that fol-
lowed? a scene of stupendous grandeur and
overwhelming magnificence. For then ad-
vanced the man of science the priest of nature,,
who cast a long and venturous look into the
holy of holies ! the sanctuary of creation.
Heaven and Earth saluted him the Elements
paid him homage, and Nature gave a burst of~
universal gratulation. He waved his wand,
60 REMAINS OF
and it seemed as if a vast curtain had been
withdrawn from the face of heaven, and I saw
the Sun with all his satellites in tenfold magni-
tude and splendour, as if just fresh from the
Creator ; the print of his hand was upon them ;
and the traces of his finger, when he described
the orbits in which they should move, were
visible ; the harmony of their motions was so
great that it could not be confined to one sense ;
the harps of cherubim and seraphim beat time
to their movements ; " the morning stars
" were singing together, and all the sons of
" God were shouting for joy." I looked
again at the sage: angels and archangels
were conversing with him, and were revealing
to him the mysteries of the universe. After
some interval, he stooped to the earth, and a
voice, (as it were) from the bowels of the earth,
seemed to declare the secrets of its prison-
house, and the power of that tremendous grasp
which holds the world together. Instantly a
great number of philosophers crowded around
him to catch the sound of the voice : each, ac-
cording to the different words which he caught,
formed some peculiar instrument, either of
surprising efficacy, or beautiful construction.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 61
Still I never withdrew my eyes from him, upon
whom indeed all eyes were intent ; and I be-
held a rainbow, like a glory, encircling his
brow ; and the seven colours of heaven beamed
with a living lustre around him.
I know not how to describe the ludicrous
circumstance which drew my attention from a
scene so enchanting ; I saw a figure approach,
which I did not at first perceive to be myself,
so tattered and disfigured was my academic
dress ; while I was looking at myself with the
most sincere mortification,* my gown began
gradually to gather itself into large and grace-
ful folds above my whole person ; the sleeves
began to lengthen ; and a sleek velvet over-
spread the unsightly pasteboard of my cap.
I assure you, I gazed with perfect self-conceit
upon the improvement of my costume ; but I
was soon roused from my dream of vanity, by
the appearance of Archimedes weighing the
king of Syracuse's crown in water, and detect-
ing the fraud of its master.
Then advanced two buskined Grecians, both
* It may be proper to observe, that this alludes to the
change of academic costume upon obtaining a scholarship,
which honourable distinction he had just then acquired.
62 REMAINS OF
in long and sweeping garments, who looked
with an eye of jealousy upon each other, and
often related the same tale in different style
and language, but still with all its shades of
sorrow and horror. Their voices both seemed
to have softened down the deep-toned thunder
of Homer, into the refined tenderness of Athe-
nian music. They were attended by a band
of virgins, who mimicked all their * motions,
wept as they wept, and raged as they raged.
Their language was sometimes so enigmatical,
that, but for their beauty, I should have taken
them for sphinxes.
The last of that illustrious train which my
vision presented, unfolded an immense picture,
where I saw Rome in all and through all its
vicissitudes. I saw it rising under Romulus,
and sinking beneath the Gauls, reviving
under Camillus, trembling before Hannibal,
triumphant with Scipio, the mistress of
the world beneath Augustus. But, alas ! a
large and brilliant portion was lacerated and
defaced ; and I, in the warmth of my emotions,
cursed the unclassic hand that could mar so
fair a picture. I then heard a confused noise of
Reason, right Reason, Obligation, Government
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 63
when, unluckily, my cap, which I had hung
but loosely on a peg, fell and awoke me. I
must however remark, that there were many
forms, in academic dresses, passing to and fro
during my dream, which I did not then notice,
but which I have since learnt to value most
dearly ; friends, who have since formed the
brightest parts of the picture, and without
whom, the beauties of the rest would to me
have almost terminated with the vision in
which they appeared ; friends, to whom I
have turned from the page of Horace, to rea-
lize the scenes he has described ; whose kind-
ness has assisted me, whose generosity has up-
held me, and whose conversation has height-
ened my hours of pleasure, and mitigated my
days of despair : and when I shall revert from
the toils of manhood, and the imbecility of
age, to this youthful period, it shall not be one
of my least gratifications to recollect, that while
I was employed in cultivating an acquaintance
with the illustrious dead, I did not neglect to
form a still more endearing attachment to the
living.
64 REMAINS OF
PATRIOTISM.
Angels of glory ! came she not from yon ?
Are there not patriots in the heaven of heavens ?
And hath not every seraph some dear spot
Throughout th' expanse of worlds some favourite home
On which he fixes with domestic fondness ?
Doth not e'en Michael on his seat of fire,
Close to the footstool of the throne of God,
Rest on his harp awhile, and from the face
And burning glories of the Deity,
Loosen his riveted and raptured gaze,
To bend one bright, one transient downward glance,
One patriot look upon his native star?
Or do I err ? and is your bliss complete,
Without one spot to claim your warmer smile,
And e'en an angel's partiality ?
And is that passion, which we deem divine,
Which makes the timid brave, the brave resistless,
Makes men seem heroes, heroes, demigods
A poor, mere mortal feeling ? No ! 'tis false !
The Deity himself proves it divine ;
For when the Deity conversed with men,
He was himself a Patriot !* to the earth
* The observation of Bishop Newton upon the passage of
Scripture thus alluded to, may be introduced here as autho-
rity for the boldness of this expression. " So deeply was our
" Saviour affected, and so tenderly did he lament over the
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 65
To all mankind a Saviour was he sent,
And all he loved with a Redeemer's love ;
" calamities which were coming upon his nation ! Such a
" generous and amiable pattern of a pat riot -spirit hath he
( ' left to his disciples, and so contrary to truth is the insinua-
" tion of a noble writer, that there is nothing in the Gospels
" to recommend and encourage the love of one's country !"
18th Dissert, on the Prophecies, vol. ii p. 138.
I beg leave to add a quotation from Brown's admirable
Essays on Lord Shaftesbury's Characteristics. To the objec-
tion of the noble writer, that " Christianity does not enjoin a
' ' zeal for the public and our country," it is thus replied :
" If by zeal for the public, and love of our country, be meant
" such a regard to its welfare as shall induce us to sacrifice
" every view of private interest for its establishment, yet still
" in subordination to the greater law of universal justice,
" that is naturally, nay, necessarily involved in the law of
tc universal charity. The noble writer indeed affirms, that
" it is no essential part of the Christian's charity. On the
" contrary, it is a chief part of the Christian's charity. It
" comes nobly recommended by the examples of Jesus and
" St. Paul ; the one wept over the approaching desolation of
" his country ; the other declared his willingness to be cut
" off from the Christian community, if by this means he
" might save his countrymen." Speaking of the principle of
universal love, in which this natural affection is included, the
same author observes : " Christianity alone hath kindled in
(C the heart of man this vital principle, which, beaming there
" as from a centre, like the great fountain of light and life
F
66 REMAINS OF
Yet still, his warmest love, his tenderest care,
His life, his heart, his blessings, and his mournings,
His smiles, his tears, he gave to thee, Jerusalem
To thee, his country ! Though, with a prophet's gaze,
He saw the future sorrows of the world ;
And all the miseries of the human race,
From age to age, rehearsed their parts before him ;
Though he beheld the fall of gasping Rome,
Crush 'd by descending Vandals ; though he heard
The shriek of Poland, when the spoilers came ;
Though he saw Europe in the conflagration
Which now is burning, and his eye could pierce
The coming woes that we have yet to feel ;
Yet still, o'er Sion's walls alone he hung ;
Thought of no trench but that round Sion cast ;
Beheld no widows mourn, but Israel's daughters ;
Beheld no slaughter but of Judah's sons
On them alone the tears of Heaven he dropp'd ;
Dwelt on the horrors of their fall and sigrTd,
" Hadst thou but known, even thou in this thy day,
" The things which do belong unto thy peace,
" Hadst thou, O hadst thou known, Jerusalem !"
Yet well he knew what anguish should be his
" that sustains and cheers the attendant planets, renders its
" proselytes indeed burning and shining lights, shedding their
" kindly influence on all around them in that just proportion
" which their respective distances may demand." t'p- 23J ,
236. EDITOR.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 67
From those he wept for ; well did he foresee
The scourge the thorns the cross the agony ;
Yet still, how oft upon thy sons he laid
The hands of health ; how oft beneath his wing
Thy children would have gathered, O Jerusalem !
Thou art not mortal thou didst come from Heaven,
Spirit of patriotism ! thou art divine !
Then, seraph ! where thy first descent on earth ?
Heaven's hallelujahs, for what soil abandon 'd?
Close by the side of Adam, ere he woke
Into existence, was thy hallowed stand ;
On Eden and on thee his eyes unclosed :
For say, instead of wisdom's sacred tree,
And its sweet fatal fruit, had Heaven denied
His daily visit to his natal spot,
Say, could our father boast one day's obedience ?
And wherefore, Eden, when he pass'd for ever
Thy gates, in slow and silent bitterness,
Why did he turn that look of bursting anguish
Upon thy fruits, thy groves, thy vales, thy fountains,,
And why inhale with agonising fervour
The last last breeze that blew from thee upon him ?
'Twas not alone because thy fruits were sweet
Thy groves were music and thy fountains, health
Thy breezes balm thy valleys, loveliness ;
But that they were the first his ear, eye, taste,
Or smell, or feeling had perceived or tasted,
Heard, seen, inhaled ; because thou wert his country !
Yes, frail and sorrowing sire, thy sons forgive thee !
F 2
68 REMAINS OF
True, thou hast lost us Eden and its joys,
But thou hast suffered doubly by the loss !
We were not born there it was not our country ?
O holy Angel ! thou hast given us each
This substitute for Paradise ; with thee,
The vale of snow may be our summer walk ;
The pointed rock, the bower of our repose ;
The cataract, our music ; while, for food,
Thy fingers, icy-cold, perhaps may pluck
The mountain-berry ; yet, with thee, we '11 smile-
Nor shiver when we hear, that Father Adam
Once lived in brighter climes, on sweeter food.
But, ah ! at least to this our second Eden
Permit no artful serpent to approach ;
Let no foul traitor grasp at fruits which thou
Hast interdicted ; and no sword of flame
Flash forth despair, and wave us to our exile.
Yet, rather than that I should rise in shame
Upon my country's downfal, or should draw
One tear from her, or e'en one frown from thee
Rather than that I should approach her walls,
Like Caius Marcius, with her foes combined,
Or turn, like Sylla, her own sons upon her,
Let me sit down in silence by thy side,
Upon the banks of Babylon,-^and weep,
When we remember all that we have lost :
Nor shall we always on the stranger's willow
Allow our harp in sorrow to repose ;
But when thy converse has inspired my soul,
THE REV. G. WOLFE. 69
Roused it to frenzy, taught me to forget
Distance, and time, and place, and wo, and exile,
And I no more behold Euphrates' bank,
And hear no more the clanking of my fetters,
Then, in thy fervours, shalt thou snatch thy harp,
And strike me one of Sion's loftiest songs,
Until I pour my soul upon the notes
Deep from my heart and they shall waft it home.
O Erin ! O my mother ! I will love thee !
Whether upon thy green, Atlantic throne,
Thou sitt'st august, majestic, and sublime ;
Or on thy empire's last remaining fragment,
Bendest forlorn, dejected, and forsaken,
Thy smiles, thy tears, thy blessings, and thy woes,
Thy glory and thy infamy, be mine !
Should Heaven but teach me to display my heart,
With Deborah's notes thy triumphs would I sing
Would weep thy woes with Jeremiah's tears ;
But for a warning voice, which, though thy fall
Had been begun, should check thee in mid-air,
Isaiah's lips of fire should utter, Hold !
Not e'en thy vices can withdraw me from thee;
Thy crimes I M shun thyself would still embrace ;
For e'en to me Omnipotence might grant
To be the " tenth just man," to save thee, Erin !
And when I leave thee, should the lowest seat
In heaven be mine, should smiling mercy grant
One dim and distant vision of its glories,
Then if the least of all the blest can mix
With heaven one thought of earth, I '11 think of thee.
70 REMAINS OF
The fragments of the speech delivered from
the chair, in the Historical Society, which shall
now be presented to the reader, can give but
an imperfect idea of its merits as a whole ;
however, they may serve to exhibit the cha-
racter of his mind at that early period of his
life, and afford an interesting ground of compa-
rison between his juvenile efforts as a speaker,
and his graver exertions in maturer years,
when the sublime realities of religion had more
fuUy engaged those sensibilities which were
now so keenly alive to the romance of poetry
and the charms of general literature.
After a modest and appropriate introduc-
tion, and a high panegyric on the objects and
constitution of the society he was addressing,
the speaker thus proceeds :
She (the Historical Society)' sends her am-
bassador, to recall the wavering and disaffected
to their allegiance, by displaying the beauties
of her constitution ; that you may not desert
the station for which nature and education have
designed you ; that you should not dare to
frustrate a nation's hope, which looks to you
for the guardians of her laws and the cham-
pions of her political prosperity ; that you
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 71
should not presume to neglect the voice of
your God, who demands from among you the
supporters of his church ; that a portion of
mind, a mass of concentrated intellect, may
issue from these walls, and overshadow the
land ; and that, at length, after a glorious
career of enlightened and diffusive utility, you
may retire with dignity from the part you
have acted, and Ireland command posterity
to imitate your example. Such are the ob-
jects to which you are now invited, from low
pursuits and sordid gratifications,
*****
Poetry* demands no laborious intellectual
intensity to imbibe her angelic counsels ; it is
upon the hours of our pleasures she descends ;
it is our recreation she exalts. Thus, she
makes our hours of rapture or enjoyment, the
hours of our greatest elevation of soul: our
* The introductory part of the subject of Poetry (which
those who heard the speech delivered can recollect as pecu-
liarly happy) is not to be found amongst the loose papers
from which these fragments are transcribed. This will ac-
count for the abruptness with which this part commences.
EDITOR.
72 REMAINS OF
relaxations become the most dignified moments
of our existence.
Will Science bend from her throne, or Phi-
losophy relax her stateliness, to attend us in
our brighter moments and regulate our plea-
sures ? Science and Philosophy we must follow
for their favours ; but lovely, lovely Poetry con-
descends to be our companion. Poetry pos-
sesses an attribute of which all her sisters are
destitute. The mind must conform itself to
them ; but Poetry conforms herself to the mind;
she accompanies it in every varied posture and
every delicate inflection, in buoyancy, and
exertion, and indolence.
It is this insinuation into all our pleasures,
which gives her a species of omnipresence ;
for, to him who loves her, where is not
Poetry? * * *
And believe not those who tell you that
she will seduce the youthful mind from severe
occupations that science is excluded from
her power, and philosophy from the heaven of
her conversation. In the first ages of man, the
Sciences entered the world in the disguise of
Poetry. Morality it not only taught but im-
pelled.. Instruction was conveyed not by pre-
THE REV. G. WOLFE. 73
ceptive sternness, but by the burst of inspira-
tion. The bard was then all in all. He
accounted for the phenomena of nature; he
inquired into the essence of the mind ; and the
savage looked up to him for the ethics that
were to regulate his conduct. Poetry (it is
known) had an early and intimate connexion
with Astronomy : some say that she was born
in yonder starry sphere, that she first de-
scended upon man, in the dews of heaven,
while gazing on the firmament ; and the first
music that saluted mortal ears, was the har-
mony of the morning stars : and, in process of
greater refinement, when Poetry and Philoso-
phy were necessarily distinguished, yet did their
union and attachment still remain. Together
they visited the same happy plains : the Muses
danced in the groves of Academus ; and Greece
gave the world at once its sages and its bards.
But didactic poetry not only admits, but
requires the co-operation of Philosophy and
Science; and our bold and independent lan-
guage, by removing the barriers of rhyme, has
thrown open to both a wider range for combin-
ed exertion. Then doubt not the rapturous
exclamation of that sightless bard, who could
74 REMAINS OF
penetrate all the mysteries of the one, and
tasted all the joys and consolations of the other,
when he cried in admiration,
" How charming is divine Philosophy !"
for he found it
" musical as is Apollo's lyre. 1 '
O divine preceptress ! that extinguishes no
youthful ardour, but sends it kindling up to
heaven, that collects all the riches of the
material creation, to beautify and illustrate the
moral world, that, by instilling admiration of
what is lovely and sublime, assimulates the soul
to what it admires, that, setting unattainable
perfection in the eye of youth, yet renders it
so fascinating that he cannot but proceed.
*****
But the science with Poetry loves most
to study and to inculcate, is the philosophy of
human nature, the science of the human
heart. The man of the world will tell you that
he understands it, and will send you to the
world as the source of his knowledge. He has
collected a few loathsopie and selfish depra-
vities, and bestows them, without distinction of
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 75
character, as the attributes of the whole human
race ; and the result of all his important calcu-
lations, mighty researches, and accumulated ex-
perience, is caution, distrust, and a contracted
heart. But (Jo not you likewise ; do you look
upon your common nature with hearts full of
sensibility ; weak as it is, contemplate its grand
and generous faculties, as well as its baser in-
gredients ; let it be yours to pity perhaps
to improve it. Poetry, both ancient and mo-
dern, presents the heart and passions perpe-
tually to our contemplation.
The criticism of Poetry is perhaps the best
introduction to an analysis of the human mind.
The dreariness of metaphysical abstraction has
often deterred genius from attempting a rugged
pursuit, in which the mind is almost always
fugitive, and will not pause to admit of a near
inspection : but to ascertain the nature of the
sublime, the beautiful, and picturesque, to
investigate the sources of our purest pleasures,
and cultivate a taste, quick, delicate, and
philosophical, these bestow a gracefulness
76 EEMAINS OF
and elegance upon metaphysical disquisitions,
that relax their sternness, and invite to more
profound investigation. Nor would they merely
invite, they would advance, they would en-
liven our progress ; and a sensibility of taste
would make us acquainted with many a pos-
ture, and many a nice inflection of the mind,
which logical and unrefined penetration would
never have discovered.
*****
But the man of the world interposes, and
tells us our joys are but ideal. Poor wretch !
and what are your realities? The smile of
capricious royalty, which the next hour's de-
traction may turn to a frown ; the shout of a
stupid multitude, which scarcely waits a change
of sentiment before it becomes the hiss of de-
testation ; the roar of nocturnal intemperance,
which soon dies away in the groans of an ex-
piring constitution ; a catalogue of possessions,
which extravagance may dissipate, which the
robber may enjoy, and which war and the ele-
ments may annihilate ; and, when sorrow and
misfortune shall send you to your own heart
for consolation, you will find it without ima-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 77
gination to enliven, and yet without sensibility
enough to break it. Give me my visions and
my phantoms again ; they will not desert me,
phantoms as they are, the world has not the
magic to dispel them ; they shall still remain
to give rapture to my joy and alleviation to
my sorrows ; for gracious Nature has decreed
that imagination shall survive when friends
and fortune have forsaken us ; nay, even when
reason itself has departed, and even when the
noblest of our faculties is fled, not madness itself
should quench that loveliest one : and well did
the Grecian bard attest his conviction that the
Muse would not abandon her afflicted votaries,
when, amid the horrors of shipwreck, the poet
stood naked over the ruins of his fortune, and
said, " I have lost nothing." Yet, once he had
enjoyed all the pomp and magnificence of
courts, and all the luxury that affluence could
procure; but well he knew that winds and
waves could not waft him from his Muse. They
might fling him in mid-ocean, and one single,
solitary rock, amid the wilderness of waters,
might be his home, yet even there the Muse
would follow ; she would seat him on the top-
most crag, and place all the grandeur of sky
78 REMAINS OF
and ocean beneath his dominion, the riches of
the firmament,
" And all the dread magnificence of heaven."
He would exult in the terrors of the deep, and
hold mysterious converse with the genius of
the storm; the very desolation that sur-
rounded him would minister to his pleasures,
and add a fearful enthusiasm to his con-
templations. Nor to these alone would his
enjoyments be confined : but, while he seemed
chained by nature to the rock on which he sat,
his soul might be wandering into regions wild
and luxuriant as the fancy that gave them
birth, which Philosophy was never destined
to discover, nor even Poetry, till then, had
explored.
Nor will the Muse leave her son comfortless
in that more dreary solitude into which he
may be drifted by shipwreck upon an un-
grateful world, where the poet stands isolated
in the midst of mankind.
There lived a divine old man, whose everlast-
ing remains we have all admired, whose me-
mory is the pride of England and of Nature.
His youth was distinguished by a happier lot
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 79
than, perhaps, genius has often enjoyed at the
commencement of its career : he was enabled,
by the liberality of fortune, to dedicate his soul
to the cultivation of those classical accomplish-
ments in which almost his infancy delighted :
he had attracted admiration at the period when
it is most exquisitely felt : he stood forth the
literary and political champion of republican
England ; and Europe acknowledged him the
conqueror. But the storm arose; his fortune
sunk with the republic which he had defended ;
the name which future ages have consecrated
was forgotten ; and neglect was embittered by
remembered celebrity. Age was advancing
Health was retreating Nature hid her face
from him for ever, for never more to him re-
turned
" Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
" Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
" Or flocks or herds, or human face divine."
What was the refuge of the deserted veteran
from penury from neglect from infamy
from darkness ? Not in a querulous and peevish
despondency; not in an unmanly recantation
of principles erroneous, but unchanged; not
80 REMAINS OF
in the tremendous renunciation of what Heaven
has given, and Heaven alone should take away ;
but he turned from a distracted country and
a voluptuous court, he turned from trium-
phant enemies and inefficient friends, he
turned from a world that to him was a uni-
versal blank, to the Muse that sits among the
cherubim, and she caught him into heaven !
The clouds that obscured his vision upon
earth .instantaneously vanished before the blaze
of celestial effulgence, and his eyes opened at
once upon all the glories and terrors of the
Almighty, the seats of eternal beatitude and
bottomless perdition. What, though to look
upon the face of this earth was still denied
what was it to him, that one of the outcast
atoms of creation was concealed from his view
when the Deity permitted the Muse to un-
lock his mysteries, and disclose to the poet the
recesses of the universe when she bade his soul
expand into its immensity, and enjoy as well
its horrors as its magnificence what was it to
him that he had " fallen upon evil days and
" evil tongues," for the Muse could transplant
his spirit into the bowers of Eden, where the
frown of fortune was disregarded, and the
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 81
weight of incumbent infirmity forgotten in the
smile that beamed on primeval innocence, and
the tear that was consecrated to man's first dis-
obedience.
The Muse, in this instance, raised the soul
immediately, almost visibly, to heaven, and
brought Religion, with all her charms, to co-
operate in the consolation she bestowed. But
were we to analyse the effects of Poetry, we
should soon discover that this is no partial
union, but that the Muse must be necessarily a
worshipper and an adorer of the Deity. I do
not call upon you to view her in the moments
of enraptured piety, in her vigils and de-
votions with Young, or her heavenly con-
versations with Cowper : it is her interest that
there should be a God it is her occupation
to dwell with delight upon his attributes ; for
are not the beautiful and sublime perpetual
objects of her contemplation ? And she will
naturally seek where they reside in superior
perfection ; and where shall she look for
sublimity but in that unseen Being in whom
is nothing finite, that Being of eternity, im-
G
82 REMAINS OF
mensity, and omnipotence ? Nay, even in ideas
of inferior sublimity, obscurity and terror, that
are their leading characteristics, often impart a
nameless sensation of some unknown and mys-
terious presence ; and darkness and silence,
the tempest and the whirlwind, have borne
testimony to the existence of God.
Would not an universal cloud settle upon
all the beauties of creation, if it were supposed
that they had not emanated from Almighty
energy ? In the works of art, we are not con-
tent with the accuracy of feature and the glow
of colouring, until we have traced the mind
that guided the chisel and gave the pencil its
delicacies and animation ; nor can we look with
delight upon the features of nature without
hailing the celestial Intelligence that gave
them birth : and there is something inexpres-
sibly mournful in beholding an object with pro-
portions and loveliness that seem immediately
from heaven, to think that fair form and that
exquisite and expressive harmony was a mass
flung together by the dull and unselecting
hand of chance, and that no mighty master
of the work rejoiced in its completion.
The Deity is too sublime for Poetry to doubt
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 83
his existence. Creation has too much of the
Divinity insinuated into her beauties to allow
her to hesitate : she demands no proof, she
waits for no demonstration ; she looks, and
she believes ; she admires, and she adores.
Nor is it alone with natural religion that she
maintains this intimate connexion ; for what is
the Christian's hope, but Poetry in her purest
and most ethereal essence ? Mark the Christian
when the holy transport is upon him, when
the world sweeps by, and is disregarded,
when his whole frame seems to have precipi-
tated his soul into other regions is not Fancy
wandering among the heavenly host, or bending
beneath the throne of its Creator, is not his
soul teeming with all the imagery of heaven
is it not expanding with unutterable poetry ?
But let humbled Infidelity declare her
triumphs, and the homage of Voltaire to the
Muse's piety remain a bright memorial of her
allegiance to Christianity. When the powers of
hell seemed for a time to prevail, and his prin-
ciples had given a shock to the faith of Europe,
the daring blasphemer ventured to approach the
dramatic Muse ; but no inspiration would she
vouchsafe to dignify the sentiments of impiety
G 2
84 REMAINS OF
and atheism. He found that no impassioned
emotion could be roused, no tragic interest
excited, no generous and lofty feeling called
into action, where those dark and chilling
feelings pervade : he complied with the only
terms upon which the Muse would impart her
fervours ; and the tragedies of Voltaire display
the loveliness of Christianity, below, indeed,
what a Christian would feel, but almost beyond
what unbelieving genius could conceive. Such
was the victory of Poetry when she arrested
the apostate while marching onward to the de-
solation of mankind, when the champion of
modern philosophy fell down before the altar
she had raised, and breathed forth the incense
of an infidel's adoration ! when he came, like
the disobedient prophet, that he might curse
the people of God, and behold " he blessed
" them altogether."
But why do I adduce mortal testimony ?
From the beginning she was one of the minis-
tering spirits that stand round the throne of
God, to issue forth at his word, and do his
errands upon the earth. Sometimes she has
been the herald of an offending nation's down-
fall ; and often has she been sent commissioned
to transgressing man, with prophecy and warn-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 85
ing upon her lips ; but (at other times) she has
been intrusted with "glad tidings of great joy;"
and Poetry was the anticipating Apostle, the
prophetic Evangelist, whose " feet were beau-
" tiful upon the mountains that published
" salvation that said unto Zion, Thy God
" reigneth !" Yet has she been accused of co-
operating with luxury and fostering the seeds
of private indolence and public supineness ; she
has been stigmatised as the origin of moral
deformity, because she often condescends to
attend upon guilty man ; and where virtue has
failed to withdraw him from his vices, has
softened their effects, and prevented him from
falling into brutality. The spoils of Persia
would have relaxed the energies of Greece
although poetry had never descended from her
throne on high to bless the visions of Grecian
enthusiasm ; and happy, polished, enchanting
Greece, the idol of our fondest imagination,
would have sunk into oblivion into stupid
luxury and mindless indolence. Thus, also,
when the genius of Roman independence was
abandoning the world to Octavius, and re-
tiring from his empire into everlasting exile,
the Muse collected all her energies to bestow
departing consolation ; she wrought a moral
86 REMAINS OF
miracle to arrest the headlong degeneracy of
Rome, and raised up Augustus to counteract
the crimes that Octavius had committed.
*****
But turn to Poetry and History united
for your instruction. Human nature is com-
mon to both ; but different are their modes of
tuition. They supply their respective delinea-
tions of character. Poetry, when at maturity,
observes it as well with a painter's eye as with
the scrutiny of a philosopher. She seizes the
moment of sketching it when in its most
picturesque attitude ; or, if there be many, she
groups them so as that they may produce the
best general effects ; and thus, without annihi-
lating their deformities, she makes them con-
duce to a pleasing and fascinating impres-
sion. But rigid History takes character as
she finds it; she displays it more exact and
impartial, but less attractive to our contempla-
tion. Poetry displays the moral character ;
History, the moral and political. Poetry
makes the character more palpable; History,
more complete. *
Behold History bending over the dying
Theban ! the warriors are weeping around
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 87
him ; the javelin is still in his side. They
imagined his glory was terminating with his
life ; they fancied that because he had no
mortal representative who should bear the
merit of Epaminondas to future ages, pos-
terity would have been permitted to forget
him ; they thought they were sympathising
with the mighty man, when they mournfully
exclaimed, " You have no child !" At the
word, the hero half arose ; the splendour of
futurity irradiated his countenance ; the beams
of History's immortal smile played upon his
features, and his soul went forth, rejoicing, and
exclaiming " I have !"
While Hannibal was raging in the bowels
of Italy, and observing the moment when
Rome was vulnerable, she looked to her states-
men in her hour of peril ; but statesmen were
the pupils of their own experience ; she
thought the Fabii and Marcelli could form
a temporary check to his advance or his ra-
vages ; but Scipio looked into the ages that
were past, and saw the prefiguration of Rome's
deliverance. We are told that the Muse of
88 REMAINS OF
history descended upon the meditating hero ;
that she shewed him the harbour of Syra-
cuse, and told him a tale of former days :
" That in the dead of night, when Syracuse
" was plunged in universal mourning and
" consternation, when the overwhelming navy
" of Carthage was riding in her harbour, and
" the next day's light threatened to conduct
" the enemy into her citadel, with a policy
" unique and sublime, she clandestinely dis-
" missed her garrison to the coast of Africa,
" and when the senate of Carthage expected
" the gates of Syracuse to open, they heard
" that the warriors of Syracuse were beneath
" her own walls." The hero applied the glo-
rious suggestion : he embarked his legions
he sailed to Africa ; he left the host of Carth-
age in Italy, and obeyed the instructions of
History. Arid did she instruct him aright ?
You will read your answer in the tears of
Hannibal when he threw his last look upon
the delightful plains of Italy.
Such was the benefit of historical retrospect
in ancient days ; but its value is now incalcu-
lably augmented ; for, of the sciences, history
is that which is always advancing. Mathe-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 89
matics and philosophical improvements may be
long at a stand ; poetry and the arts are often
stationary, often retrograde ; but every year,
every month, every day, is contributing its
knowledge to the grand magazine of historical
experience. Look at what the last years have
added, and behold how history gathers as she
rolls along what new attractions she holds
forth to mankind. But, with what an accession
of beauty she invites the Briton to the study of
her charms, while she recounts the acts and
heroism and glories of her country !
*****
Let the energies of England be extinct ;
let her armies be overwhelmed ; let her navy
become the spoil of the enemy and the ocean ;
let the national credit become a by-word ;
let the last dregs of an exhausted treasury be
wrung from her coffers; let the constitution
crumble; let the enemy ride in her capital,
and her frame fall asunder in political dissolu-
tion ; then stand with History on one hand,
and Oratory on the other, over the grave in
which her energies lie entombed, and cry
aloud ! Tell her that there was a time when the
soul of a Briton would not bend before the con-
90 REMAINS OF
gregated world : tell her that she once called
her sons around her and wrung the charter of
her liberties from a reluctant despot's hand :
tell her that she was the parent of the band of
brothers that fought on Crispin's day : tell her
that Spain sent forth a nation upon the seas
against her, and that England and the elements
overwhelmed it: tell her that six centuries
were toiling to erect the edifice of her constitu-
tion, and that at length the temple arose : tell
her that there are plains in every quarter of the
globe where Victory has buried the bones of
her heroes,
" That the spirits of her fathers
" Shall start from every wave,
" For the deck it was their field of fame,
" And ocean was their grave :"
When the earth opened upon Lisbon and swal-
lowed her in the wornb, tell her that she
stretched her hand across the seas and raised
her from the bowels of the earth into the world
again : tell her that when the enemy of hu-
man liberty arose, the freedom of the whole
world took refuge with her ; that, with an arm
of victory, alone and unaided, she flung back
the usurper, till recreant Europe blushed with
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 91
shame ; tell her all this ; and I say that the
power of lethargy must be omnipotent, if she
does not shake the dust from her neck, and
rise in flames of annihilating vengeance on her
destroyer. *
For him who peruses history, every hero
has fought, every philosopher has instructed,
every legislator has organised ; every bless-
ing was bestowed, every calamity was in-
flicted for his information. In public, he is in
the audit of his counsellors, and enters the se-
nate with Pericles, Solon, and Lycurgus about
him : in private, he walks among the tombs of
the mighty dead ; and every tomb is an oracle.
But who is he that should pronounce this
awakening caU ? who is he whose voice should
be the trumpet and war-cry to an enslaved and
degraded nation? It should be the voice of
such a one as he who stood over slumbering
Greece, and uttered a note at which Athens
started from her indolence, Thebes roused from
her lethargies, and Macedon trembled. * *
Soon after the delivery of this speech, Mr,
Wolfe began to turn his mind with more .than
92 REMAINS OF
Ins usual diligence to the minor branches of
mathematics and natural philosophy prescribed
in the under-graduate course : and in the short
time he thus devoted his labours, he evinced so
great a capacity for scientific attainments, that
those friends who could best estimate his talents
for such abstruse subjects, earnestly urged him
to the arduous task of reading for a fellowship.
His diffidence in his own powers, however, pre-
vented him from entering upon it until some
time after he took the degree of Bachelor of
Arts, to which he was admitted in the year
1814. He was at length persuaded to deter-
mine upon this pursuit, and all his friends en-
tertained the most sanguine hopes of his suc-
cess, so far as they could depend upon the
steadiness of his application.
For a short period he prosecuted his studies
with such effect as to render it a matter of re-
gret to all who were interested for him, that
he did not persevere in his efforts, and that he
allowed any trifling interruptions to divert him
from his object. He evinced, indeed, a solidity
of understanding, and a clearness of concep-
tion, which, with ordinary diligence and proper
management, might have soon made him master
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 93
of all those branches of learning required in the
fellowship course of the Dublin University;
but the habits of his mind, and the peculiarity
of his disposition, and the variety of his taste,
seemed adverse to any thing like continued and
laborious application to one definite object. It
was a singular characteristic of his mind, that
he seldom read any book throughout, not even
those works in which he appeared most to de-
light. Whatever he read, he thoroughly digest-
ed and accurately retained ; but his progress
through any book of an argumentative or spe-
culative nature was impeded by a disputative
habit of thought and a fertility of invention,
which suggested ingenious objections and start-
ed new theories at every step. Accordingly, this
constitution of mind led him rather to investi-
gate the grounds of an author's hypothesis, and
to satisfy his own mind upon the relative pro-
babilities of conflicting opinions, than to plod
on patiently through a long course, merely to
lay up in his memory the particular views and
arguments of each writer, without consideration
of their importance or their foundation. He
was not content to know what an author's
opinions were, but how far they were right or
94 REMAINS OF
wrong. The examination of a single metaphy-
sical speculation of Locke, or a moral argument
of Butler, usually cost him more time and
thought than would carry ordinary minds
through a whole volume. It was also remark-
able that in the perusal of mere works of fancy
the most interesting poems and romances of
the day he lingered with such delight on the
first striking passages, or entered into such mi-
nute criticism upon every beauty and defect as
he went along, that it usually happened, either
that the volume was hurried from him, or some
other engagement interrupted him before he
had finished it. A great portion of what he
had thus read he could almost repeat from me-
mory ; and while the recollection afforded him
much ground of future enjoyment, it was suffi-
cient also to set his own mind at work in the
same direction.
The facility of his disposition also exposed
him to many interruptions in his studies. Even
in the midst of the most important engage-
ments, he had not resolution to deny himself to
any visiter. He used to watch anxiously for
every knock at his door, lest any one should be
disappointed or delayed who sought for him ;
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 95
and such was the good-natured simplicity of his
heart, that, however sorely he sometimes felt
the intrusion, he still rendered himself so
agreeable even to his most common-place ac-
quaintances, as to encourage a repetition of
their importunities. He allowed himself to
become the usual deputy of every one who
applied to him to perform any of the routine
collegiate duties which he was qualified to dis-
charge; and thus his time was so much in-
vaded, that he seldom had any interval for
continued application to his own immediate
business. Besides, the social habit of his dis-
position, which delighted in the company of
select friends, and preferred the animated en-
counter of conversational debate to the less
inviting exercise of solitary study; and his
varied taste, which could take interest in every
object of rational and intellectual enjoyment,
served to scatter his mind and divert it from
that steadiness of application which is actually
necessary for the attainment of distinguished
eminence in any pursuit.
About the time he had entertained thoughts
of reading for a fellowship, he had become
acquainted with an interesting and highly
96 REMAINS OF
respectable family, who resided in the most
picturesque part of the county of Dublin.
Previously to this he had been long immured
within the city, and had seldom made even a
day's excursion amidst the lovely scenery of
the surrounding country. The beauties of
nature seemed to break upon him with all the
charms of novelty, and were heightened by
being shared with friends of congenial feelings.
The sensations thus excited soon awakened his
slumbering Muse, and found their natural ex-
pression in all the fervours of poetic inspiration.
The reader shall be presented here with a
specimen of his powers in descriptive poetry.
The subject is " Lough Bray ;" a romantic and
magnificent scene, which lies about six miles
south of Rathfarnham, in the northern part of
the county Wicklow. It is a sequestered spot
in the midst of a region of wildest mountains
and hills. There are too lakes, called the
upper and lower, the latter of which is the
more beautiful and extensive. It is situated near
the top of an abrupt mountain, and is almost
circular in its shape, a circumstance which has
probably given rise to the conjecture that it
may be the crater of an extinct volcano. Its
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 97
area is said to be thirty-seven Irish acres.
Close beside it stands a precipice of several
hundred feet, near the top of which is a dark
overhanging cliff, commonly called the "Eagle's
" ( Crag;" and the lake itself sometimes over-
flows and glides down the side of the mountain
in the opposite direction. This brief descrip-
tion of the principal features of the scene, may
serve to prepare the reader for what he is to
expect in the little poem which follows.
FAREWELL TO LOUGH BRAY.
Then fare the well ! I leave thy rocks and glens.
And all thy wild and random majesty,
To plunge amid the world's deformities,
And see how hideously mankind deface
What God hath given them good : while viewing thee,
I think how grand and beautiful is God,
When man has not intruded on his works,
But left his bright creation unimpaired.
'Twas therefore I approached thee with an awe
Delightful, therefore eyed, with joy grotesque
With joy I could not speak ; (for on this heart
Has beauteous Nature seldom smiled, and scarce
A casual wind has blown the veil aside,
And shewn me her immortal lineaments,)
'Twas therefore did my heart expand, to mark
H
98 . REMAINS OF
Thy pensive uniformity of gloom.
The deep and holy darkness of thy wave,
And that stern rocky form, whose aspect stood
Athwart us, and confronted us at once,
Seeming to vindicate the worship due,
And yet reclined in proud recumbency,
As if secure the homage would be paid :
It look'd the genius of the place, and seem'd
To superstition's eye, to exercise
Some sacred, unknown function. Blessed scenes !
Fraught with primeval grandeur ! or if aught
Is changed in thee, it is no mortal touch
That sharpen'd thy rough brow, or fringed thy skirts
With coarse luxuriance : 'twas the lightning's force
Dash'd its strong flash across thee, and did point
The crag ; or, with his stormy thunderbolt,
Th' Almighty architect himself disjoin'd
Yon rock ; then flung it down where now it hangs,
And said, " Do thou lie there ;" and genial rains,
(Which e'en without the good man's prayer came down)
Cali'd forth thy vegetation. Then I watch'd
The clouds that coursed along the sky, to which
A trembling splendour o'er the waters moved
Responsive ; while at times it stole to land,
And smiled among the mountain's dusky locks.
Surely there linger beings in this place 3
For whom all this is done : it cannot be,
That all this fair profusion is bestow'd
For such wild wayward pilgrims as ourselves.
THE REV. l\ WOLFE. 99
Haply some glorious spirits here await
The opening of heaven's portals ; who disport
Along the bosom of the lucid lake ; ,
Who cluster on that peak ; or playful peep
Into yon eagle's nest ; then sit them down
And talk of those they left on earth, and those
Whom they shall meet in heaven : and, haply tired,
(If blessed spirits tire in such employ,)
The slumbering phantoms lay them down to rest
Upon the bosom of the dewy breeze.
Ah ! whither do I roam I dare not think
Alas ! I must forget thee ; for I go
To mix with narrow minds and hollow hearts
I must forget thee fare thee, fare thee well !
The following stanzas will convey some
idea of the sensations with which the poet
returned from such scenes as this to the sombre
walls of a college, and how painfully he felt
the transition from such enjoyments to the
grave occupation of academic studies.
SONG.
I.
Oh say not that my heart is cold
To aught that once would warm it
That Nature's form so dear of old
No more has power to charm it ;
100 REMAINS OF
Or that th' ungenerous world can chill
One glow of fond emotion
For those who made it dearer still,
And shared my wild devotion.
II.
Still oft those solemn scenes I view
In rapt and dreamy sadness ;
Oft look on those who loved them too
With fancy's idle gladness ;
Again I longed to view the light
In Nature's features glowing ;
Again to tread the mountain's height,
And taste the soul's overflowing.
III.
Stern Duty rose, and frowning flung
His leaden chain around me ;
With iron look and sullen tongue
He mutter'd as he bound me
" The mountain breeze, the boundless heaven,
" Unfit for toil the creature ;
66 These for the free alone are given,
" But what have slaves with Nature ?"
A description of an enchanting scene in the
county Wicklow " the Dargle," or " Glen of
the Oak" cannot fail to interest any one who
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 101
has had the happiness to visit it, and is gifted
with taste to enjoy it. This little sketch,
though written in prose, is animated by the
very spirit of poetry, and is so graphically ac-
curate in the delineation of every feature of
that lovely spot, that it seems capable of sum-
moning up before the imagination, as by magic,
the whole scene, in all its vivid colouring and
its distinctive forms of beauty.
THE DARGLE.
We found ourselves at Bray about ten in
the morning, with that disposition to be pleased
which seldom allows itself to be disappointed ;
and the sense of our escape from every thing
not only of routine, but of regularity, into the
country of mountains and glens and valleys and
waterfalls, inspired us with a sort of gay wild-
ness and independence, that disposed us to
find more of the romantic and picturesque than
perhaps Nature ever intended. If therefore,
gentle reader, thou shouldest here meet with
any extravagances at which thy sober feelings
may be inclined to revolt, bethink thee, that
the immortal Syntax himself, when just es-
caped from the everlasting dulness of a school,
102 REMAINS OF
did descry a landscape even in a post, a
circumstance which probably no one had ever
discovered before.
We proceeded to the Dargle along the small
river whose waters were flowing gently towards
us after having passed through the beautiful
scenes we were to visit. It was here a tranquil
stream, and its banks but thinly clothed ; but
at the opening of the Dargle-gate, the scene
was instantly changed. At once we were im-
mersed in a sylvan wilderness, where the trees
were thronging and crowding around us ; and
the river had suddenly changed its tone, and
was sounding wildly up the wooded bank that
sloped down to its edge. We precipitated
ourselves towards the sound, and when we
stopped and looked around us, the mountains,
the champaign, and almost the sky had dis-
appeared. We were at the bottom of a deep
winding glen, whose steep sides had suddenly
shut out every appearance of the world that we
had left. At our feet a stream was struggling
with the multitude of rude rocks, which Nature,
in one of her primeval convulsions, had flung
here and there in masses into its current;
sometimes uniting into irregular ledges, over
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 103
which the water swept with impetuosity ; -
sometimes standing insulated in the stream,
and increasing the energies of the river by their
resistance; sometimes breaking forward from
the bank, and giving a bolder effect to its ro-
mantic outline. The opposite side of the glen,
that rose steeply and almost perpendicularly
from the very brink of the river, was one preci-
pice of foliage from top to bottom, where the
trees rose directly above each other (their roots
and backs being in a great degree concealed
by the profusion of leaves in those below them),
and a broken sunbeam now and then struggled
through the boughs, and sometimes contrived
to reach the river.
The side along which we proceeded was
equally high, but more sloping and diversified ;
and the wooding, at one time retiring from the
stream, while at another a close cluster of trees
of the freshest verdure advanced into the river,
bending over it in attitudes at once graceful
and fantastic, and forming a picturesque and
luxuriant counterpart to the little naked pro-
montories of rock which we before observed.
Both sides of the glen completely enclosed
us from the view of every thing external,
104 REMAINS OF
except a narrow tract of sky just over our
heads, which corresponded in some degree to
the course of the stream below ; so that in fact
the sun seemed a stranger, only occasionally
visiting us from another system. Sometimes
while we were engaged in contemplating the
strong darkness of the river as it rushed along,
and the pensive loveliness of the foliage over-
hanging it, a sudden gleam of sunshine quietly
yet instantaneously diffused itself over the
scene, as if it smiled almost from some internal
perception of pleasure, and felt a glow of
instinctive exhiliration. Thus did we wander
from charm to charm, and from beauty to
beauty, endlessly varying, though all breathing
the same wild and secluded luxury, the same
poetical voluptuousness. This new region, set
apart from the rest of creation, with its class of
fanciful joys attached to it, seemed allotted to
some creature of different elements from our
own, some airy being, whose only essence
was imagination. As the thought occupied us,
we opened upon a new object which seemed to
confirm it. The profuse wooding which formed
the steep and rich barrier of the opposite side
of the river, was suddenly interrupted by a
THE HEV. C. WOLFE. 105
huge naked rock that stood out into the stream,
as if it had swelled forward indignantly from
the touch of cultivation, and, proud of its pri-
mitive barrenness, had flung aside the hand
that was dispensing beauty around it, and that
would have intruded upon its craggy and ori-
ginal majesty. It was here that our imagina-
tions fixed a residence for the Genius of the
river and the Spirit of the Dargle. A sort of
watery cell was formed by the protrusion of
this bold figure from the one side, and the
thick foliage that met it across from the other,
and threw a solemn darkness over the water.
In front, a fragment of rock stood in the middle
of the current, like a threshold, and a spreading
tree hung its branches directly over it, like a
spacious screen in face of the cell. From this
we began gradually to ascend, until our side
became nearly as steep as the opposite, while
the wooding was thickening on both at every
step ; so that the glen soon formed one steep
and magnificent gulf of foliage. The river at
a vast distance, almost directly below us ; the
glad sparkling and flashing of its waters, only
occasionally seen, and its wild voice mellowed
and refined as it reached us through thousands
106 11EMAINS OF
of leaves and branches ; the variety of hues,
and the mazy irregularity of the trees that
descended from our feet to the river, were
finely contrasted with the heavier and more
monotonous mass that met it in the bottom,
down the other side.
In stepping back a few paces, we just de-
scried, over the opposite boundary, the top of
Sugar-loaf, in dim and distant perspective.
The sensations of a mariner, when, after a long
voyage without sight of shore, he suddenly per-
ceives symptoms of land where land was not
expected, could not be more novel and curious,
than those excited in us by this little silent
notice of regions which we had literally for-
gotten, so totally were we engrossed in our
present enchantment, and so much were our
minds, like our view, bounded by the sides of
the glen. This single object let in a whole
train of recollections and associations ; but
the charm could not be more gradually and
more pleasingly broken. The glen, still re-
taining all its characteristic luxuriance, began
gracefully to widen, the country to open
upon us, and the mountains to rise; and at
length, after a gentle descent, we passed the
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 107
Dargle-gate, and found ourselves standing over
the delightful valley of Power scourt. It was
like a transition from the enjoyments of an
Ariel to those of human nature, from the bliss-
ful abode of some sylphic genius, to the happi-
est habitations of mortal men, from all the rest-
less and visionary delights of fancy, to the calm
glow of real and romantic happiness. Our
minds that were before confused by the throng
of beauties that enclosed and solicited them
on every side, now expanded and reposed upon
the scene before us. The sun himself seemed
liberated, and rejoicing in his emancipation.
The valley indeed " lay smiling before us ;" the
river no longer dashing over rocks and strug-
gling with impediments, was flowing brightly
and cheerfully along in the sun, bordered by
meadows of the liveliest green, and now and
then embowered in a cluster of trees. One
little field of the freshest verdure swelled for-
ward beyond the rest, round which the river
wound, so as to give it the appearance of an
island. In this we observed a mower whetting
his scythe, and the sound was just sufficient to
reach us faintly and at intervals. To the left
was the Dargle, where all the beauties that
108 REMAINS OF
had so much enchanted us were now one un-
distinguishable mass of leaves. Confronting
us, stood Sugar-loaf, with his train of rough
and abrupt mountains, remaining dark in the
midst of sunshine, like the frowning guardians
of the valley. These were contrasted with the
grand flowing outline of the mountains to our
right, and the exquisite refinement and variety
of the light that spread itself over their gigantic
sides. Far to the left, the sea was again dis-
closed to our view, and behind us was the
Scalp, like the outlet from Paradise into the
wide world of thorns and briars.
A BIRTH-DAY POEM.
Oh have you not heard of the harp that lay
This morning across the pilgrim's way
The wayward youth that loved to wander
By twilight lone up the mountain yonder ?
How that wild harp came there not the wisest can know,
It lay silent and lone on the mountain's brow ;
The eagle's down on the strings that lay
Proved he there had awaited the dawning ray ;
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 109
But no track could be seen, nor a footstep was near,
Save the course of the hare o'er the strings in fear,
And ah ! no minstrel is here to be seen
On our mountain's brow, or our valleys green ;
And if there were, he had miss'd full soon
His wild companion so sweet and boon.
While the youth stood gazing on aghast,
The wind it rose strong, and the wind it rose fast,
Quick on the harp it came swinging, swinging
Then away through the strings it went singing, singing,
Till a peal there arose so lofty and loud
That the eagle hung breathless upon his cloud,
And away through the strings the wind it went sweeping
Till the spirit awoke, that among them was sleeping
It awoke, it awoke ;
It spoke, it spoke
" I am the spirit of Erin's might,
" That brighten'd in peace, and that nerved her in fight
" The spirit that lives in the blast of the mountain,
" And tunes her voice to the roll of the fountain
" The spirit of giddy and frantic gladness
" The spirit of most heart-rending sadness
" The spirit of maidens weeping on
" Wildly, tenderly
" The spirit of heroes thundering on
" Gloriously, gloriously ;
" And though my voice is seldom heard,
" Now another's song 's preferred,
110 REMAINS OF
" I tell thee, stranger, I have sung
" Where Tara's hundred harps have rung--
" And I have rode by Brien's side,
" Rolling back the Danish tide
u And know each echo long and slow
" Of still romantic Glandulough ;
" Though now my song but seldom thrills,
" Lately a stranger awaken'd me ;
" And Genius came from Scotland's hills.
" A pilgrim for my minstrelsy.
" But come more faintly blows the gale,
" And my voice begins to fail
" Pilgrim, take this simple lyre
" And yet it holds a nation's fire
" Take it, while with me 'tis swelling,
" To your stately lowland dwelling
" There she dwells my Erin's maid
" In her charming native shade ;
46 I have placed my stamp upon her,
" Erin's radiant brow of honour ;
" Spirits lambent heart that 's glowing
" Mind that's rich, and soul o'erflowing ;
" She moves with her bounding mountain-grace,
" And the light of her heart is in her face :
" Tell the maid I claim her mine
" For Erin it is her's to shine ;
" And, that she still increase her store
" Of intellect and fancy's lore,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. Ill
" That I demand from her a mind
" Solid, brilliant, strong, refined ;
" And that she prize a patriot's fire,
" Beyond what avarice can desire ;
" And she must pour a patriot's song
" Her romantic hills along."
Her name is * * *
Faintly died
The blast upon the mountain side,
Nor scarcely o'er the clouds it brush M ;
And now the murmuring sound is huslTd,
Yet sweetly, sweetly, * * rung
On the faltering spirit's tongue
Speak again, the youth lie cried,
But no faltering sprite replied ;
Wild harp, wild harp,
To * * I will take thee
Wild harp, wild harp,
She perhaps will wake thee.
SONG.
I.
Oh my love has an eye of the softest blue,
Yet it was not that that won me ;
But a little bright drop from her soul was there
"Tis that that has undone me.
112 REMAINS OF
II.
I might have passed that lovely cheek,
Nor, perchance, my heart have left me ;
But the sensitive blush that came trembling there,
Of my heart it for ever bereft me.
in.
I might have forgotten that red, red lip
Yet how from the thought to sever ?
But there was a smile from the sunshine within.
And that smile I'll remember for ever.
IV.
Think not 'tis nothing but lifeless clay,
The elegant form that haunts me
'Tis the gracefully delicate mind that moves
In every step, that enchants me.
V
Let me not hear the nightingale sing,
Though I once in its notes delighted ;
The feeling and mind that comes whispering forth,,
Has left me no music beside it.
VI.
Who could blame had I loved that face,
Ere my eye could twice explore her ?
Yet it is for the fairy intelligence there,
And her warm warm heart I adore her.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 113
TO A FRIEND.
I.
My own friend my own friend !
There's no one like my own friend ;
For all the gold
The world can hold,
I would not give my own friend.
IL
So bold and frank his bearing, boy,
Should you meet him onward faring, boy,
In Lapland's snow
Or Chili's glow,
You'd say what news from Erin, boy ?
III.
He has a curious mind, boy
'Tis jovial 'tis refined, boy^-
'Tis richly fraught
With random thought,
And feelings wildly kind, boy.
IV.
'Twas eaten up with care, boy,
For circle, line, and square, boy
And few believed
That genius thrived
Upon such drowsy fare, boy.
114 REMAINS OF
V.
But his heart that beat so strong, boy,
Forbade her slumber long, boy
So she shook her wing,
And with a spring
Away she bore along, boy.
VI.
She wavers unconfined, boy,
All wayward on the wind, boy,
Yet her song
All along
Was of those she left behind, boy.
VII.
And we may let him roam, boy,
For years and years to come, boy ;
In storms and seas
In mirth and ease,
He'll ne'er forget his home, boy.
VIII.
O give him not to wear, boy,
Your rings of braided hair, boy
Without this fuss
He'll think of us
His heart he has us there, boy.
THE REV. C. 'WOLFE. 115
IX.
For what can't be undone, boy,
He will not blubber on, boy
He "11 brightly smile,
Yet think the while
Upon the friend that 's gone, boy.
X.
O saw you his fire-side, boy,
And those that round it bide, boy,
You M glow to see
The thrilling glee
Around his fire-side, boy.
XI.
Their airy poignant mirth, boy,
From feeling has its birth, boy ;
'Tis worth the groans
And the moans
Of half the dolts on earth, boy.
XII.
Each soul that there has smiled, boy,
Is Erin's native child, boy
A woodbine flower
In Erin's bower,
So elegant, so wild, boy.
I 2
116 REMAINS OF
XIII.
The surly clouds that roll, boy,
Will not for storms console, boy ;
'Tis the rainbow's light
So tenderly bright
That softens and cheers the soul, boy.
XIV.
I 'd ask no friends to mourn, boy,
When I to dust return, boy
No breath of sigh
Or brine of eye
Should gather round my urn, boy.
XV.
I just would ask a tear, boy,
From every eye that 's there, boy ;
Then a smile each day,
All sweetly gay,
My memory should repair, boy.
XVI.
The laugh that there endears, boy
The memory of your years, boy
Would more delight
Your hovering sprite
Than half the world's tears, boy.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 117
Something, perhaps, may be discovered in
the latter poems beyond the mere inspiration of
the Muse ; and it might therefore appear inex-
pedient to pass by, without some short notice,
a circumstance in the life of our author so
interesting as that which the reader may have
already suspected. With the family alluded to
in these poems, he had been for some time in
habits of the most friendly intercourse, and fre-
quently had the happiness of spending a few
days upon a visit at their country residence,
sharing in all the refined pleasures of their
domestic circle, and partaking with them in
the exhilarating enjoyment of the rural and
romantic scenery around them. With every
member of the family he soon became cordially
intimate ; but with one this intimacy gradually
and almost unconsciously grew into a decided
attachment. The attainment of a fellowship
would indeed have afforded him means suffi-
cient to realise his hopes ; but, unhappily, the
statute which rendered marriage incompatible
with that honourable station, had been lately
revived. His prospects of obtaining a compe-
tency in any other pursuit were so distant and
118 REMAINS OF
uncertain, that the family of the young lady
deemed it prudent at once to break off all fur-
ther intercourse, before a mutual engagement
had actually taken place.
How severely this disappointment pressed
upon a heart like his, may easily be conceived.
It would be injustice to him to deny that he
long and deeply felt it : but he had been habi-
tually so far under the influence of religious
principles, as to feel assured that every event of
our lives is under the regulation of a wise Pro-
vidence, and that by a resigned acquiescence
in his arrangements, even our bitterest trials
may be overruled for our best interests our
truest happiness. This circumstance, perhaps,
weakened the stimulus to his exertions for the
attainment of a fellowship, but he had long
before relaxed them ; it does not, however, ap-
pear that it had any influence in determining
the choice of his profession, as the prevailing
tendency of his mind had always been towards
the sacred office of the ministry.
In a short time after this severe disap-
pointment, and a few days previous to his or-
dination (which took place in November 1817),
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 119
his feelings received another shock by the
death of a dear fellow-student,* one of his
most valued and intimate friends. Under the
deep impression of two such afflictive trials, he
was obliged to prepare for a removal from society
which he loved, from the centre of science
and literature, to which he was so much de-
* The editor cannot forbear indulging his feelings by a
brief record of the lamented friend alluded to in the above
passage. The name of Hercules Henry Graves, with whom
we were both united in bonds of the closest intimacy, will
not be read, even by a common acquaintance, without
awakening sentiments of regret for the loss which society has
sustained in the early removal of so much intellectual and
moral worth. He was the second son of the learned and ex-
cellent Dean Graves, professor of divinity in the Dublin Uni-
versity. With talents at once solid and shining, he combined
an invincible perseverance, a masculine strength of under-
standing, and an energy of spirit which crowned his academic
labours with the most distinguished honours, and afforded the
surest pledge of rapid advancement to professional eminence.
These rare endowments of mind were accompanied by quali-
ties of greater value, a high moral taste, a purity of prin-
ciple, a generosity of spirit, and an affectionate temperament
of heart, which secured him the respect and regard of every
individual of his widely extended acquaintance.
This happy union of mental and moral qualities was set
120 REMAINS OF
voted, to an obscure and remote country curacy
in the north - of Ireland, where he could not
hope to meet one individual to enter into his
feelings, or to hold communion with him upon
the accustomed subjects of his former pursuits.
He felt as if he had been transplanted into a
totally new world ; as a missionary abandoning
off by a constant How of good-humour, an equability of tem-
per, and a frankness and cordiality of manners, which diffused
an instantaneous glow of exhilaration through every circle in
which he appeared. He was on the point of being called to
the Irish bar, and was universally allowed to be the most
promising aspirant of his contemporaries to its honours and
emoluments, when, unhappily, his health began to break
down. He was ordered to the South of France, where he
died in November 1817, " in the fear of God, and the faith of
t( Jesus Christ," as he himself wished it to be recorded on his
tomb. His illness was made the happy occasion of directing
his mind more fully to the concerns of his immortal soul,
which he felt he had too much overlooked in the busy pursnit
of earthly objects. The study of religion had not, however,
been neglected by him : with our author and two other friends
he had been in the habit of reading and discussing some of
the ablest works upon the evidences of the Christian faith ;
and it is to be presumed, that the impressions thus made upon
his understanding were not lost upon his heart. They seemed
to have recurred to his mind with full force in his illness.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 121
home and friends, and cherished habits, for
the awful and important work to which he had
solemnly devoted himself.
At first he was engaged in a temporary
curacy, not far remote from the situation in
which he was soon afterwards permanently
fixed. An extract from a letter to one of
his college friends, will give some idea of the
state of his feelings upon his arrival at the
He took special comfort in the gracious assurance, " Him that
" cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out ;" anxiously
considering the full import of the phrase, " to come unto
Christ." The view of our blessed Redeemer, as God and Man
as one " able and willing to save to the uttermost all that
" come unto the Father through him," was indeed " an an-
" chor of his soul, both sure and steadfast," at the near pros-
pect of eternity. It enabled him not merely to close his eyes
with resignation upon the brightest earthly prospects, but to
look forward with holy hope to an imperishable happiness.
May this, amongst many other similar examples, serve to shew
that vital religion is not unworthy of the greatest mental pow-
ers, or incompatible with the highest attainments of secular
learning ; and may it impress upon the conscience of every
reader, that a time will come when the strongest mind will
want all the sustaining consolations which a steadfast faith
in the Gospel is calculated to bestow.
U7TVOV
. EDITOR.
122 REMAINS OF
place where he was now to enter upon his new
sphere of duties.
Bally clog, Tyrone, Dec. llth, 1817.
" MY DEAR
" I am now sitting by myself opposite my
" turf-fire, with my Bible beside me, in the
" only furnished room of the Glebe House,
" surrounded by mountains, frost and snow,
" and by a set of people with whom I am
" totally unacquainted, except a disbanded
" artilleryman, his wife and two children, who
*' attend me, the churchwarden and clerk of
" the parish. Do not however conceive that I
" repine ; I rather congratulate myself on my
" situation; however, I am beginning rather
" poetically than historically, and at once
" hurrying you, f in medias res.' Alas ! what
" could bring Horace into my head here!
" Well, I arrived at Auchnacloy, without an
" adventure, on Saturday, at half-past eleven ;
" posted from thence to the Glebe House of
" Mr. S , a fine large mansion, situated
" in a wild, bleak country, alternately moun-
" tain and bog. * * * On Sunday I
" arrived at this place, where I opened my
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 123
" career by reading prayers. * * * Com-
" paratively happy should I be if I could con-
" tinue the hermit of B ; but I am not
" doomed to such seclusion. * * * My
dear I want you and my friends
" more than ever. Write immediately all of
" you to the hermit of B
" Ever yours,
" C. W."
4 MY DEAR
" I shall follow your example in not
" wasting my paper either in professions or
" apologies. Suffice it to say, that a day or
" two before I received your letter, I had
" written to C. D , which I conceived
" was writing to the gang; and was since
" obliged to leave my hermitage at Ballyclog,
" and officiate in my own parish for the first
" time on Christmas-day, not being qualified to
" consecrate the sacrament ; and since my re-
" turn have been for some time engaged at
" * * * Well, my dear fellow, though it may
" appear as selfish as paradoxical, I look upon
" you as more my companion since I have
" heard that you are more alone. You are
REMAINS OF
" more like me, and have more leisure to think
" of me. ' * * * I am now in a country far
" superior, both in cultivation and society, to
" that which is my ultimate destination. I
" am surrounded by grandees, who count their
" incomes by thousands, and by clergymen
" innumerable ; however, I have kept out of
" their reach ; I have preferred my turf-fire,
" my books, and the memory of the friends I
" have left, to all the society that Tyrone can
" furnish with one bright exception. At
M 5 s I am indeed every way at home ;
" I am at home in friendship and hospitality,
' in science and literature, in our common
" friends and acquaintance, and in topics of
" religion. *
" Ever yours,
" C. W."
Before we proceed further, it may be im-
portant as well as interesting to give some
view of the religious character of the author
previous to his ordination, and to trace the
progress of his mind towards that high state
of Christan principle to which he afterwards
attained.
THE REV. C. WOLFE.
His family all represent him as being from
childhood impressed with religious feelings :
and during his college life the writer had full
opportunity of perceiving that they had not
been effaced.
The pure moral taste, which seemed almost
a natural element of his mind, may properly be
attributed to the gradual and insensible opera-
tion of that divine principle with which he had
been so early embued.
In many cases, " The kingdom of God (as
" our blessed Lord himself declares) is as if a
" man should cast seed in the ground; and
" should sleep, and rise night and day and
" the seed should spring and grow up, he
" knoweth not how first the blade then
" the ear after that, the full corn in the
" ear."
Such, in some measure, appears to have
been the advancement of his mind, in the forma-
tion of that high religious character which he
ultimately reached ; but in his case, there was
at least one marked stage of this progress.
Religion had evidently a restraining influence
on him at all times ; it kept him back from the
vulgar dissipation and usual vices of youth.
126 REMAINS OF
He was exemplary, I might say blameless, in
his moral conduct, and scrupulous in the dis-
charge of duty : and though naturally impetu-
ous in his feelings, habitually lively and even
playful in his temper and manners, yet there
was manifestly an influence in his heart and a
guard upon his tongue, which never permitted
him to violate the rules of strictest chastity or
decorum. He was devout and regular in his
habits of private prayer and in attendance upon
public worship ; and I have often seen him
affected even to tears in reading the sacred
Word of inspiration. But when he came to
preach the doctrines and duties of Christianity
to others, they burst upon his mind in their
full magnitude, and in all their awful extent :
he felt that he himself had not given up his
whole heart to God, that the Gospel of Christ
had held but a divided empire in his soul ; and
he looked back upon his earlier years with self-
reproach and self-distrust, when he recalled
to mind the subordinate place which the love of
God had possessed in his heart. If such a man
could feel reason to contemplate the days of his
youth with emotions of this kind, what should
be the feelings of him who has lived altogether
THE REV. C. WOLFE.
" without God in the world ?" who has scarce
ever known what it was to control a passion
or regulate a desire, or perform a single action,
with an exclusive reference to the divine will?
" Yet will there come an hour to him,
" When anguish in his breast shall wake,
" And that bright eye-ball, weak and dim,
" Gazing on former days, shall ache ;
" When solitude bids visions drear
" Of raptures, now no longer dear,
" In gloomy ghastliness appear
" When thoughts arise of errors past
" Of prospects foully overcast
" Of passion's unresisted rage
" Of youth that thought not upon age
" Of earthly hopes, too fondly nurst,
" That caught the giddy eye at first,
" But like the flowers of Syrian sands,
" That crumbled in the closing hands."*
I will venture to introduce here, merely as
indications of his youthful piety, some reli-
gious thoughts which are scattered amongst
his earliest papers.
Those miserable sceptics who boast of their
imaginary discernment, are only a sort of
* Anster's Poems (Edinburgh, 1819), p. 146.
128
REMAINS OF
intellectual glow-worm : they borrow their
glimmer from darkness, and exult in its pitiful
and momentary spark: but the day "the
" day-spring from on high" will soon come,
and then they are but worms ! Dost thou
dispute the existence of a Providence ? From
thee, dust and reptile, I appeal to the Heavens ;
from thee, undistinguished link in the chain of
nature, I appeal to the Universe.
I have often considered, that if it were
proposed to man by his Maker, to select and
mention the most faultless transactions of his
life, and to offer up the catalogue at the
shrine of his Judge, he would either be totally
confounded and perplexed, or would make a
very erroneous and defective selection : he
would even offer up vices for virtues ; sins for
acts of goodness : he would perhaps present a
memorial of deeds which appeared meritorious
to the world and to himself, the motive of which
was perhaps not only unchristian, but criminal ;
the incentive to which was a lurking, smothered
pride, a deceitful and seductive ambition, or
some passion which screened and shrouded
itself in the garb of religion. I will suppose
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 129
that at such an awful crisis, when he was to
make such an oblation to his Father and Re-
deemer, he perceives the futility of those splen-
did actions which dazzled his inconsiderate fel-
low-creatures, as the native offspring of virtue; I
will suppose that he perceives their insufficiency
and omits them ; yet, even of his silent retired
behaviour, of his noiseless and unseen conduct,
how many actions are there which may dazzle
himself! He will certainly make a statement
of some deed which appeared to him generous
and charitable ; and will think that because it
was done in secret and without ostentation, its
motive must" be pure ; (but, alas ! pride can
inhabit the lonely chamber and the solitary
bosom can mingle in the prayers of the an-
chorite, and can stretch the hand of bounty ;
for we can flatter ourselves yes, as destruc-
tively as the world can flatter us ;) while
perhaps some little thought which we had long
forgotten as insignificant, some truly devout
contemplation, some pious reflection drawn
from the very depth of the heart, may be that
offering which his God looked for, that for-
gotten contemplation that reflection, which
was the emanation of a soul which then felt
K
130 REMAINS OF
the genuine influence of religion. How diffi-
cult is it then to be acquainted with ourselves,
and what a true confession do we make when
we say, " There is no health in us !"
These reflections will appear to the pious
reader to indicate something more than vague
and general notions of religion. They exhibit,
at least, the dawning of an enlightened con-
science, and an early sensibility to the im-
pressions of divine truth. It is natural to sup-
pose that such a mind would be fully alive to
the responsibility of the ministerial office ; and
accordingly, when the period approached when
Mr. W. had to determine upon the solemn
undertaking, he gave up his mind to the most
anxious consideration of the duties it imposed
upon him, and of the preparation of mind and
heart which it required. Some of those stand-
ard works on the evidences of Christianity,
which he had been in the habit of reading, he
now resumed for the purpose of a more serious
and practical investigation. He seems to have
dwelt with peculiar interest upon Bishop But-
ler's unanswerable work upon the Analogy of
Religion, &c. This treasure of deep and ori-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 131
ginal thought the leading object of which is
to expose the unreasonableness of the ordinary
arguments against the truth of religion
seems to have been peculiarly suited to the
character of his mind, which was easily
startled by difficulties, and was quick in the
discovery of objections. His copious notes
upon this book shew not only how accurately
he scrutinized every argument, but how practi-
cally he expanded and applied every important
reflection which it contains. Some of the ob-
servations thus suggested, and which seem to
have impressed his own mind most deeply, are
here selected, with the hope that they may
prove not unacceptable or uninstructive to the
general reader. They may serve to inculcate a
stronger sense of the vast importance of reli-
gion as a subject of anxious and candid in-
quiry, and may induce some who are unac-
quainted with the valuable work from which
they have been deduced, to give it a serious
and deliberate perusal.
There is strong evidence of the truth of
Christianity : but it is certain that no one can,
upon principles of reason, be satisfied of the
K 2
132 REMAINS OF
contrary : now the practical consequence to
be drawn from this is not attended to by every
one concerned in it. This suggests an excel-
lent way of beginning with a Deist or Atheist:
Have you satisfactorily disproved Christian-
ity ? Is it possible that all the evidence
(collectively taken), though it may not have
satisfied you of its truth, has been satisfactorily
removed ? Are you at your ease upon the sub-
ject ? And if not, what a miserable man must
you be ! Surely it is not such a hollow case.
This may be the best way of proceeding,
whatever may be the truth denied ; the ex-
istence of a God, of a moral governor, of a
future life, the truth of Scripture, &c. : and it
is, in fact, the state in which we probably are
by nature not so much with convincing proof
that there is a future state, as with no con-
vincing proof to the contrary. If it be objected,
that it is rather slender ground upon which to
stand, merely that we cannot prove the contrary 9
or the falsehood of the thing ; we may answer,
that it is not intended to be ground to rest on ;
it is intended to set us in motion ; and the
evidence will grow in proportion to the earnest-
ness and sincerity to ascertain the point. Now,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 133
is there not a moral fitness in this, that evi-
dence should be progressive, and that in pro-
portion to the singleness of eye and the dili-
gence with which it is sought and investigated ?
And does it not appear particularly becoming
the Divine Majesty that this should be the
case in all inquiries respecting his works and
dispensations ? and that he who enters upon the
investigation in a presumptuous, careless, or
profane state of mind, should be confounded ?
In this point of view, also, may be regarded
the objections made by some to the insuffi-
ciency of the evidence in proof of a state of
future punishment: it may be answered,
Are you duly affected by the bare surmise
by the mere whisper that there is such a state ?
Does it excite that degree of concern and in-
quiry which it ought ? And if it does not, is it
not a proof that there is something more than
a mere want of evidence concerned in your
unbelief? Is there any thing improbable in
the supposition, that the Almighty may propor-
tion the evidence to the degree of sincere ear-
nestness manifested in the inquiry ? and that
when the earnestness is proportioned to the
134 REMAINS OF
object, the evidence shall be proportioned to
the earnestness ?
In order to give an idea of the way in
which the truth may grow upon a man, we may
speak of the growing conviction arising from
the constant observation of the artlessness and
simplicity of the style of the divine writings, as
an evidence of their truth, and that arising from
the self-application of the truths and principles
of the Gospel, until at length a man shall ex-
perience what Scripture intimates, " The wit-
" ness in himself ;" which passage alone shews,
that the Scripture itself declares the witness
shall be greater after the attainment of the
Christian spirit, than at the beginning of a
cold investigation. Is there any thing unbe-
coming in this ? The conduct of the people of
Sychar may serve as an illustration, John, iv.
39, &c. It may also be observed, that it is a
grand test of truth, that the more it is exa-
mined, the clearer it appears. Thus, too, the
apparent contradictions of Scripture are reduced
to harmony by examination, as the apparent
irregularities of nature by the microscope.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 135
The analogy in favour of our future state,
founded on the various changes that we and
other animals undergo, is of considerable
weight. It might be, perhaps, a little weakened
by the consideration that these changes are
all attended with sensible proofs ; and that
therefore we could not draw as strong a con-
clusion, by analogy, in favour of one that should
not be attended with them. It might at the
same time be replied, that unless we draw the
conclusion that there are no changes but what
we have faculties to witness, the objection is
of no weight. It might also be answered, that
there may be very sufficient proof of our exist-
ence after death to beings capable of receiving
it, though not to those of the same species ; as
we have abundant proof of the changes of
worms into flies, while perhaps the worms of
the same species, until their change arrives
also, have no idea, and no proof of it, per-
haps have not senses to witness it.
The credibility of a future state of exist-
ence is fully sufficient to become a practical
principle, however low the evidence may ap-
136 REMAINS OF
pear : for, at the very lowest, we cannot prove
the negative.
But further, that a being should be formed
of such a nature as man, and placed in such a
situation as to try this most momentous ques-
tion, and feel an interest in its determination,
and yet never be able to arrive at a satisfactory
negative, is not only a practical proof, but per-
haps a stronger evidence of the actual truth
of the thing, than would at first be imagined.
This state of doubt and perplexity upon the
most important and interesting of all subjects,
is a curious moral phenomenon : and where
are we to look for the solution ? It is solved
by revelation : for, taking the two principles,
the immortality and the fall of man, nothing
is so conceivable as that the fall, in destroying so
much of the moral excellence of man, carried
off many of the proofs of his immortality along
with it, proofs, many of which, it is natural
to suppose, were of a moral character, perhaps
the greatest of them, a moral fitness for it.
From Bishop Butler's observations on " Di-
" vine Punishments," there may be ready and
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 137
experimental answers deduced to many of the
common-place and popular objections advanced
against the reality or severity of future punish-
ments. One favourite plea is the character of
the Divine Being : " He is too merciful and
" benevolent to visit human infirmity with
" such rigorous severity." But what is the
fact ? He only allows meii " to make them-
" selves as miserable as ever they please."
He gives them faculties to inquire and discover
consequences ; and if, by either not exerting
them, or not complying with their rational
dictates when exercised, they incur pain and
misery, it is their own doing, and he leaves
them to " eat the fruit of their own devices."
Thus if we consider the Deity as merely passive
in the business, and we observe men from want
of sufficient consideration (for they generally
bestow more or less upon their worldly con-
cerns) bringing on themselves disease, misery,
and ruin, what an awful state is his who has
never seriously and earnestly given himself to
the consideration of the things of another
world ! Nor is it very likely that, when want
of consideration (a fault of little magnitude in
the estimation of men, and even dignified by
138 REMAINS OF
some with virtuous titles and epithets) can
produce such tremendous results here, the
consequences of sin, spiritual and external,
(although men overlook and despise them,)
will be so very light or so very inconsiderable,
as they would fondly persuade themselves they
are, in another world. And hence too we see
the folly, in general, of pleading ignorance or
sincerity as our excuse for carelessness or sin ;
for we find thoughtlessness and neglect often
produce as disastrous consequences as vice
itself: and the sin here is plain; for a crea-
ture not only gifted with, but distinguished, in
a great degree, from the rest of the creation, by
powers of deliberation and observation, is bound
to use them ; and if he shoves aside a subject,
the most important upon which those powers
can be employed, on which his happiness
chiefly depends, and one which is often forced
upon his attention by outward events and cir-
cumstances, without full, deliberate meditation,
and without arriving at any well-grounded con-
clusion upon the matter, what shall be said of
that man's sincerity ? There is an evident dis-
honesty and unfairness evinced in shutting his
eyes to* what he is absolutely bound to contem-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 139
plate, and he must take the consequences :
and such is the case of all those who have not
seriously, earnestly, and deliberately considered
the things that belong unto their peace. They
may not be guilty of hypocrisy towards their
fellow-creatures, but they act the hypocrite to
God and to themselves.
The inefficiency of repentance (in the com-
mon acceptation) may be enforced by consider-
ing a man on a bed of pain and sickness, to
which he has been brought by his own folly or
wickedness. Do we find that floods of tears,
and protestations of amendment, ever produce
any improvement in that man's bodily state ?
What reason have we to conclude, from prece-
dent or analogy, that they will relieve his soul ?
Repentance, in its fullest sense, a change
from a state of enmity to a state of love to
God, one would think is ever acceptable : but
this is always the work of the Spirit given
through Jesus Christ, and never appears to be
the meaning attached to it by the careless or
the ungodly, or even apprehended by them ;
and therefore it does not enter into the present
question.
140 REMAINS OF
The profligate argument, that if God gave
us such and such passions, he gave them to be
enjoyed without restraint, is here immediately
answered: If God gave us such and such fa-
culties, he gave them to be used, and their use
is to control those passions ; and we daily see
the woful consequences of not exercising them,
by actual observation. If the offence, by which
the passion is gratified, is committed against
ourselves, perhaps we should come to a dif-
ferent conclusion.
Man is gifted with powers of looking to the
future, and evidently for the purpose of mainly
preferring it to the present: he is therefore a
creature made to look forward, and to what,
is the question. Some men madly fasten upon
the present moment, and shut their eyes to
what is naturally to follow ; and accordingly
they reap the fruit of their folly in due season :
others, who are either of a more calculating, or
a more enterprising, or a more ambitious dispo-
sition, look forward to various futurities at va-
rious distances ; but death comes equally upon
all, and their futurities are no more to them.
To what, then, is man made to look forward ?
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 141
There are here also to be taken into account the
multiplied uncertainties attending the success
of the various projects, arising out of unnum-
bered events and circumstances which it is be-
yond the power of the natural faculties to fore-
see or avert. This may be urged in contrast to
revelation. * * * *
Such reflections as these may tend to shew
that his faith was not the offspring of mere
feeling, that the doctrines of Christianity
were not embraced by him simply from their
congeniality to his pure and fervid imagination ;
but that he applied himself with all the sober
calculation of common sense, and all the powers
of a clear and reasoning mind, to the examina-
tion of the important subject. His religion
was the conviction of the understanding, as
well as the persuasion of the heart. With a
firm assurance of the truth and importance of
the great principles of the Gospel as they are
interpreted and maintained by the Church of
England, he entered upon the arduous duties
of the ministry. The more he was engaged in
the work, the more deeply he felt the respon-
sibilitythe more he was in the habit of
142 REMAINS OF
teaching others, the more he seemed to learn
himself. He thus came more in contact, as it
were, with the business of religion ; his views
became more vivid, his heart more engaged;
and every day's experience appears to have
strengthened his faith and heightened his de-
votion. The process by which his religious
character was formed seems to have been so
gradual, that it produced little' apparent change
in his external manners. His natural spirits
were not so much repressed as regulated, his
vivacity of temper was rather chastened than
abated, by the predominant influence of reli-
gion. There was nothing which appeared con-
strained, or harsh, or assumed in his deport-
ment; and thus his ministry was rendered
doubly useful, especially amongst the higher
classes, with whom the simplicity and cheer-
fulness of his disposition, and the easy and
undesigned disclosure of his fine talents and
genuine piety, usually secured him a favour-
able reception and a candid attention.
A few more extracts from his letters may
illustrate this part of his character better than
any mere description. It should be observed,
that when he sat down, after the fatigue of
THE REV. C. WOLFE.
parochial cares, to converse with his absent
friends, he sought for a relaxation of mind, and
usually gave full scope to that buoyant liveli-
ness of temper for which he was remarkable :
and thus, perhaps, those who were not ac-
quainted with him can hardly estimate the
intense anxiety and interest he felt upon sub-
jects to which he sometimes appears to allude
in a playfulness of spirit : besides, his nature
so much recoiled from any thing like ostenta-
tion, that he seldom entered into any detail
of his laborious duties, or mentioned any such
particulars of his ministry (except in an inci-
dental manner) as might supply an adequate
idea of his usefulness as a clergyman.
The following letter was written upon his
return to his parish, after a short visit to
Dublin :-
C. Caulfidd, Jan. 28th, 1818.
" MY DEAR
" A man often derives a wonderful advan-
" tage from a cold and fatiguing journey, after
" taking leave of his friends ; viz. he under-
" stands the comfort of lolling quietly and
" alone by his fire-side, after his arrival at his
144 REMAINS OF
" destination ; a pleasure which would have
" been totally lost if he had been transported
" there without difficulty, and at once, from
" the region of friendship and society. Every
" situation borrows much of its character from
" that by which it was immediately preceded.
" This would have been all melancholy and
" solitude, if it had immediately succeeded the
" glow of affectionate and literary conviviality ;
" but when it follows the rumbling of a coach,
" the rattling of a post-chaise, the shivering of
" a wintry night's journey, and the conversa-
" tion of people to whom you are almost totally
" indifferent, it then becomes a comfort and re-
" pose. So I found at my arrival at my own
" cottage on Saturday ; my fire-side, from con-
" trast, became a kind of lesser friend, or at
" least a consolation for the loss of friends.
" Nothing could be more fortunate than the
" state of things during my absence; there
" was no duty to be performed : and of this I
" am the more sensible, as I had scarcely ar-
" rived before I met a great supply of business,
" such as I should have been very much con-
" cerned if it had occurred in my absence. I
" have already seen enough of service to be
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 145
" again fully naturalized. I am again the
" weather-beaten curate : I have trudged
" roads forded bogs braved snow and rain
" become umpire between the living have
" counselled the sick administered to the
" dying and to-morrow shall bury the dead.
" Here have I written three sides without
" coming to the matter in hand. *
" Yours affectionately,
C. W."
March 24th, 1818.
" MY DEAR
" Although I have not received an an-
" swer to a letter which I wrote to you, and
" the date of which I have had time to forget,
" I am induced to write again, and redouble
" my blow, partly in order to shame you into
" an answer, and partly to employ you to exe-
" cute a commission for me in turn.
" I attended Mr. my predecessor in
" the cure, through some of the parish busi-
" ness, and have not yet recovered from my
" consternation. Oh ! I must bid a long
146 REMAINS OF
" farewell to literature, and all the pleasures
" and associations which it carries along with
" it ! Do not think that I repine, and least
" of all, at my duty as a Christian and a
" clergyman ; but here is a parish large be-
" yond all proportion, in which the curate, who
" here does every thing, will be unavoidably
" called on every moment to act indirectly as
" a magistrate ; and, as I must take a cottage
" and a few acres of meadow, I shall have to
" encounter all the horrors of house-keeping,
" and all the cares of an establishment. Con-
" sidering all this, and the length of time that
" even one visit, strictly professional, would
" take up, from the extent of the parish, what
" time shall I have for taking up even a
" book of divinity ? But ' my hand is to the
" plough, and I must not look back.' At
" B a small parish, where I have had
" little to do but what is connected imme-
" diately with my duty, I think I have got
" on pretty well. I told you that I had been
" preceded in that parish by an excellent
" man, and found them far better informed
" than perhaps any parish in our part of the
" world, and prepared to be disgusted with
THE KEY. C. WOLFE. 147
'' any successor. We agree however very
" well: the parish and I are on visiting terms,
" and in the habit of conversing on Christian
" topics ; and they tell me that they wish for
" my continuance. I look upon it as a provi-
" dential circumstance, that I have been first
" caUed to the performance of duty more
" moderate and more purely apostolical, and
" was not at once plunged into the parish,
" where it is excessive, and of a more mixed
" nature.
*****
" Yours ever,
C. W."
The next letter gives an account of his re-
moval from his temporary post, and his final
settlement in Castle Caulfield, the principal
village of the parish of Donoughmore. It was
written after a visit to Dublin upon some paro-
chial business.
July 7th, 1818.
" MY DEAR
" It is probable that you have accounted
** for my silence in the right way by the
L 2
148 REMAINS OF
" trouble and confusion of shifting my quar-
" ters. I have left B with sincere regret,
" and am now in the comfortable predicament
" of having left one habitation without having
" got into another, like Sheridan's Jew, who
" renounced his religion for the purpose of
" inheriting a legacy, but had too much con-
" science immediately to adopt any other, and
" is accordingly represented ( as a dead wall
" between the church and the synagogue.'
" I had but a melancholy sort of a journey
" to Dungannon, being, for the first half of the
" way, in perpetual danger of falling asleep,
" and consequently of falling off the top of the
" coach, from the fatigue of the college elec-
" tion, and the incessant patrolling through
" Dublin the day after ; and for the other half,
" trundling on so vile a vehicle, over so vile a
" road, that twenty doses of laudanum could
" not have then effected it. On leaving Dun-
" gannon for this (my rector's house) I was
" met by the family, who told me I was to do
" duty at B the next day, and so I changed
". my direction and repaired there, nothing
" loth; and the next day mounted my old
" pulpit, where I had begun to feel myself at
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 149
" home, and received a most kind welcome
" from my congregation.
" As I was apprised that I was to stay no
" longer than the next Saturday, I made the
" best of my time, in taking leave of my
" parishioners ; and I assure you, it was a
" painful and a gratifying task, although I
" had, a little before, gone through a rehearsal
" in Dublin, much more trying. I promised
" that I would go to see them again whenever
" I could escape from the parish I was going
" to ; and my rich parishioners declared that I
" must (as they term it) complete their conver-
" sion. I, of course, spent as much time as I
" could with Mr. M : I parted with him
" on Saturday morning; and the same day
" set out for this house, in rather a melancholy
" humour, but with a peculiarly ludicrous
" equipage and attendance. One waggon con-
" tained my whole fortune and family, (with
" the exception of a cow, which was driven
" along-side of the waggon,) and its contents
" were too large trunks, a bed and its appen-
" dages ; and on the top of these, which were
" piled up so as to make a very commanding
" appearance, sat a woman (my future house-
150 REMAINS or
" keeper) and her three children, and by their
" side stood a calf of three weeks old, which
" has lately become an inmate in my family.
" I am at present living in this house,
" where I am treated with the kindest hospi-
" tality ; but expect in about a week to be esta-
" Wished in my new abode, and to enter upon
" all the awful cares of a family man. Indeed,
" I go down there every day, as it is, and give
" directions with as knowing an air as the best
" manager among them, lest any should detect
" my ignorance. I preached last Sunday in
" this church, and whatever intercourse has
" yet taken place between me and my pa-
" rishioners, seems to promise a good under-
" standing between us. But I want friends
" friends and give my most affectionate re-"
" membrance to all of them that you meet.
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
Castle Cauljield, Oct. 20th, 1818.
" MY DEAR
" I should have complied with your request
" sooner, of writing to assure you that I was
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 151
" not offended at your delay, if I did not con-
" ceive that you possessed a very comfortable
" degree of well-grounded assurance upon the
" point already. I had accounted for your
" delay by imagining some of its causes, be-
" fore I received your chapter of accidents.
" However, do not for the future conceal any
" disaster or misfortune from me while it is in
" progress, nor wait until it is brought to a
" close. It is a slovenly way of treating a
" friend only to invite him to rejoice in the
" victory, without giving him a share in the
" perils through which it is achieved.
" I have had no such signal adventures to
" communicate. Alas ! I have no disasters
" now to diversify my life, not having many
" of those enjoyments which render men ob-
" noxious to them, except when my foot sinks
" up to the ancle in a bog, as I am looking for
" a stray sheep. My life is now nearly made
(i up of visits to my parishioners, both sick and
" in health. Notwithstanding, the parish is so
" large that I have yet to form an acquaintance
" with a very formidable number of them.
" The parish and I have become very good
152 REMAINS OF
" friends : the congregation has increased, and
" the Presbyterians sometimes pay me a visit.
" There is a great number of Methodists in the
" part of the parish surrounding the village,
" who are many of them very worthy people,
" and among the most regular attendants upon
" the church. With many of my flock I live
" upon affectionate terms. There is a fair
" proportion of religious men amongst them,
" with a due allowance of profligates. None
" of them rise so high as the class of gentle-
" men, but there is a good number of a very
" respectable description. I am particularly
" attentive to the school : there, in fact, I
" think most good can be done ; and, besides
" the obvious advantages, it is a means of con-
" ciliating all sects of Christians, by taking an
" interest in the welfare of their children.
" Our Sunday-school is very large, and is
" attended by the Roman Catholics and Pres-
" byterians : the day is never a Sabbath to
" me ; however, it is the kind of labour that is
" best repaid, for you always find that some
" progress is made, some fruit soon produced ;
" whereas your labours with the old and the
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 153
" adult often fail of producing any effect,
" and, at the best, it is in general latent and
" gradual.
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
Castle Caulfield, April 27th, 1819.
" MY DEAR
* * * My congregation is much
" increased, and does not seem inclined to
" diminish, and there is a degree of piety in
" some of the highest orders of people in this
" county and the county Armagh, and a de-
" gree of propriety in others, that makes them
" alive to the conduct of clergymen, and ac-
" tive in their inquiries respecting them. I
" never knew before, that a humble curate
" (a word that seems to imply the very essence
" of obscurity) was so much a public charac-
" ter as I find he is, or should be, in the North,
" where the number of Protestants of different
" classes seems to have kept religion more
" alive than in any other part.
" An event in my parish that should not be
" omitted, is the vestry. Some false and in-
154 REMAINS OF
" dustrious reports had been spread respecting
" the object that and I had in view, in
" raising money for the foundation of the
" school we had in contemplation ; and a great
" number of people came for the purpose of
" voting against us. You, who know me,
" may judge of my anxiety at the prospect of
" having to fight, where I came to preach
" peace and charity, and my apprehension of
" falling out with Presbyterians, whom I feel
" desirous of conciliating, and with whom I
" have been on the most friendly footing. At
" length the day arrived, when I made a speech,
" clearing away all misrepresentations, and
" stating the exertions I had made. I was
" seconded very ably by ; and the con-
" sequence was a most cordial and unanimous
" grant of 140/., with ' long life to you, Mr.
" Wolfe, and long may you reign over us /'
" The good feeling that reigned throughout
" the whole, really made up one of the most
" gratifying scenes I have witnessed for a long
" time.
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 155
The following letter gives an affecting ac-
count of the death of a valued friend, to whom
he had lately become particularly attached, the
Rev. Dr. Meredith, formerly a fellow of Trinity
College, Dublin, and then rector of Ardtrea.
He was esteemed one of the most distinguished
scholars in the university to which he belonged.
His genius for mathematical acquirements espe-
cially, was universally allowed to be of the first
order; and his qualifications as a public exa-
miner and lecturer were so eminent, as to ren-
der his early retirement from the duties of a
fellowship a serious loss to the college. Of
our author's talents he entertained the highest
opinion ; and his congeniality of disposition
soon led him to appreciate fully the still higher
qualities of his heart.
Castle Caulfield, May 4th, 1819.
" MY DEAR
" I am just come from the house of mourn -
" ing ! Last night I helped to lay poor M
" in his coffin, and followed him this morning
" to his grave. The visitation was truly awful.
" Last Tuesday (this day week) he was struck
" to the ground by a fit of apoplexy, and from
156 REMAINS OF
" that moment until the hour of his death, on
" Sunday evening, he never articulated. I
" did not hear of his danger until Sunday
" evening, and yesterday morning I ran ten
" miles, like a madman, and was only in time
" to see his dead body. It will be a cruel and
" bitter thought to me for many a day, that
" I had not one fareweU from him, while he
" was on the brink of the world. Oh ! -
" one of my heart-strings is broken ! the only
" way I have of describing my attachment to
" that man, is by telling you, that next to you
" and D , he was the person in whose
" society I took the greatest delight. A visit
" to Ardtrea was often in prospect, to sustain
" me in many of my cheerless labours. My
" gems are falling away ; but I do hope and
" trust, it is because c God is making up his
" jewels/ Dr. M was a man of a truly
" Christian temper of mind. We used natu-
" rally to fall upon religious subjects; and I
" now revert, with peculiar gratification, to
" the cordiality with which * we took sweet
" counsel together,' upon those topics. You
" know that he was possessed of the first
" and most distinguishing characteristics of a
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 157
" Christian disposition, humility. He preached
" the Sunday before for , and the sermon
" was unusually solemn and impressive, and
" in the true spirit of the Gospel. Indeed,
" from several circumstances, he seems to have
" had some strange presentiments of what was
" to happen. His air and look some time
" before his dissolution had, as told me,
" an expression of the most awful and pro-
" found devotion. *
" Yours, &e.
C. W."
On his return after another visit to Dublin,
he thus writes.
Castle Caulfield, Jan. 19th, 1820.
" MY DEAR
" As it was the irksomeness of making a
" long apology at the beginning of my letter,
" that has for the last week deterred me from
" writing to you, I beg leave to remove the
" obstacle altogether, and proceed to business,
" although you will find an apology in the
" course of the entertainment. You may re-
" member the blunder that was said to have
15H REMAINS OF
" been committed by a certain historian, who
" had related a shipwreck that had taken
" place on the coast of Bohemia : do not, how-
" ever, suspect me of the same ignorance of
(6 geography, when I inform you, that in my
" voyage from Dublin to Castle Caulfield, I
" was shipwrecked on the coast of Monaghan :
" until then I had always thought it an inland
" county ; but to my surprise, I found that half
" the country, between this place and Ardee,
" was under water. The fact is, a river had
" overflowed the road, so as to render the
* 6 bank undistinguishable, and the wheel went
" down; another step would have upset us
" altogether; and in a few days you might
" have seen me in the Newry paper. As it
" was, it cost me a raw hour between three
" and four in the morning, before we were
" able to weigh anchor again.
" Well, I was indeed highly pleased that
" the leaven had been working during my ab-
" sence ; for though I was too late to go through
" the parish, and give them a regular sum-
" mons, I found a greater number of commu-
" nicants on Christmas-day, than I think I
" had ever seen before in this church. Why,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 159
" if I had stayed away another month, no one
" can calculate the improvement that might
" have been effected by my absence. Another
" comfortable consideration is, that there never
" was less duty to be done in the parish than
" while I was away, and never more than since
" I returned. The very day after my return
" I was summoned to see a Presbyterian, and
" between them and my own people I have
" had scarcely any rest ; and I assure you
" this has been the cause of my taciturnity. I
" do not think I have ever been so free from
" even the affectation of a cough, as since I
" returned. Long life to flannels and comfort-
" ables ! and a long life to those who bestow
" them, (' a long life even for ever !')
" My school, as I anticipated, has declined
" during the severity of the winter, but I ex-
" pect it to revive with the spring, according
" to the course of nature. However, I have
" some fears that the Pope's letter will prove a
" frost a killing frost. I should not be very
" much surprised to find it a forgery.
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
160 REMAINS OF
The sphere of duty in which Mr. W. was
engaged, was extensive and laborious. A large
portion of the parish was situated in a wild
hilly country, abounding in bogs and trackless
wastes ; and the population was so scattered,
that it was a work of no ordinary difficulty to
keep up that intercourse with his flock, upon
which the success of a Christian minister so
much depends. When he entered upon his
work, he found the church rather thinly at-
tended ; but in a short time the effects of his
constant zeal, his impressive style of preaching,
and his daily and affectionate converse with
his parishioners, were visible in the crowded
and attentive congregations which began to
gather round him.
The number of those who soon became re-
gular attendants at the holy communion, was
so great, as to exceed the whole ordinary con-
gregation at the commencement of his ministry.
Amongst his constant hearers were many of
the Presbyterians, who seemed much attracted
by the earnestness of his devotion in reading
the Liturgy the energy of his appeals, and
the general simplicity of his life; and such
THE REV. C. WOLFE. l6l
was the respect they began to feel towards
him, that they frequently sent for him to ad-
minister spiritual comfort and support to them
in the trying hour of sickness, and at the ap-
proach of death.
A large portion of the Protestants in his
parish were of that denomination ; and no
small number were of the class of Wesleyan
Methodists. Though differing on many points
from these two bodies of Christians, he however
maintained with them the most friendly inter-
course, and entered familiarly into discussion
on the subjects upon which they were at issue
with him.
There was nothing in the course of his
duties as a clergyman (as he himself declared)
which he found more difficult and trying at
first, than how to discover and pursue the best
mode of dealing with the numerous conscien-
tious Dissenters in his parish, and especially
with the Wesleyan Methodists, who claim con-
nexion with the Church of England. While he
lamented their errors, he revered their piety ;
and at length succeeded beyond his hopes in
softening their prejudices, and conciliating their
good will. This he effected by taking care, in
M
162 REMAINS OF
his visits amongst them, to dwell particularly
upon the grand and vital truths in which he
mainly agreed with them, and, above all, by a
patience of contradiction (yet without a surrender
or compromise of opinion) on the points upon
which they differed. It is a curious fact, that
some of the Methodists, on a few occasions,
sought to put his Christian character to the test
by purposely using harsh and humiliating ex-
pressions towards him, in their conversations
upon the nature of religion. This strange mode
of inquisition he was enabled to bear with the
meekness of a child ; and some of them after-
wards assured him, that they considered the
temper with which such a trial is endured as a
leading criterion of true conversion, and were
happy to find in him so unequivocal proof of a
regenerate spirit.
They soon learned to value his instructions
as a Christian minister, though conveyed in a
manner different from what they usually heard,
and divested of peculiarities which they habi-
tually associated with the very essence of the
Gospel. He says himself " I am here be-
" tween Methodists and Calvinists (or Pres-
" byterians), and I have preached to both in
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 163
" the church, and conversed with both in the
" cottage ; and I have been sometimes amused
" to observe the awkward surprise with which
" they have heard me insist upon the great
" doctrines, without bringing in their own
" peculiar tenets, or using their own technical
" cant the surprise with which they found
" that it was the Gospel, and yet that it was
" not Calvinism or Methodism."
From some hasty notes which he took down,
it appears that he sometimes entered into dis-
cussion with them on those views by which
they seemed, to him, to confine the process of
divine grace in the conversion of sinners within
limits unauthorised by Scripture. The follow-
ing brief remarks (amongst others) shew the
sobriety of thought with which he entered into
the consideration of such subjects.
All system-makers cramp and encumber re-
ligion, by telling you, that the mind of a sin-
ner always proceeds through certain stages ; of
conviction, repentance, faith, justification, &c.
The mind when converted will indeed have the
same sense of the nature of sin, of human cor-
ruption, of the want of a Redeemer, &c. The
M 2
164 REMAINS OF
end arrived at is the same ; but the ways of ar-
riving at it are various, according to the variety
of dispositions upon which it has to act. Thus,
upon a profligate, a drunkard, an extortioner,
and upon a man of liberal, generous, independ-
ent principles, I am sure the ways of acting
are very different. Compare all the different
instances of conversion in Scripture, the jailor,
Lydia, Cornelius, the thief, &c. But the Me-
thodists adopt a class of converts, and deduce a
general rule for their particular case ; whereas,
there seems to be no general rule in Scripture.
This is prescribing laws to God's Holy Spirit.
He seems to have various ways of effecting a
sinner's conversion, and of adapting himself to
different dispositions: so that the method of
a Methodist appears unfounded, in assigning a
certain process.
It is no weak proof of the Christian spirit,
to be able to recognise the loveliness and sub-
limity of true piety in the lowliest or most
forbidding forms; to discern its excellence,
though dwarfed by intellectual littleness, or
degraded by the mean garb of ignorance; to
revere it, even when surrounded by the most
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 165
ludicrous accompaniments. It is, on the con-
trary, an index of spiritual dulness, perhaps,
of mental incapacity, to undervalue or despise
any form of sound religion^ merely on account
of such disadvantageous associations. But our
author held the great truths of Christianity so
close to his heart, that nothing could intervene
to cloud their beauty : his spiritual taste and
perspicacity was such, that it quickly descried,
and (as by a magnetic attraction) embraced a
kindred spirit, in whatever guise it appeared.
It could separate the dross ; it could detach the
grosser elements ; and delighted to look for-
ward to that happy time when the spirit of
genuine religion, however depressed by the
meanness of the subject in which it happens to
dwell, or disfigured by the unhappy combina-
tions with which, here on earth, it may be
attended, will assuredly shine forth in all its
radiant purity and native grandeur.
The success of a Christian pastor depends
almost as much on the manner as the matter of
his instruction. In this respect Mr. W. was
peculiarly happy, especially with the lower
classes of the people, who were much engaged
by the affectionate cordiality and the simple
166 REMAINS OF
earnestness of his deportment towards them.
In his conversations with the plain farmer or
humble labourer, he usually laid his hands
upon their shoulder, or caught them by the
arm ; and while he was insinuating his argu-
ments, or enforcing his appeals with all the
variety of simple illustrations which a prolific
fancy could supply, he fastened an anxious
eye upon the countenance of the person he
was addressing, as if eagerly awaiting some
gleam of intelligence, to shew that he was
understood and felt.
The solemnity, the tenderness, the energy
of his manner, could not fail to impress upon
their minds, at least, that his zeal for their
souls was disinterested and sincere.
The state of gross demoralisation in which
a large portion of the lower classes in his
parish was sunk, rendered it necessary for him
sometimes to adopt a style of preaching not the
most consonant to his own feelings. His na-
tural turn of mind would have led him to dwell
most upon the loftier motives, the more tender
appeals, the gentler topics of persuasion with
which the Gospel abounds ; but the dull and
stubborn natures which he had to encounter,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 167
frequently required " the terrors of the Lord"
to be placed before them ; the vices he had
to overthrow called for the strongest weapon
he could wield. He often, indeed, sought to
win such souls unto Christ by the attractive
beauties and the benign spirit of the Gospel ;
but, alas !
" Leviathan is not so tamed."
Amongst the people whom he had to address
he found drunkenness and impurity, and their
base kindred vices, lamentably prevalent ; and
therefore he felt it necessary to stigmatise
such practices in the plainest terms : he could
not find approach to minds of so coarse an
order without frequently arraying against
them the most awful denunciations of Divine
Justice.
He seldom had his sermons fully written
out and prepared for delivery ; yet this arose
not from any dearth of mental resources, much
less from confidence or neglect. It arose from
an intense feeling of the awful responsibility of
the duty. His mind was not only impressed,
but agitated, by the sense that he was " as a
" dying man speaking to dying men :" and
168 REMAINS OF
the solicitude he felt as to the choice of his
subject, the topics best suited to his purpose,
the most lively and practical manner in which
they might be presented, was the real cause
which usually delayed his full preparation. He
knew the vast importance of that brief space of
time during which a minister is permitted to
address his flock ; and he was fearful lest an
idle or unprofitable word should escape his lips,
or lest those moments which are so pregnant
with the concerns of eternity should be squan-
dered away in vague harangue or barren dis-
cussion. He was never satisfied with first
thoughts; he revolved them over and over, with
the hope that others more suitable, more strik-
ing, more perspicuous, might present themselves
to his mind; and thus he had seldom more than
half his sermon committed to paper when the
time arrived for its delivery. However, his
mind was so fully impregnated with his sub-
ject, and his command of language so prompt,
that he never was at a loss to complete in the
pulpit what he had left unfinished at his desk.*
* This appearance of extemporaneous preaching brought
him into much favour with the good Presbyterians and
Methodists, who flocked to hear him. Some of them were
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 169
He had no temptation to a vain display of
argumentative skill, or rhetorical accomplish-
ments, or the mere graces of composition, in
presence of the congregation he had to address ;
and indeed he had attained such an elevation
of mind and purity of heart, as to stand above
the reach of such a snare in any situation.
He did not despise such things ; he could ap-
preciate their value, and make them tributary
to the single object of his ministry. He seemed
fully sensible of the advantage and necessity of
a chaste embellishment of style, such as is re-
commended by Augustine, who says, that a
sermon is perfect in this respect, when " nee
" inornata relinquitur, nee indecenter ornatur."
He availed himself also of the powers of a
poetic and vivid imagination, not so much to
adorn or beautify, as to illustrate and enforce
his subject; to gain entrance into the under-
standing, and take the passions by surprise.
During the year that the typus fever raged
most violently in the north of Ireland, his
neighbourhood was much afflicted with the dis-
indeed so pleased with his manner, as to say, " he would
" almost do for a meeting minister."
170 - REMAINS OF
ease ; and thus the important duty of visiting
the sick (which to him was always a work of
most anxious solicitude) was vastly increased ;
and he accordingly applied himself with indefa-
tigable zeal in every quarter of his extended
parish, in administering temporal and spiritual
aid to his poor flock. In the discharge of such
duties he exposed himself to frequent colds ;
and his disregard of all precaution, and of the
ordinary comforts of life to which he had been
accustomed, soon, unhappily, confirmed a con-
sumptive tendency in his constitution, of which
some symptoms appeared when in college. His
frame was robust, and his general health usu-
ally strong ; but an habitual cough, of which
he himself seemed almost unconscious, often
excited the apprehensions of his friends ; and at
length, in the spring of 1821, the complaint, of
which it seemed the forerunner, began to make
manifest inroads upon his constitution. No
arguments, however, could for a long time dis-
suade him from his usual work. So little did
he himself regard the fatal symptoms, that he
could not be prevailed upon to relax his paro-
chial labours. At length, however, his altered
looks and other unfavourable symptoms ap-
THE 11EV. C. WOLFE. 171
peared so alarming, that some of his most re-
spectable parishioners wrote to his friends in
Dublin to urge them to use their influence in
persuading him to retire for awhile from his
arduous duties, and to have the best medical
advice for him without further delay. But such
was the anxiety he felt for his parish, and so
little conscious did he seem of the declining state
of his health, that no entreaties could avail.
The repeated accounts of his sinking health
at last impelled the friend who now feebly
attempts this humble record of his worth, to
set off at once to visit him, and to use all his
influence to induce him to submit to what ap-
peared so plainly the will of Providence, and
to suspend his labours until his strength should
be sufficiently recruited to resume them with
renewed vigour. In the mean time (about the
middle of May 1821) he had been hurried off
to Scotland by the importunate entreaties of a
kind and respected brother-clergyman in his
neighbourhood, in order to consult a physician
celebrated for his skill in such cases. On his
way to Edinburgh he happened to fall in with
a deputation from the Irish tract-society, who
172 REMAINS OF
were going to that city to hold a meeting for
the promotion of their important objects. Not-
withstanding the languor of his frame, and the
irritation of a harassing cough, he was pre-
vailed upon to exert his eloquence in this in-
teresting cause. In some of the speeches made
upon that occasion he thought that the dark
side of the character of his countrymen had
been strongly exhibited, while the brighter
part was almost entirely kept out of view.
With characteristic feeling, he stood up to pre-
sent the whole image, with all its beauties as
well as its defects.
His address was taken down in short-hand,
and submitted to him for a hurried correction
as he was stepping into his carriage. The
following outline which was preserved may
appear worth insertion.
SPEECH BEFORE A MEETING OF THE IRISH
TRACT-SOCIETY, EDINBURGH, MAY 1821.
SIR,
I have not the vanity to imagine that the
words of an obscure individual, who is a total
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 173
stranger to almost all those whom he addresses,
and, except within a few days, a stranger to
the country which they inhabit, could produce
any considerable effect in exciting you to the
performance of your duty, or in recommending
the object which you are assembled to promote.
I only rise to express my thanks on the
part of that country which I should find it im-
possible to love and value as I ought, without
also regarding with affection that country which
has proved itself her benefactor. I confess that
I perform this office with shame and mortifica-
tion : I should have wished to have seen my
country standing forth in the proud character
of a benefactress, and taking her rank amongst
those whose privilege it is " to give gifts unto
" men," instead of appearing in the attitude of
a suppliant, with a petition in her hand. Per-
haps it is right that these proud feelings should
be humbled ; perhaps the two countries thus
occupy that relative situation which they are
best qualified to fill ; perhaps Scotland is
formed to yield assistance ; but assuredly there
is in Ireland all the heart to return it. The Irish
character seems to possess a greater capability
either of good or of evil than that of any other
174 REMAINS OF
nation upon the face of the globe. There is a
quickness of intellect, a vivacity of fancy, a rest-
lessness of curiosity, and a warmth of heart, that
can be turned either to the very best or the
very worst of purposes, and form the elements
either of the most exalted or the most degraded
of rational beings. They in some degree re-
semble in their effects the power and versa-
tility of fire, that sometimes bursts from the
volcano, and overflows and desolates the whole
scene by which it is surrounded ; that is some-
times applied by the incendiary to the house
where the family are sleeping at midnight, and
consumes them in their beds ; or can be turned
by powerful and complicated machinery to the
service of man ; that can be made to rise in
incense before the throne of God in heaven.
And thus also these elements, when either left
to themselves, or perverted by designing and
wicked men, can form the most atrocious cha-
racter that ever moved upon the face of the
earth ; but if the light of the Gospel of Jesus
Christ shines in upon them, they compose the
most illustrious specimen of an exalted and
truly spiritual Christian that perhaps we shall
here be permitted to behold. This is not mere
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 175
theory and fond speculation : we have proofs
of both. Alas ! for the first we have only to
appeal to the melancholy statements of depra-
vity which you have just heard ; and for the
second, we have only to appeal to the state of
religion in Ireland at this instant : for, sir, in
Ireland " the winter is past, and the spring is
" begun ;" and there is, in the religious aspect
of the country, an appearance of growth, a pro-
mise and anticipation almost more delightful
than the fulfilment. There is a spiritual glow
throughout the land ; and when the power of
religious truth acts upon a warm and generous
heart, and sends all its energy in one direction,
it produces a beautiful specimen of living and
devoted Christianity ; and we are spared in
Ireland, probably more than in any other coun-
try, that most tremendous of all moral specta-
cles, more tremendous than even the debauchee
plunging into sensuality the spectacle of a
man with the light of the Gospel in his head,
without its warmth in his heart. From this
view of the Irish character, it is obvious that
they require both unceasing attention, and the
greatest delicacy in the treatment. Such a peo-
ple must have constant food for the mind, food
176 REMAINS OF
for the fancy, food for the affections : if it is
not given, they will find it for themselves ; and
therefore both great liberality and great judg-
ment are necessary in supplying it. I can tes-
tify, from actual observation, to the insatiable
avidity with which tracts are sought, and the
deep interest which is excited in those who
peruse them. We trust, then, the good work
will go on, and that Scotland will rejoice to see
the sun of Ireland arise; and, though it may
not be given to this generation to behold it,
yet our posterity will see the day, when
Ireland shall rise from the posture of a sup-
pliant, and take her station by the side of
Scotland.
On his return from Scotland, the writer met
him at a friend's house within a few miles of
his own residence ; and on the following Sun-
day, accompanied him through the principal
part of his parish to the church ; and never
can he forget the scene he witnessed as they
drove together along the road, and through the
village. It must give a more lively idea of his
character and conduct as a parish clergyman
than any laboured delineation, or than a mere
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 177
detail of particular facts. As he quickly passed
by, all the poor people and children ran out to
their cabin-doors to welcome him, with looks
and expressions of the. most ardent affection,
and with all that wild devotion of gratitude so
characteristic of the Irish peasantry. Many
fell upon their knees invoking blessings upon
him ; and long after they were out of hearing,
they remained in the same attitude, shewing
by their gestures that they were still offering
up prayers for him ; and some even followed
the carriage a long distance, making the most
anxious inquiries about his health. He was
sensibly moved by this manifestation of feeling,
and met it with all that heartiness of expres-
sion, and that affectionate simplicity of manner,
which made him as much an object of love, as
his exalted virtues rendered him an object of
respect. The intimate knowledge he seemed
to have acquired of all their domestic histories,
appeared from the short but significant in-
quiries he made of each individual as he was
hurried alon^; while, at the same time, he
gave a rapid sketch of the particular characters
of several who presented themselves pointing
to one with a sigh, and to another with looks
N
178 REMAINS OF
of fond congratulation. It was, indeed, im-
possible to behold a scene like this (which can
scarcely be described) without the deepest but
most pleasing emotions. It seemed to realise
the often-imagined picture of a primitive minis-
ter of the Gospel of Christ, living in the hearts
of his flock, " willing to spend, and to be spent
" upon them," and enjoying the happy inter-
change of mutual affection. It clearly shewed the
kind of intercourse that habitually existed be-
tween him and his parishioners ; and afforded a
pleasing proof, that a faithful and firm discharge
of duty, when accompanied by kindly sympa-
thies and gracious manners, can scarcely fail to
gain the hearts of the humbler ranks of the
people.
It can scarcely be a matter of surprise that
he should feel much reluctance in leaving a
station where his ministry appeared to be so
useful and acceptable ; and accordingly, though
peremptorily required by the physician he had
just consulted, to retire for some time from all
clerical duties, it was with difficulty he could
be dislodged from his post, and forced away to
Dublin, where most of his friends resided.
It was hoped that timely relaxation from
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 179
duty, and a change in his mode of living to
what he had been originally accustomed, and
suitable to the present delicate state of his
health, might avert the fatal disease with which
he was threatened. The habits of his life, while
he resided on his cure, were in every respect
calculated to confirm his constitutional tendency
to consumption. He seldom thought of pro-
viding a regular meal ; and his humble cottage
exhibited every appearance of the neglect of
the ordinary comforts of life. A few straggling
rush-bottomed chairs, piled up with his books,
a small rickety table before the fire-place,
covered with parish memoranda, and two trunks
containing all his papers serving at the same
time to cover the broken parts of the floor,
constituted all the furniture of his sitting-room.
The mouldy walls of the closet in which he
slept were hanging with loose folds of damp
paper ; and between this wretched cell and his
parlour was the kitchen, which was occupied
by the disbanded soldier, his wife, and their
numerous brood of children, who had migrated
with him from his first quarters, and seemed
now in full possession of the whole concern,
entertaining him merely as a lodger, and usurp-
N 2
180 REMAINS OF
ing the entire disposal of his small plot of
ground, as the absolute lords of the soil.
After he left this comfortless home, he re-
signed himself entirely to the disposal of his
family. Though his malady seemed to increase,
and his frame to become more emaciated, still
his natural spirits and mental elasticity conti-
nued unimpaired, so much so, that he conti-
nued to preach occasionally in Dublin with his
usual energy, until the friendly physician to
whom he had now submitted his case abso-
lutely forbade all present exercise of clerical
duties.
His anxiety about the provision for his
duties in his parish, seemed for a long time
materially to interrupt every enjoyment which
might tend to his recovery. Indeed, his feel-
ings were so alive to the subject, that he could
scarcely be satisfied with any arrangement
which his kind clerical friends could make for
him, under conviction that no occasional deputy
can fully fill the place of the regular minister
of the parish ; and unhappily the advanced age
and infirmities of his rector rendered any exer-
tions on his part impracticable. But he shall
speak for himself.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 181
Dublin, May 28th, 1821.
" MY DEAR MRS.
" I did not wish to write until something
" decisive had occurred ; and at length the
" die is cast : Doctor has, in fact, stripped
" me of my gown. You may conceive me ob-
" stinate. when I confess that even his opinion
" has not yet, in my mind, justified the alarm
" of my friends, or convinced me of my danger;
" but however, it has done what is more essen-
" tial and more satisfactory ; it has shewn me
" the course which Providence directs me to
" take, and this is the only question for me
" to decide ; the rest is in better hands. The
" dread I felt of choosing for myself, instead of
" running the race that is set before me, is
" removed ; and I now feel myself obliged to
" resign, at least for a season, the trust which
" was reposed in me. What the ultimate event
" may be, and whether I shall ever be again
" permitted to exercise my ministry in Castle
" Caulfield, I cannot foresee ; and although I
" am thus replaced amongst my oldest friends,
" and where natural inclination would lead me,
" I cannot but look with the liveliest regret
182 REMAINS OF
" at the possibility of never returning to a
" parish to which I was bound, for three years,
" by the most solemn ties, and to a family in
" which I have experienced the most unwearied
" kindness and affection. I do not conceal
" from you the great anxiety I feel that my
" successor, whether he is to be temporary
" or permanent, may be an active, spiritual
" minister. I do not know indeed that any
" circumstance would give me more pain than
" that my poor flock should fall into the hands
" of a careless, worldly-minded pastor. * *
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
Dublin, June 14th, 1821.
" MY DEAR
" Although I have nothing conclusive to
relate, I feel as if, in this state of uncertainty,
my silence would look like neglect. Having
failed in my attempts to procure a temporary
substitute, and being absolutely withheld by
my friends from returning, I at length came
to the resolution of resigning the trust re-
posed in me. However painful it might be
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 183
" to my feelings, I could no longer reconcile it
" to myself to leave the parish in such a state
" of disorder and confusion. I know that
" wherever there is not a minister resident in
" the parish, every thing is at a stand ; the
" sick and the schools are not attended to, and
" those that are in health are ' left to walk in
" their own ways.' I could not divest myself
" of a sense of responsibility for all these con-
" sequences.
" Actuated by these motives, I waited upon
" the primate, and tendered my resignation.
" He hesitated to accept it, and urged me to
" continue my search for a substitute. * * *
" As soon as any thing is determined on, I
" shall let you know.
" Yours, &c.
C. W."
Blackhall, July 24th, 1821.
" MY DEAR
* * " If I had known, at the com-
mencement of this business, that matters
would have continued so long in a state of
uncertainty, I would have returned to my
184 REMAINS OF
" post at all hazards. I felt so much dis-
" tress, not only at the deserted state of my
" parish, but also at the trouble and em-
" barrassment that I have occasioned to my
" friends, that I made three attempts to resign,
" in which I failed. A very little thing would
" make me Ireak jail, for I feel myself strong
" enough for such an undertaking ; but I am
" not allowed to have an opinion upon this
" subject : therefore it is that I generally say
" little about it in my letters. When any of
" my poor people inquire for me, you may tell
" them that nothing would injure my health
" more than to hear that my flock was scat-
" tered. I am very happy to hear so favour-
" able an account of the parish, and Sunday-
" school ; for the latter of which, I know to
" whom I am principally indebted.
" I do indeed lament that I am not at hand
" when you fancy I could minister consola-
" tion ; but I know, by experience, that God
" often removes from us every earthly support,
" in order to draw us nearer to himself, and
" to prevent us from trusting to the creature
" rather than the Creator ; and he sometimes
" puts ' lover and friend far from us, and
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 185
" removes our acquaintance out of sight,' in
" order that he may break through all dis-
" guises, and reveal himself as our all-sufficient
" Friend. Give my blessing and my most
" affectionate regards to Mrs. ; remember
" me to each and all at Mr. .
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
Black Rock, June 13th, 1821.
" DEAR SIR,
" I regret very much, that although you
" have been a considerable time in the neigh-
" bourhood of Castle Caulfield, I am able to
" address you only by letter. I assure you
" it was fully my intention to have returned
" your visit ; but the duties of an extensive
" parish, which I had not been able to reduce
" into any kind of system, and which were
" rendered more laborious by the want of a
" horse, repeatedly prevented me from fulfill-
" ing it. Indeed, the occasion of the present
" letter is in some degree a proof. The irre-
** gularity of my movements in my parish pro-
" duced a degree of inattention to my health,
186 REMAINS OF
" and gave rise to some symptoms of an at-
" tack upon my lungs, which have alarmed my
" friends, and induced them to take me alto-
" gether out of my own hands, and place me
" under the jurisdiction of a physician, who
" has actually stripped me of my gown, and
" interdicted me, under pain of a consumption,
" from the performance of any clerical duty for
" a very considerable time. I have made se-
" veral unavailing attempts to procure a tem-
" porary substitute; and being unwilling to
" leave my poor flock any longer without a
" shepherd, I waited upon the primate, and
" tendered my resignation, but he hesitated to
" accept it.
" My chief object is to provide an active
" and zealous minister for a parish in whose
" spiritual welfare I cannot cease to feel a
" lively interest.
" Yours, &c.
C.W."
" DEAR SIR,
* * * With respect to catechising the
" children, there is a lamentable deficiency,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 187
" arising from a difficulty that I found it more
" easy to discover than to remove. In a very
" large parish, particularly where they are not
" collected in any considerable numbers in a
" town, it is impossible that any one day or
" any one place will suffice. My desire of
" devising a method that would fully meet the
" want, and which I trusted would suggest
" itself upon a closer acquaintance with the
" parish, induced me to delay the adoption of
" some that might have been of partial service ;
" and the wish of effecting more than perhaps
" could be done, prevented me from doing all
" that might have been done ; so that even on
" Sundays I did not make the catechising as
" distinct from the business of the Sunday-
" school as I ought. I shall be very happy,
" if I am ever to succeed you, to follow
" any plan or improvement that you may
" introduce. * * *
" I have been occupied and agitated by pre-
" parations for my departure for the Continent,
" and inquiries as to the best destination for
" invalids, which have not yet been satisfac-
" torily answered ; these, and my removal to
" town, where I have become the victim of
188 REMAINS OF
" leeches and blisters, have prevented me from
" undertaking an answer to your letter, which
" could not be done extempore, as I fear you
" will perceive by the length of this epistle.
Yours, &c.
" C. W."
For some months after his removal from his
parish, his health appeared to fluctuate, as is
sometimes the case at the commencement of
such complaints as his ; and it was considered
necessary, towards the approach of winter, that
he should go to the South of France, as the
most probable means of averting from him the
threatened malady. In his attempt to reach
Bourdeaux, he was twice driven back to Holy-
head by violent and adverse gales, and suffered
so much from the effects, that it was deemed
prudent to abandon the plan, and settle near
Exeter during the winter and ensuing spring.
From this place his next letters are written.
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 189
Exeter, Feb. 18th, 1822.
" MY DEAR
" Welcome once more !* I feel as if we had
" a second parting when we last exchanged
" letters ; and now that we once more renew a
" correspondence, it looks like a meeting after
" a long separation. But you may be assured
" that neither you nor yours were forgotten by
" me at those times when I knew you would
" most wish to be remembered ; those seasons
" at which, I trust, I am remembered by you
" all. I will not trouble you with all the
" tedious reasons of my silence; the silence
" itself was tedious enough. Suffice it to say,
" that a man may be very idle, and have no
" leisure, especially no leisure of mind ; and
" that a man's time may be in a great measure
" unoccupied, and yet not his own. I will
" not tell you of the length of time it takes to
" wind me up and set me a-going for the day ;
* The remainder of the above was upon the subject of an
offer, which had just been made to him, of the curacy of
Armagh ; a post of great importance and responsibility,
with regard to which proposal he felt the most anxious em-
barrassment t EDITOR.
190 REMAINS OF
" but I find that the toilette of an invalid is as
" long and as troublesome as that of a duchess,
" and perhaps the whole day often spent
" with little more profit. It will be sufficient
" to tell you, that I can scarcely make out an
" hour and a half a day for actual study. * *
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
Exeter, April 2d, 1822.
" MY DEAR MRS.
" If I had written to you as often as I
" intended it, since I left Ireland, you would
" have been by this time weary of my cor-
" respondence. Often and often I have re-
" proached myself, for leaving some of my best
" and kindest friends the least room for sus-
" pecting me to be guilty of forgetfulness or
" indifference; but you have witnessed so
" much of those fatal habits of delay and
" procrastination, by which I am pre-emi-
" nently distinguished, that you are not at a
" loss to assign a cause for my silence, with-
" out being reduced to the necessity of ac-
:< cusing me of coldness and ingratitude. In-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 191
* deed, from having observed my sad defi-
" ciency in corresponding with the nearest
" members of my own family, you may well
" say, * Well ! after all, sure he has treated
" me as his sister.' * *
" You have heard of course from of our
" repeated attempts to reach Bourdeaux, and
" our repeated disappointments, having been
" twice driven back to Holyhead. There we
" lived for a month in a state of anxious uncer-
" tainty, not knowing each day what was to be
" our destination on the morrow ; and when at
" length we arrived at this pl#ce, I relaxed
" into a state of lassitude and debility, and
" my cough grew worse : however, with the
" blessing of God, I think my cough consider-
" ably reduced, and my strength, in some
" degree, returning. Whatever good effect has
" beeij produced, I may attribute, under the
" Fatner of all mercies, to the friends whom I
" trust I may say He has provided for me.
" Of the unwearied and devoted affection of
" my sisters, who accompanied me, I shall
" say nothing ; but the Christian friends that
" I have found, whtie I expected to meet
" none but strangers, I should feel myself
192 REMAINS OF
" almost guilty of ingratitude, if I did not
" mention.
" I am now writing under the roof of a fel-
" low-countryman, a brother Christian and a
" brother in the ministry, who has become an
" excellent physician by sad and constant ex-
<6 perience in his own person, and who has
" taken me altogether under his own care,
(i and who does not allow me to move, speak,
" write, or think, except by special permission ;
" and this, by the by, is the reason that this
" letter comes limping so slowly after its prede-
" cessor, which I trust has long since reached
" you. Under the care of this kind physician
" and truly exalted Christian, in whose family
" I am almost domesticated, I think I find my
" strength returning. But I must pass to a
" subject far less agreeable than this, to the
" curacy of Armagh. I suppose you have
** been already informed by - that it was
" offered me by Lord L , and that, after
" much hesitation and anxiety, I accepted it.
" It cannot be necessary to tell you that it was
" altogether unsolicited; indeed, so much so,
" that I was equally surprised and dismayed
" by the offer. I shrunk from it almost in-
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 193
" stinctively, when I considered not only the
" awful responsibility of the office itself, but
"the numerous appendages attached to it, the
" chaplaincy of the garrison, the chaplaincy and
" inspectorship of the jail, and the superin-
" tendence of several charitable institutions. It
" is indeed one of the very last situations I
" should choose if I consulted either my own
" ease or emolument. * *
" * Who is sufficient for these things?' It
" was the very answer to this question that
" made me hesitate to refuse ; for no man is
" sufficient for these things, and yet some one
" must undertake them ; and I feared that I
" should be guilty of distrusting Him whose
" ' strength is made perfect in weakness,' and
" of consulting my own ease and convenience
" in preference to His service, if I declined it.
" 1 therefore conceived it best to reply that I
" was willing to undertake it ; but could not
" possibly name any period within which I
" could engage to enter upon it in person ; nor
" could I make any exertion to obtain a sub-
" stitute. I was informed in answer, that the
" primate had approved of my nomination, and
" that every exertion would be made to obtain a
o
194 REMAINS OF
" substitute, which however is found to be more
" difficult than was imagined, both on account
" of the weight of duty, and the indefinite
" period for which he would be required. If
" permitted to decide for myself, I would have
" engaged to return before June ; but my
" friends, both old and new, who have taken
" me altogether out of my own hands, and
" who have me completely in their power,
" will not allow me to name any time for re-
" turning to my duties. My dear Mrs. ,
" I feel it a great relief to think that I am
" writing to one who can fully enter into my
" feelings and motives ; and that, in relating
" my views and conduct in this business, I am
" in no danger of being misunderstood; and
" surely you cannot but enter into my feel-
" ings when I convey through you to Mr.
" the resignation of the curacy of Donough-
" more. Indeed, if you do not give me credit
" for them, I am afraid it would be hopeless
" to attempt to express them. Will you allow
" me to intrust you with my farewell to all my
" friends, both at M and in the parish ?
" Assure Mr. and Mrs. that I shall never
" forget the kindness and hospitality I have
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 195
" enjoyed under their roof ; and give my kindest
" remembrance to , and my solemn bless-
" ing to all those of my flock to whom you
" think it, will be of any value : but how shall
" I say farewell to you and Mrs. , who have
" indeed treated me as a brother and a son ? I
" can only commend you to One who has said
" that ' whoso doeth the will of his Father, the
" same is his brother, and sister, and mother ;'
" the great Shepherd of the sheep, who, un-
" like other shepherds, will never leave or for-
" sake them. It is painful to hear that many
" have wandered from the fold ; but there are
" some who, I trust, have seen and felt the
" glory and love of Christ, and will hold fast
" their confidence unto the end. I hope, if I
" am indeed ever settled in Armagh, to see
" you face to face. * * *
" Yours, &c.
C. W."
Oswestry, May 22d, 1822.
" MY DEAR MRS.
" We are thus far on our way to poor
" Ireland, for better for worse ; and we propose
o 2
196 REMAINS OF
d
" to rest here for a few days, with our friends
" who have accompanied us. My strength is, I
" trust, considerably improved ; but my cough
" not considerably abated.
" I hope soon to ascertain when I shall be
" able to return to active duty. So much
" for myself; but how tremendous was the
" primate's death ! what a thunderstroke ! the
" thing itself, and the circumstances attend-
" ing it were sufficiently appalling, but to
" us its probable consequences are most dis-
" tressing. Poor Castle Caulfield ! what will
" become of it now ? How the Lord seems
" to have disappointed my calculations ! but
" perhaps it is only to shew that he can do
" things much better his own way, as he often
" fulfils our best desires in the manner we least
" expected, in order that while he comforts he
" may humble us, and teach us to ascribe all
" the glory to him. And we should not forget,
" that we may promote the cause as much by
" our prayers as by our contrivances and exer-
" tions. What a privilege it is, and what a
" consolation, that we have One upon whom
" we may cast our cares ; and that in our
" closets, when no one hears or dreams of it,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 197
" we may ask of the ' great Shepherd and
" Bishop, 5 that he would appoint a faithful
" pastor over the sheep that are scattered
" and be heard ! At the same time we should
" use whatever legitimate means are in our
" reach to effect the object of our prayer.
" But this brings me to the chief subject
" of your last letter the wandering of your
" mind in prayer. Perhaps the evil of our
" nature never displays itself more fully than
" in our religious acts and exercises ; and the
" more enlightened and experienced a true
" Christian becomes, the more does he dis-
" cover of the sinfulness of his nature, and of
" the pollutions and mixed motives of even his
" best performances. But there is a gracious
" provision made for these. Towards the close
" of the 4th of Hebrews you will find, ' that
" we have not an high priest that cannot be
" touched with a feeling of our infirmities ;
" but was in all points tempted like as we
" are, yet without sin :' and, at the end of the
" same chapter, this is again urged as a
" motive for coming * boldly to the throne of
" grace :' and if you look to (I believe) the
" 4th chapter of Leviticus, you will see that the
198 REMAINS OF
" great high priest was * to bear the iniquity
" of the holy things of the people of God.'
" This is our encouragement and consolation
" in approaching the throne of grace, that
" there is One who enters into all our feelings,
" and sympathises with us in our infirmities,
" and yet, at the same time, is almighty to
" save ! This is the glory of that truth that
" the divine and human nature are united in
" one person, and that he offers our feeble and
" imperfect petitions with irresistible energy
" and effect. This consideration, at the same
" time, so far from damping our fervour in
" prayer, or inducing us to give way to wan-
" dering thoughts or coldness of feeling while
" engaged in it, will be an additional incentive
" to earnestness and devotion. It will, by re-
" moving fear, increase our confidence ; it will
" kindle greater love to that gracious Inter-
" cessor ; and we shall look forward with
" greater hope to that period when all languor
" and corruption shall be done away. The
" Lord direct, and sanctify, and sustain you,
" and crown you and yours with every blessing.
" Yours with the sincerest affection,
" C. W."
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 199
After his return from Exeter, he remained
during the summer with his friends in and near
Dublin. His general health appeared not to
have undergone any material change in the
mean time ; but his cough continued so violent
and distressing that he was ordered to go to
Bourdeaux, and back again, for the benefit of
the voyage. He thus writes to a near relative,
on his arrival there.
Bourdeaux, 29th August, 1822.
" MY DEAR
" This morning, after an anxious and bois-
" terous voyage, we cast anchor in front of
" Bourdeaux. From Saturday night till Thurs-
" day morning we were struggling through the
" channel, at one time in danger of being
" becalmed, and at others endeavouring to
" make the best of violent and unfavourable
" winds, until at length, early on Thursday,
" we were swept past the Land's End by a
" rapid gale. Late on the evening of the same
" day we came within view of the island of
" Ushant, and entered the formidable Bay of
" Biscay. It was, however, so smooth and
" beautiful, and the clear French sky over
200 REMAINS OF
" our heads, and the warm elastic air about
" us, were so enlivening, that the terrible
" bay seemed to welcome and invite us ; and
" during the whole of Friday we sailed gently
" and quietly along ; and the deadly and inces-
" sant sickness under which I had laboured
" until then, and which I will not attempt to
" describe, began to give way, and I almost
" enjoyed the scene. But on Saturday it
" threw off its disguise, and began to appear
" in its real character, and we were tossed and
" lashed furiously along, till at length, on Sun-
" day morning, after a stormy night, to our
" great refreshment, we arrived at the mouth
" of the Garonne, about sixty miles from
" Bourdeaux. If it had not been the Lord's
" day, which I would gladly have spent in
" another way, I should have sincerely en-
" joyed the scene, in sailing up the noblest
" and grandest river I ever beheld. We an-
" chored that night at Pauillac, half way
" up the river between the mouth and the
" city. For the first time, I slept as it were
" upon dry land, and rose this morning
" refreshed. The sail from Pauillac to Bour-
" deaux was indeed delightful ; but the repose
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 201
" I now enjoy infinitely more so ; for all the
" passengers are gone ashore but myself, and
" I spend the remainder of the day quietly on
" board the packet alone, where I shall sleep
" to-night, and will go to-morrow early to look
" for lodgings. My cough only appeared oc-
" casionally during the voyage, and was never
" violent or continued ; and I have been told
" by all the passengers that there was a very
" remarkable improvement visible towards the
" close of the voyage. The heat is very se-
" vere, but the sky very clear and beautiful.
" I will not say any thing of the passengers,
" &c. as I hope this letter will not reach you
" much sooner than myself.
" I feel indeed that I have been most
" graciously dealt with; and that the same
" good Providence that before forbade me to
" go, has now gone along with me. May He
" be with you !
" Yours, &c.
" C. W."
In less than a month he returned from
Bourdeaux, and seemed to have derived some
benefit from the voyage ; but this was of short
202 REMAINS OF
continuance. The fatal disease which had been
long apprehended proved to have taken full
hold of his constitution : his strength appeared
to sink fast, and his spirits to flag. The bound-
ing step, which expressed a constant buoyancy
of mind, now became slow and feeble ; his
robust and upright figure began to droop ;
his marked and prominent features acquired a
sharpness of form, and his complexion, natu-
rally fair, assumed the pallid cast of wasting
disease ; and all the other symptoms of con-
sumption soon discovered themselves ; and,
" Even when his serious eyes were lighted up
" With kindling mirth, and from his lips distill'd
" Words soft as dew and cheerful as the dawn,
" Then too I could have wept ; for on his face,
" Eye, voice, and smile, nor less his bending frame
" By other cause impaired than length of years
" Lay something that still turn'd the thoughtful heart
" To melancholy dreams dreams of decay,
" Of death, and burial, and the silent tomb."
It is indeed the privilege of the Christian
to look far above those dreary scenes, to
fasten his eye upon that light which burns
beyond the tomb ; but still, sometimes the sight
of a dying friend will naturally turn the thoughts
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 203
to the more immediate circumstances of death ;
and this, perhaps, most of all, at the moment
when one suddenly discerns, with a startled
conviction, the first sure and ominous vestige
of death upon the countenance of a beloved
object. But faith will not dwell upon such
thoughts " such melancholy dreams :" it will
look up with serene and holy confidence to
" Him who is the resurrection and the life ;"
and thus comfort itself with an unfailing conso-
lation.
About the end of November it was thought
advisable, as the last remaining hope, that he
should guard against the severity of the winter,
by removing to the Cove of Cork, which, by
its peculiar situation, is sheltered on all sides
from the harsh and prevailing winds. Thither
he was accompanied by the writer and a near
relative to whom he was fondly attached. For
a short time he appeared to revive a little ; and
sometimes entered into conversation with al-
most his usual animation ; but the first un-
favourable change of weather shattered his re-
maining strength : his cough now became nearly
incessant, and a distressing languor weighed
down his frame. In this state he continued
204 REMAINS OF
until the 21st of February, 1823, upon the
morning of which day he expired, in the 32d
year of his age.
During the whole course of his illness (though,
towards the close, apparently not unconscious
of his danger) he never expressed any appre-
hensions to his friends, but once, that he sud-
denly observed a new symptom, to which he
pointed with a look and expression of the gen-
tlest, calmest resignation. He seemed particu-
larly on his guard against uttering a word
which could excite the fears of the dear relative
who clung so devotedly to him until his last
moments. A short time before he died she
ventured to disclose to him her long-concealed
apprehensions, saying (with a humility like his
own), that she felt she needed correction ; and
that, at last, the Lord had sent " a worm into
" her gourd." " What !" replied he, " is it in
" afflicting me? indeed, I believe you love
" me sinfully : I may, however, bless this ill-
" ness if it leads me to more spiritual commu-
" nion with you than before."
One night that his animal spirits were par-
ticularly depressed, he said to her, " I want
" comfort to-night :" and upon her reminding
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 205
him of the blessings he had been the instrument
of conveying to the souls of many of his nearest
relatives, he faintly exclaimed, " Stop, stop
" that is comfort enough for one night."
It is natural for a religious mind to feel a
lively interest in every record of the last illness
and death of any eminent servant of God to
expect some happy evidences of triumphant
faith and holy resignation in such a trying state
at the awful moment when all the vast reali-
ties of an eternal world are about to be disclosed
to the disembodied spirit. There are some
persons who perhaps look for such evidences
chiefly in ardent ejaculations, in affecting ex-
pressions of self-humiliation, in palpable im-
pressions of present comfort, or raptures of
joyful anticipation ; but these may not be, after
all, unequivocal or indispensable tests of the
presence and power of true faith. It should
not be forgotten how much depends upon the
state of the animal system at such times, upon
the nature of the complaint, or even on the
peculiar constitution of the mind itself. As in
the case of the steadfast and holy Christian
here recorded, the disease may be such as to
encumber the faculties of the soul by a peculiar
pressure upon the body : the corruptible part
206 REMAINS OF
may " weigh down the mind which museth on
" many things," and thus incapacitate it for
any energetic manifestation of its feelings. It
was the nature of his particular malady to
bring on an oppressive lassitude of spirits ; and
he was also afflicted with a raking cough,
which for some time before his death disabled
him from speaking a single sentence without
incurring a violent paroxysm.
One interesting fact, however, may prove,
with more certainty than a thousand rapturous
expressions, the ascendancy of his faith in the
midst of these depressing circumstances.
On the day before his dissolution, the medi-
cal gentleman who attended him felt it his duty
to apprise him of his immediate danger, and
expressed himself thus : " Your mind, sir,
" seems to be so raised above this world that
" I need not fear to communicate to you my
" candid opinion of your state." " Yes, sir,"
replied he, " I trust I have been learning to
" live above the world :" and he then made
some impressive observations on the ground of
his own hopes ; and having afterwards heard
that they had a favourable effect, he entered
more fully into the subject with him on his
next visit, and continued speaking for an hour,
THE REV. C. WOLFE. 20?
in such a convincing, affecting, and solemn
strain, (and this at a time when he seemed in-
capable of uttering a single sentence,) that the
physician, on retiring to the adjoining room,
threw himself on the sofa, in tears, exclaiming,
" There is something superhuman about that
" man : it is astonishing to see such a mind in
" a body so wasted ; such mental vigour in a
" poor frame dropping into the grave !"
Let not then the cold sceptic (to maintain
a precarious theory on uncertain observations)
seek to degrade his own nature, in the face of
facts like this, by identifying the imperishable
soul with its frail tenement. There are mo-
ments, he may see, at which that divine and im-
material principle can throw off the pressure of
its earthly encumbrance, even when it appears
to slumber in a deadly torpor. When its own
appropriate excitements are presented to it, it
can " burst its cerements," and rise superior to
the ruins amidst which it seems to be buried.
This incident is abundantly sufficient to in-
dicate the strength of principle and the ardour
of feeling which may possess the soul at a time
when, perhaps, it finds no utterance. His
feelings indeed appeared too deep for super-
ficial expressions. The state of mind towards
208 REMAINS OF
which he seemed to aspire, was what the excel-
lent Henry Martin preferred above all others,
" a sweet and holy seriousness ;" and indeed
he seemed to have attained it. His was a
calm serenity, a profound thoughtfulness, a
retired communion with his God, which could
not, probably, vent itself in verbal ebullitions ;
but when an opportunity of doing good to
the soul of a fellow-sinner presented itself, he
shewed how strongly he felt the Gospel to be
" the power of salvation to his own soul," by
his zeal to impart it to another.
It is important thus to see that true religion
consists not so much in the constant fervour of
the feelings, as in a fixedness of principle, in
the intelligent, determinate choice of the will ;
that the one may fluctuate while the other re-
mains steadfast and immovable.
From the time that Mr. W. came to Cove
he seemed scarcely to relish any subject of
conversation but that which bore upon what is,
in truth, at all times " the one thing needful."
His Bible was his chief companion ; he
seemed also deeply interested in Worthington's
treatise on " Self-resignation ;" and occasionally
read with satisfaction " Omicron's Letters, by
" the Rev. J. Newton."
THE KEY. C. WOLFE. 209
Upon the subject of religion he was always
peculiarly indisposed to controversy. He de-
lighted to seize the great principles, to embrace
the vital truths ; and read with pleasure any
author in whose writings he could find them: he
valued as brethren all who maintained them, and
diligently sought to co-operate with them " in
" their works and labours of love." His own
views seemed not to have undergone any change
from the time of his ordination; but they became
more and more vivid, and, of course, more in-
fluential upon his principles and affections.
During the last few days of his life, when
his sufferings became more distressing, his
constant expression was, " This light affliction,
" this light affliction !" and when the awful
crisis drew near, he still maintained the same
sweet spirit of resignation. Even then he
shewed an instance of that thoughtful benevo-
lence, that amiable tenderness of feeling, which
formed a striking trait in his character : he
expressed much anxiety about the accommo-
dation of an attendant who was sleeping in the
adjoining room ; and gave even minute direc-
tions respecting it.
On going to bed he felt very drowsy ; and
p
210 REMAINS OF
soon after the stupor of death began to creep
over him. He began to pray for all his dearest
friends individually ; but his voice faltering,
he could only say " God bless them all !
" The peace of God and of Jesus Christ over-
" shadow them, dwell in them, reign in them!"
" My peace," said he, addressing his sister,
" (the peace I now feel) be with you!" " Thou,
" O God, wilt keep him in perfect peace whose
" mind is stayed on thee." His speech again
began to fail, and he fell into a slumber ;
but whenever his senses were recalled he
returned to prayer. He repeated part of the
Lord's prayer, but was unable to proceed ; and
at last, with a composure scarcely credible at
such a moment, he whispered to the dear rela-
tive who hung over his death-bed, " Close this
" eye, the other is closed already ; and now
" farewell !" Then, having again uttered part
of the Lord's prayer, he fell asleep. " He is
" not dead, but sleepeth."
To this imperfect record I cannot forbear
annexing the following discriminative sketch of
the mental and moral endowments of its in-
THE REV. C. WOLFE.
teresting subject. It is from the eloquent pen
of the Rev. Dr. Miller, late fellow of Trinity
College, Dublin, author of " Lectures on the
" Philosophy of Modern History." It formed
the conclusion of a letter to the editor of a
London paper, in which he fully establishes
the claim of the true author to the disputed
Ode on Sir John Moore.
" The poetical talent (continues the learned
" writer) which could produce such an ode was,
" however, but a minor qualification in the cha-
" racter of this young man ; for he combined
" eloquence of the first order with the zeal of
" an apostle. During the short time in which
" he held a curacy in the diocese of Armagh,
66 he so wholly devoted himself to the dis-
" charge of his duties in a very populous
" parish, that he exhausted his strength by
" exertions disproportioned to his constitution,
" and was cut off by disease in what should
" have been the bloom of youth. This zeal,
" which was too powerful for his bodily frame,
" was yet controlled by a vigorous and manly
" intellect, which all the ardour of religion
" and poetry could never urge to enthusiasm.
p 2
REMAINS, &C.
" His opinions were as sober as if they were
" merely speculative ; his fancy was as vivid
" as if he never reasoned ; his conduct a&
" zealous as if he thought only of his practical
" duties; every thing in him held its proper
" place except a due consideration of himself,
" and to his neglect of this he became an early
" victim,"
SERMONS.
INTRODUCTION.
IT seems proper to introduce these Sermons with a
few prefatory observations. It should be borne in re-
collection, that none of them were designed by their
author for publication. They were all, with a single
exception, composed for a plain but intelligent country
congregation ; and some of them were afterwards preach-
ed, with slight alterations, in Dublin.
It appears, from the great variety of short hints
preserved with each sermon, that the writer's mind had
been teeming with thoughts which he had not time or
space to introduce. Some of the topics were probably
rejected as not suited to his flock ; but a few leading
words were briefly and confusedly thrown together :
some sparkles of thought were thus kept alive, which
might have been sufficient to rekindle whole trains of
reflections s and forms of address, adapted to future
occasions.
The reader will not, of course, expect to meet in
216 INTRODUCTION.
these sermons any thing like trains of abstract or meta-
physical reasoning, or learned elucidations of Scripture.
Such would have been altogether misplaced, in dis-
courses addressed to the middle and lower classes of
society ; and, indeed, it may be said that there are few
congregations to which such a mode of preaching is
adapted ; none, perhaps, before whom it should not
be sparingly employed. The character of the author's
mind, and of his accomplishments as a scholar, was such
as, in other circumstances, might have led him to occa-
sional exercises of this kind, in which, doubtless, he
would have exhibited that acuteness and subtilty as a
reasoner, and that ingenuity as a commentator, which
distinguished him in conversational discussion.
Sermons which partake of such a character abound
in our language. We are in no want of learned and
argumentative discourses. There is a rich magazine of
sound theological erudition in the sermons of our best
divines ; enough, indeed, to form a complete body of
divinity.
There are also many useful volumes of a plain, in-
structive character, in which the great doctrines and
duties of Christianity are simply and faithfully ex-
pounded. But most of them are deficient in interest.
They present little to excite the curiosity, to seize upon
the imagination, or to penetrate the heart. They serve
well enough to direct, but are insufficient to impel.
INTRODUCTION. 217
They are rather sound catechetical lectures than
awakening appeals; formal statements, than affecting,
heart-stirring exhortations. Such, I believe, are gene-
rally allowed to be the prevailing defects iii our modern
sermons.
Those which are here submitted to the public, it is
hoped, may appear at least as samples of that descrip-
tion most wanted, and best fitted for general usefulness.
They are, however, to be regarded merely as specimens
of the authors style of preaching.
Their principal merit appears to be, that though
originally composed for a plain congregation, they were
cast in such a shape as to be easily adapted, by slight
alterations, to the most cultivated minds. " This (says
" an able writer * on oratory) is a difficult task. Some
" dispositions indeed there are who fall into it natu-
" rally ; but usually it is the fruit of serious reflection
" and long experience. It costs a man of quick parts
" and extensive knowledge much pain and self-denial
" to reject every thing curious, and fine, and acute,
" which his faculties and erudition offer to him ; and to
" confine himself within the limits of common sense.
" But, after all, the principal difficulty herein is not from
* Lectures concerning Oratory, by J. Lawson, D. D.
Lecturer in Oratory and History, Trinity College, Dublin,
pp. 394, 395, (1795.)
218 INTRODUCTION.
" nature, but our own fault, from wrong passions,
" ambition, interest, or self-praise. Preach not for pre-
" ferment or fame, but for God and virtue. If your
" genius admits of it, you will then be concise, nervous,
" and full."
It is this quality (thus justly commended) which
seems to have chiefly distinguished our author as a
preacher. This is no unsupported assertion. Many
persons, as well as the editor, can bear testimony to
the strong emotions which the same sermons, with little
alterations, excited amongst the extreme classes of
society in the minds of the literate and illiterate the
religious and the worldly.
A sermon read, is, indeed, different from a sermon
spoken ; and it is possible that the effect of these ser-
mons was much aided by a mode of delivery peculiarly
suitable to their style and matter. Sometimes it was
authoritative and abrupt ; sometimes slow and mea-
sured; and at other times rapid almost hurried.
Sometimes there was a blunt and homely plainness, and
often a soothing tenderness of manner ; but all was
natural and unlaboured ; more remarkable, perhaps, for
energy and expression than for gracefulness, for an
earnest simplicity, than a studied elegance.
It may be necessary for the editor to say a few words
as to the task he has had to perform. Many of the
INTRODUCTION. 219
manuscripts were in such a state as to require much
labour to transcribe them for the press ; and a large por-
tion of some of the sermons towards the close of the
volume, was written out in such evident haste, as to
cause some inaccuracies which it was absolutely neces-
sary to correct. This, however, has been sparingly
done ; perhaps some may think too sparingly.
For such necessary corrections the editor hopes he
needs not apologise ; as the nature of all posthumous
works, not designed for publication, usually demands
them ; and as his intimate friendship with the author,
and his acquaintance with all his opinions and feelings,
must be a full security that the duty has been performed
with rigid caution and fidelity.
The present selection has been made chiefly with
a reference to the author's own probable estimate of his
sermons. All which he preached in Dublin are in-
cluded, as it may be naturally supposed they were
among the number which he had most thoroughly con-
sidered and prepared. A few others are added, which
some, probably, may think not inferior.
Under the circumstances in which they were com-
posed, and in which they now appear before the public,
it will be unnecessary, it is hoped, to deprecate the
scrutiny of literary or theological criticism. In hor-
tatory appeals like these, it is unreasonable to expect
INTRODUCTION.
all the precision of a formal essay. There is a certain
boldness and latitude of phrase to be allowed in such
discourses : the form of expression cannot easily be
compressed within the narrow limits, or tamed down
into the meagre statements, of a scholastic system. In
these sermons, however, it will be found that all the
grand doctrines of the Gospel, which alone can give
vitality and energy to religious instruction, are promi-
nently, faithfully, and practically inculcated. Happy
will it be, if they are perused with a disposition of mind
in any degree correspondent with the feelings* by which
* These feelings may, in some degree, be illustrated by a
few extracts from his private reflections, which were never
meant to meet any eye but his own : they were roughly en-
tered upon a few scattered papers, merely as hints for his own
direction. They shew, in a strong light, the genuine work-
ings of his heart, the kind of mental and spiritual exercise
in which he engaged in the preparation of his sermons,
and the anxiety he felt about the style and topics most likely
to make practical impressions upon the consciences of his
hearers.
Take a case in which God acts or speaks affectionately,
almost always one on the spiritual nature of sin, on self-
deceit self-knowledge.
Let it keep me humble to think how I myself have sinned
in the face of light, and against the motives I have to withhold
me ; against the knowledge of God's wrath ; against it and
his redeeming love ; against my own preaching ; against the
INTRODUCTION.
they were dictated, or proportioned to the momentous
object which their pious author held steadily in view-
If his glorified spirit be now permitted to share in the
joy which angels feel " over one sinner that repenteth,"
there is riot one of all the heavenly host which encircles
the throne of God, that would enjoy a holier delight
especial need of a minister, upon whose spiritual state de-
pends, in a great degree, the state of his flock.
Preach a sermon in which every false sentiment is sup-
posed uttered on the death-bed ; a sermon in which we sup-
pose the sensations of a sinner looking back upon those whom
he may have misled, or neglected to instruct, a father upon
his children, &c. a pastor upon his flock : when each shall
say, " I pray thee send some one unto my father's house."
Give also the retrospect from Heaven upon those whom,
through the grace of God, we may have assisted.
Bring in familiar topics, Begin naturally and easily, but
so as to excite curiosity with an incident or anecdote. Be-
gin in an original and striking, but sedate manner. Before
writing, read poetry and oratory. " Look constantly to the
" Bible. Every thing you read, read with a view to this."
Give full weight to objections with dl fondness of hu-
man frailty. Seize late, almost present occurrences. Ima-
gine that you are arguing with the most profligate, ambitious,
and talented opponent.
Let my object be to improve myself first. Enter into the
feelings of your congregation, into their failings. Throw
them upon arguing against themselves : advise them affec-
tionately.
222 INTRODUCTION.
than lie in witnessing the restoration of an immortal
soul to its Father and its God ; and surely it would,
if possible, enhance such joy, if he could be assured
that, even in a single instance, this humble record of
his words was conducive to effect that object which
was nearest to his heart when they passed through his
living lips ; and that thus, " though absent from us in
" the body," he was still instrumental in the blessed
work of " converting a sinner from the error of his way,
" and saving a soul alive."
That He who is the Author of every good and per-
fect gift, may accompany them with the healthful and
saving influence of his grace to the heart of every reader,
is the fervent prayer of
THE EDITOR.
SERMON I.
ECCLESIASTES, xii. 1.
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.
WE all know that we shall have to remem-
ber our Creator at one time or another. We
cannot but know that he has many ways of in-
viting us to remember him " the sun that he
" makes to rise upon the evil and the good the
" rain that he sends down upon the just and
" the unjust the fruitful seasons, by which
" he fills our hearts with food and gladness"
the weekly returns of his holy Sabbath the
ministry of the Gospel of salvation and the
table which he spreads before us, which he has
instituted as a peculiar memorial of himself,
and at which he invites us to eat of the bread
of life, and to drink from the fountain of living
water.
And we cannot but know that he has also
the means of making himself remembered, and
that he will not always allow himself to be for-
SERMON I.
gotten, but that he has certain agents at his
disposal, by which, when he pleases, he can
command our attention, the sword the fa-
mine the pestilence the death-bed the last
trumpet " the worm that dieth not, and the
" fire that is not quenched."
Such a Being cannot be remembered too
often, or too soon. There is no one here that
will venture to say, that there ever existed a man
from the foundation of the world who remem-
bered him too much, or began to fix his thoughts
upon him too early. We need scarcely go far-
ther, then, to discover what is to become of
those who habitually forget him ; who only
think of him when he is started into their minds
by something violent or accidental, and who
say, " It is yet time enough to remember my
*' Creator." Why they might as well say when
death comes, it is yet time enough to die. It is
hard to conceive the fate of these men, if they
are cut off in this state of forget fulness^ to be
any thing but evil and misery ; in fact, it would
put our invention to no easy trial, to imagine
what good thing they would be capable of en-
joying in the other world. Look into their own
breasts ; they hope for nothing, they promise
SERMON I.
themselves nothing ; for they cannot think of
these things when they forget Him who is the
Author and Giver of these things. If then
there were no other reason for remembering
our Creator in the days of our youth, than that
we may never have an old age vouchsafed to
us, in which we may recall him to our thoughts ;
that between us and that old age there may
be a great gulf fixed that we shall never pass ;
if this were the only reason, should it not be
enough ? Nay, the sin of thus trifling with him
and our own immortal souls, by deferring their
consideration to a future opportunity, may be
the very means of provoking him to withhold
that opportunity for ever.
But there is another reason for remembering
our Creator in the days of our youth. The
days of our youth are the days of our blessings.
It would be hard to find throughout the whole
range of creation, a more glorious and interest-
ing object, than youth just entering into active
life, just rejoicing as a giant to run his course-
Set him alongside of the noblest animal of any
other species ; compare him with the old and
decaying members of his own and what a dif-
ference ! In those days we enter into life with
Q
226 SERMON I.
a shower of God's blessings upon our heads :
we come adorned with all the choicest gifts of
the Almighty ; with strength of body, with ac-
tivity of limb, with health and vigour of consti-
tution, with every thing to fit us both for labour
and for enjoyment; if not endowed with a
sufficiency, endowed with what is better, the
power of obtaining it for ourselves by an honest
and manly industry ; with senses keen and ob-
serving ; with spirits high, lively, and untame-
able, that shake off care and sorrow whenever
they attempt to fasten upon our mind, and that
enable us to make pleasure for ourselves, where
we do notjfind it, and to draw enjoyment and
gratification from things in which we see no-
thing but pain, vexation, and disappointment.
But, above all, in the days of our youth,
the mind and the memory, with which we have
been endowed by the Almighty, are then all
fresh, alive, and vigorous. Alas ! we seldom
think what an astonishing gift is that understand-
ing which we enjoy the bright light that God
has kindled within us until our old age comes,
when we find that that understanding is wear-
ing away, and that light becoming dim. Then
shall we feel bitterly, most bitterly, what it is
SKRMON I. 227
to have enjoyed, in the days of our youth, that
privilege which seems to be withheld from all
the animals by whom we are surrounded, even
the privilege of knowing that there is a God ;
the privilege even of barely thinking upon such
a Being ; but more than that, the privilege of
studying and understanding the astonishing
variety of his works, of observing the ways of
his providence, of admiring his power, his wis-
dom, and his goodness ; the power of acquiring
knowledge of a thousand different kinds, and
the power of laying it up in our memory, and
using it when we please : and this in the days
of our youth, when the mind is all on fire,
brisk, clear, and powerful, and when we actually
seem to take knowledge by force, and when the
memory is large and spacious, so as to admit
and contain the good things that we learn ; and
where the place that should be filled by know-
ledge has not yet been preoccupied by crimes,
by sorrows, and anxieties.
In the days of our youth, too, our hearts
are warmest, and our feelings and our attach-
ments are strongest and most disinterested ;
we have not yet learnt the bitter lessons that are
acquired by a mixture with the world, where we
228 SERMON I.
often lose our best and kindest affections, and
are taught in return selfishness, avarice, suspi-
cion, and deceit. Our hopes and our friendships
have not yet been checked by disappointment,
nor our kindness and generosity by ingratitude.
Thus, dressed out in all the riches of his Cre-
ator's goodness, with the marks of God's hand
yet fresh upon him with health, with strength,
with mind, with memory, with warmth and
liberality of heart youth comes forward into
life, covered over and hung round with memo-
rials of his Creator. Is it necessary to ask,
whether this man should remember his Cre-
ator? Supposing that there was no stronger
motive than gratitude for all these blessings,
would it be a hard thing to ask, that the Lord
of health, and strength, and mind, and memory,
should have a place in the memory that he has
himself bestowed ? and yet if our recollection
of our Creator depended only upon our grati-
tude, is there one heart on the earth that would
rise, of its own accord, to the throne of good-
ness, to offer its voluntary incense of praise and
thanksgiving for all the unnumbered benefits
that have been showered upon our heads ? It
is well that our recollection of our Creator de-
SERMON I. 229
pends upon a more severe and a more powerful
motive ; for we cannot imagine that God has
lavished upon us all this profusion of his trea-
sures, without intending that they should be
used in a particular way. Would you believe
any one that told you, that God, who gives the
meanest blessing to the meanest animal for
some certain use, can have glorified you with
such powers and riches of body and of mind,
and that he has yet left the management to your
own humour and caprice ? Really and truly, do
you believe that you have been supplied with
all these magnificent gifts for so many toys to
trifle with, and not so many weapons that you
are to wield in the service of the God who gave
them ? It is impossible. We cannot but know
and feel in our hearts, that they were given for
great purposes, and that they are not at our
disposal ; that God will require the fruits of his
own gifts ; that if we use them as " instruments
" of unrighteousness unto sin, and not as in-
" struments of righteousness unto God" " the
" wages of those things is death :" that if we
prostitute the health and the strength that he
has given us, to drunkenness and debauchery,
and the mind that he has given us, to pride,
230 SERMON I.
revenge, covetousness, or impurity ; if we do
not use them for the purpose both of under-
standing his will and obeying it ; of worship-
ping him in spirit and in truth ; of " letting our
" light so shine before men, that they may see
" our good works, and glorify our Father which
" is in heaven ;" we shall have turned all these
blessings to our ruin. At our peril, then, are
we bound to remember our Creator, in order
that we may consult his will and obey his com-
mands, so as to be able to render an account
of the talents with which we have been intrust-
ed. And accordingly, about two verses before
this passage, as if to prepare us for the precept,
" Remember thy Creator in the days of thy
youth," there come these solemn and powerful
words " Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth,
" and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of
" thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine
" heart, and in the sight of thine eyes : but
" know thou, that for all these things God will
" bring thee into judgment."
We have now considered the days of our
youth as the days of our blessing's, but there re-
mains another consideration still more awaken-
ing; for the days of our youth are also the
SERMON I. 281
days of our dangers. If a young man, at his
first outset into life, were to have all the temp-
tations that he was afterwards to undergo sud-
denly presented before his view ; if all the un-
seen enemies of his soul, his peace, and his in-
nocence, were all, at once, to become visible ; if
all his future scenes of blasphemy, riot, and in-
temperance, were, by one flash of lightning,
disclosed to his contemplation, I suppose that
nothing less than a look into the next world, if
it were possible, could produce a more terrible
shock upon his feelings ; perhaps it would be
too much for him to see at once the thousand
ways in which the world, the flesh, and the
devil would lay siege to his soul would solicit
his passions would undermine his resolutions
the thousand artifices by which they would
endeavour to render vice more and more fami-
liar to his taste, and insinuate its poison into
his very constitution. Now what safeguard can
he take, entering, as he does, among such a
host of enemies enemies, too, that go slowly
to work, so that a man scarcely perceives that
he is losing ground and giving way ? He must
take some fixed and unchangeable principle of
conduct, or he is ruined ; there must be some-
232 SERMON I,
thing solid and immoveable, at which his mind
may ride at anchor, something that will not
change, or shift, or flatter, but will always tell
him the stern the pure the terrifying truth.
Now what is the principle from which we
naturally act in the days of our youth ? Either
from none at all, or we are governed by cus-
tom, by example, by fashion, and by the opinion
of those into whose company we are generally
thrown. Would it not be enough to observe,
without going a step farther, that this is nothing
less than making mankind our God than mak-
ing our company our God? For, recollect,
that whatever you take a*s your chief rule in
life, and the leading governor and director of
your conduct, that is your God ; it is to you
what God should be it is in God's place it
is this you remember when you should remem-
ber your Creator ; in this you live, and upon
this you must depend when you die.
But let us examine this rule this God that
we take unto ourselves, to direct us through the
dangers of our youth and what is it ? The
opinion of that very world, and of those very
companions who are the means of seducing us
from our duty ; the very world that supplies
SERMON I. 233
all these temptations, that gives way to them,
that riots and indulges in them, is that from
which we take our laws and principles ; com-
posed of men just as willing to yield to tempta-
tion as ourselves, and just as anxious to disco-
ver the same excuses. And thus, those whose
principles, example, and applause, are to us
instead of God, are the companions of our ca-
rousals, of our revellings, of our debauches, and
of our impurities, and who give the name of
virtue and vice to whatever they please, with-
out consulting Him who is the fountain of all
virtue, and the burning enemy of all vice.
But this is not all, nor perhaps the worst.
The opinions of the world, as to virtue and vice,
are not only ruinously false, but they are as
changeable as they are false. What, in one
age of the world, would have branded a man
with infamy as long as he breathed, becomes
not only pardonable, but reputable in another.
The customs of the world, and the fashionable
crimes of society, are shifting from age to age.
For one instance out of a hundred : some
time ago there existed a nation where theft
was honoured, as a proof of skill and dexterity ;
while, in that very same nation, drunkenness
234 SERMON I.
and immodesty intemperance of any kind
would have ruined a man's reputation for ever.
Now look at the change ! In our days, the
one is stigmatised with punishment and disho-
nour, while men often boast of their achieve-
ments in the other. How is a man to be guided
by this childish and despicable world, that has
not yet learnt, in six thousand years, to guide
and regulate itself? that calls a thing virtue
at one time, and vice at another ; that calls evil
good, and good evil ; that puts bitter for sweet,
and sweet for bitter ? Let him put it aside from
him with contempt, and let him " remember
" his Creator." He will not shift and change
with times and seasons. The fashions and
opinions of the world may turn round and round
with the world itself ; but the law of God stands
unchanged and unchangeable as the God that
endureth for ever and ever: they have perished,
and shall perish ; but he hath remained and
shall still remain : the fashions and opinions of
the world shall all " wax old as doth a garment,
" and he shall fold them up, and they shall be
" changed ; but he is the same, and his years
" shall not fail." Why, one thought upon God,
in the midst of dissipation and profligacy, of
SERMON I. 235
oaths and drunkenness, of indecencies of lan-
guage and of conduct, of revenge, animosity,
and blood, (nay, in the midst of the less cla-
morous and more refined criminalities which
are sanctioned by society,) I say, one thought
upon God would produce little less than a kind
of revelation; it would carry along with it such
holiness, such purity, such love, that he must
distinguish virtue from vice through the flimsy
and miserable disguise in which they have been
enveloped by mankind; the path of duty would
be open before him, and guilt would come home
to his breast, though the laugh and the scorn of
society were echoing around.
But the law of God is not left to our own
capricious recollections ; it is entered upon
record it has been rained down upon us from
heaven it has been practised, fulfilled, and
embodied in the son of God, and sanctified by
the blood of the Legislator. Here must the
young man remember his Creator, while the
world, the flesh, and the devil, are crowding
around to devour him. With this law in his
hand, and the Son of God by his side, let him
go through the furnace, or he is lost.
But suppose that all this has been neglected,
236 SERMON I.
and that you, notwithstanding, have been per-
mitted, by the mercies of the God you have
forgotten, to arrive at the borders of an unholy
old age ; how will you then set about remem-
bering your Creator reserving for the dregs
of sickness and infirmity, the work of youth
in all its vigour offering rude and cruel
violence to languid nature, as she is retiring
td her repose returning indeed to a second
childhood, and beginning life anew, just as you
are dropping into the grave obliged to undo
all that you have done to turn out the whole
tribe of loathsome ideas that have lain festering
in your mind, and to purify a diseased and cor-
rupted memory from all the sordid thoughts
and recollections that have filled the place
which should have been occupied by your
Creator ? And then, too, when you shall come
to teach this precept to your children, instead
of pronouncing it with all the dignity of a
father of one who is to them in the place of
God upon earth, you will hang your head and
drop your grey hairs in shame before the son
that should honour and respect you; you will
blush to look your child in the face, when you
read him a lesson that you never practised; and
SEKMON T. 237
your lips will quiver, and your tongue will
falter, when you say to him, " Remember your
" Creator in the days of your youth," And yet,
are we to say that there is no hope for such a
man ? God forbid. If there were no hope for
those who have forgotten their Creator, which
of us could lift his eyes to heaven ? You, and
all the world, and he who warns you of its
consequences, every day and every hour, have
forgotten their Creator. We have used the
awful blessings that he has bestowed upon us,
for our sport and amusement, and forgotten
from whom they come; and we have rushed
into the dangers and temptations of life, with
nothing to guide us but the impulses of our
own guilty nature, or the opinion of a world
that has drawn its principles from its practice, in-
stead of forming its practice upon its principles.
Those who feel this in the depth of their hearts,
and the awful state to which it has brought
them, will know how to value the great and
glorious atonement that has been made for
them upon the cross. It will be music to their
ears to be told, that to those who have forgotten
their Creator, it is yet said, Remember your
Redeemer, and live. Open wide your memory
238 SERMON I.
and your heart to this blessed Redeemer, and
let the King of Glory come in. Just think,
whom will you remember instead of him ? Who
is there that shall fill his place, and sit upon
the throne of your memory, that will return you
faithfully love for love thought for thought ?
Will the object that is dearest to you upon
earth ? The heart of that being may be now
cold and faithless ; that heart will certainly be
one day cold and mouldering in the grave, and
all the profusion of memory that you lavish
upon that barren spot, will never make one fresh
thought, or one genial recollection spring from
the ashes that you loved, to reward your fond
and hopeless prodigality. But there is not
one pure thought, one holy recollection that
struggles to rise to that gracious Being, that
shall be allowed to fall to the ground, but shall
be kindly received, and richly repaid ; and he
will return it from on high with a rain of bless-
ings upon your head. Go, and remember Him
who thought of you before you had the power
of thinking either of him or of yourself,
making you young and lusty as an eagle, and
only " a little lower than the angels, crown-
" ing you with majesty and honour;" who
SERMON I. 239
remembered you when you had forgotten him
and yourself, and all that became a creature
whom his Creator had marked out for immor-
tality ; who remembered you when he bowed
his head upon the cross ; and who is ready to
recognise you before his Father and the holy
angels even before the Creator whom you
had forgotten. Go, and think of him for
at this instant he is thinking of every one of
vou !
SERMON II.
HEBREWS, xiL 1.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence
of things not seen.
WE all profess a firm belief in the truths
which God has been pleased to declare. Now
the Scriptures contain certain threats and
certain promises ; threats of vengeance and
punishment to every soul that sinneth ; pro-
mises of mercy and immortality to all that fly
to the refuge appointed in a Redeemer; and
therefore, when we declare that we believe in
God's word, we at the same time profess a firm
faith in the reality of these threats and these
promises, and in the certainty that, sooner or
later, they will be carried into execution.
And perhaps nothing could shock or affront
us more, than that any man should venture to
hint a suspicion of the soundness of our faith,
or insinuate that we doubted the truth of these
things. However, there are so many men of
all kinds, of all characters, of all descriptions,
SERMON II. 241
who declare that they have this faith ; men
who perhaps never spent one serious and so-
lemn hour, in the course of their lives, in the
consideration of these things, which they pro-
fess to believe; men who live just as they
would if they never believed them, that there
is some reason to fear that some fatal mistake
exists among mankind upon this point ; and we
shall do well to look to ourselves, and examine
whether all is as safe as we could wish, and
whether we do really and truly believe the
things that the word of God contains.
Now the word of God itself supplies us
with an excellent method of considering this
subject ; and it is the more satisfactory, because
it is one which our own common sense seems to
acknowledge at once ; " Faith is the substance
" of things hoped for, the evidence of things
" not seen." It is to us instead of sight, it is
as if we had seen the things that we believe, and
is therefore to produce the same effect. This
is a principle to which our common sense sub-
scribes ; for if we were to assure any man that
a certain fact existed, and require him to act as
he certainly would if he had seen it himself,
what reason could he give for refusing ? None,
R
242 SERMON II.
but that he doubted it, that he was not sure of
its existence.
Thus, then, if we believe those things sin-
cerely, from our heart and soul if we are not
dissembling with God and deceiving ourselves,
our belief of these things must be as if we had
seen them ; our belief of the threats and the
promises of God must be as if we witnessed
them actually fulfilled.
Our inquiry, then, naturally is, what would
be the case if we really beheld them ? Suppose
that we were now suddenly conveyed into the
world of spirits, and it was given unto you to
see the strange doings of futurity ; suppose the
curtain withdrawn that conceals them from
view, when you should behold a " great white
" throne, and Him who sat upon it, from whose
" face the earth and the heaven fled away,
" and there was no place found for them ;"
thousand thousands ministering unto him ; the
judgment set, and the books opened ; when
you should hear the trumpet sound, and in a
moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the dead,
small and great, stand before God, to be judged
out of those things that are written in the book ;
(for all this is actually in the word of God ; of
SERMON II. 243
all this, faith is the substance and the evi-
dence ;) and then, when you should find that
" without holiness no man could see the Lord,"
that none but the " pure in heart should see
" God," and that it was the secrets of men's
hearts that God judged in that day, and that
for every idle word they must give account, and
that every mouth was stopped, and naturally
" all the world was guilty before God ;" and
that " by the deeds of the law no flesh was
" justified in his sight ;" (for all this is actually
in the word of God, and of all this, faith is the
substance and the evidence ;) and then, when
you should find, that " without shedding of
" blood there is no remission," and that there
was but one Mediator between God and man ;
when you should perceive that there was then
" one name," and but " one name under heaven
" by which men must be saved," and it was
inquired, whether " every one that named
" that name had departed from iniquity ;" and
that, in consequence, he " separated one from
" the other, as a shepherd divideth the sheep
" from the goats;" that on the left were
those who walked after the flesh, and those
who were guilty of " adultery, fornication, un-
R 2
244 SERMON II.
" cleanness, lasciviousness, hatred, variance,
" emulation, wrath, strife, sedition, heresies,
" envyings, murder, drunkenness, revelling, and
" such like ;" and that on the right were those
" who walked after the Spirit," and who
" brought forth love, joy, peace, long-suffer-
" ing, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness,
" temperance ;" and when you should hear
him say to those on his left, " Depart, ye cursed,
" into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and
" his angels ;" and to those on his right, " Come,
" ye blessed children of my Father, inherit the
" kingdom prepared for you from the founda-
" tion of the world :" (for all these things are
actually in the word of God, and of all this
faith is the substance and the evidence ;) and
then, when this scene was closed, if you were
to follow those two different classes of men to
the abode that was to be theirs to all eternity,
what would be your sensations ? When first
you should visit the mansions of everlasting
misery, and should behold " indignation and
" wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon the souls
" of those who had done evil ;" when, through
the regions of outer darkness, you should
hear " weeping and gnashing of teeth," and
SERMON II. 245
should discern through the gloom the writhings
of the worm that dieth not, and the waving of
the flame that shall never be quenched : and
when, in the second place you should enter the
heavenly Jerusalem, and should be saluted at
the first step with the sweet melody of angels
over " sinners that had repented," and should
see the Lord God wiping away all tears from
their eyes ; where there was no more death,
neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there
be any more pain for ever ; where they shall
hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; where
the city hath no need of sun or moon to shine
in it ; for the glory of God lightens it, and the
Lamb is the light thereof: when you should
see there the pure river of the water of life,
" and in the midst of the street of that city,
" the tree of life, and the Lamb that is in the
" midst of the throne feeding them, and lead-
" ing them unto fountains of water ;" and should
hear them sing a new song before the throne,
which no man could learn, save those that are
redeemed from the earth ; (for all this is ac-
tually in the word of God, and of all this, faith
is the substance and the evidence ;) now, after
having thus looked into futurity, and taken a
SERMON II.
view of the objects of your faith, suppose yo~u
again alight upon earth, and return to the
company of human beings, and the pursuits of
your ordinary occupation, what a changed man
would you be ! what a new aspect would the
earth wear, and all the objects by which you
are surrounded ! what new conceptions would
you form of happiness and misery ! what new
desires, nay, what new passions would you
find, as it were, introduced into your heart I
what a stranger would you find yourself in the
midst of those things among which you were
perfectly at home ! " How is the gold become
" dim, how is the most fine gold changed I' 1
" How are the riches corrupted, and the gar-
" ments moth-eaten f How poor is wealth,
and how mean are honours! For when you
looked on them, then would occur to you the
riches you had gazed on in the heavenly Jerusa-
lem the glories by which it was illuminated.
With what horror would you then look on
the drunken revel and the wanton debauch ; for
the moment they presented themselves before
you, the groans would sound in your ears that
you had heard from the bottomless pit. When
you heard the laugh of wild intemperance and
SERMON II. 247
frantic intoxication, it would be drowned in the
shrieks of the damned, that would be still echo-
ing about you ; and if you heard a fellow-crea-
ture sin, whether against yourself or not, no
matter, (you have just seen what will make you
think very lightly of all earthly pains and inju-
ries,) what would be uppermost in your minds?
Any little petty rancour, any little mean re-
venge, or any cold and unheeding indifference ?
No : but you would think of the terrible por-
tion which that man was earning for himself in
" the lake that burns with everlasting brim-
" stone," and you would fly to " snatch him
" as a brand from the burning ;" you would
look upon all around you with a most anxious
and affectionate interest, recollecting that they
were all heirs of the happinesss or misery which
you had just been witnessing in the other
world ; you would be to them a prophet, an
evangelist, an apostle, " the voice of one cry-
" ing in the wilderness ;" you would summon
all your powers to teach them the things that
belong unto their peace, to unlock to them hea-
ven and hell ; to describe the horrors you had
beheld in the one, and the glories you had seen
in the other.
248 SERMON II.
And then with what new eyes would you
look upon sin ! How many things would then
appear awful sins, which you before over-
looked and undervalued, when you recollected
that " for every idle word that a man spoke,
" God brought him into judgment ;" when
you recollected that it was the secrets of men's
hearts that you saw God judging that you
saw him untwisting a man's very heart-strings,
and finding what was enclosed within ; " for
" the word of God is quick and powerful, and
" sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing
" even to the dividing asunder the joints and
" marrow, the soul and spirit, and is a dis-
" cerner of the thoughts and intents of the
" heart!"
Little would you then think of giving
gentle names to sins which may appear light
and pardonable in your own eyes, when you
recollected how they stained and corrupted the
soul in the eyes of Him " who is of purer eyes
" than to behold iniquity."
How then would your conversation become
purified, refined, and exalted : and if you found
any corrupt communication proceeding put of
your mouth, how would you check it like poi-
SERMON II. 249
son, when you would recollect the songs of
blessed spirits that you had heard above ! and
you would think, Can I hope with such lips
as these to join the ranks of those whom I heard
crying, " Holy, holy, holy ?" And then how
would the very innocent pleasures of life sink in
your estimation, when you thought of those
pleasures you had seen at the right hand of
God. How would you fear lest they should
become uppermost in your heart, and engage
your best and choicest affections, and thus you
should be tempted to choose your portion upon
earth, and forfeit your treasure which is in
heaven : " for where your treasure is, there will
" your heart be also !" Not " the harp or the
" viol, tabret or the pipe, or the wine," would
make you " forget the work of the Lord, or the
" operation of his hands ;" " but your right
" hand would forget her cunning, yea, your
" tongue would cleave to the roof of your mouth,
" ere you preferred not Jerusalem in your
" mirth." You would feel yourself a stranger
and a pilgrim on the earth : a citizen of a far
distant country, an exile from your native land ;
and you would often steal from the company of
the foreigner, to think of the beauties of your
250 SERMON II.
home, its loved and delightful inhabitants, to
cast a longing, lingering look towards its shores,
and meditate sweetly upon your return. Such
would you be, if you had actually seen those
things of which your faith is the substance and
the evidence ; and therefore such must you be,
if you really believe these truths.
And now let each man compare what he is
with what we have just found he would be if he
had seen what he professes to believe. And are
you like it ? Is there any striking resemblance ?
No doubt the impressions would be much more
lively and powerful if they had been actually
seen. It is scarcely to be expected that we
should attain so great a degree of spiritual ex-
cellence, as if we had seen them face to face ;
but the simple question that every man of
plain common sense has to ask himself, is this
Whether there is to be so very great a differ-
ence between a man who had seen these things,
and a man who from his heart and soul believed
these things to be true, and that one day or
other he shall see these things ? Is your life (I
will not say equal to, but is it) like that which
we have been just describing ? Does it fall short
SERMON II. 251
of it in degree, not in kind ? or (what is the true
and most important question) is it continually
approaching it ? Is it more and more like it,
though you may not hope to attain it on this
side of the grave ? Remember, there were two
different men that applied to our Saviour for
relief; they were both fathers, and came to
.ask it for their children. As soon as Christ had
said to one of them, " Thy son liveth," he went
his way, believing the word that Jesus spake,
and accordingly he found his son fully restored ;
now this man's faith, in this instance, was the
substance of what he hoped for, the perfect evi-
dence of what he had not seen. But when
Christ asked the other father, " Believest thou
" that I am able to do this thing ?" the father
answered, with tears in his eyes, " Lord, I be-
" lieve, help thou mine unbelief !" He felt that
his faith was not as it should be, that it was
not the evidence of what he did not see ; but
he felt humbled under the sense of his weak-
ness, eager to have it remedied and removed,
and he prayed with all his heart that his
faith might be confirmed and invigorated. And
was he disappointed ? The good and benevo-
SERMON II.
lent Being who never yet rejected the prayer
of humble earnestness, said unto him, even as
unto the other, " Thy son liveth."
But there is an actual difference between
the conimon faith of a man of the world and of
a real and genuine Christian. The one is the
business of a moment ; it begins and ends with
a repetition of his creed, it is despatched in
the service of the day. But with the other it
is a living principle, always growing and in-
creasing ; always approaching the state of one
who had actually seen what he believes, and of
controlling, directing, and animating his whole
conduct. He will always have those future
things, which God has assured him he shall one
day behold, so fully before him, as to have all
the effect of reality upon his life and conversa-
tion. Just conceive what would be your man-
ner of speaking and acting, if on every Sabbath,
instead of coming to hear of these truths, you
had them actually disclosed to your contempla-
tion : would you spend the ensuing week as you
now intend to spend it ? And yet be assured you
do not virtually believe these truths, unless your
faith in some degree performs the office of your
sight, and discloses heaven and hell before you.
SERMON II. 253
But do not mistake; as your faith improves
and advances, it will lose more of the threats
and the terrors of religion, and draw closer and
closer to its hopes, its promises, its pleasures and
enjoyments; for observe, faith is not described
to be the substance of things feared, but the
" substance of things hoped for" For after the
soul of a sinner has been thoroughly awakened
both to its guilt and its danger, and has fled
from God's justice to the love of a Redeemer,
it soon forgets the punishment from which it is
escaping, in the glories to which it is approach-
ing; and though faith represents before us both
heaven and hell, yet as the spirit advances in
its path of duty, and rises upwards towards its
God, the mansions of misery are left farther
and farther beneath ; the flames grow fainter,
and the groans die away ; while, at the same
time, the gates of heaven are more clearly dis-
cerned, and the voices of the redeemed more
distinctly heard.
Thus fear gives way to hope; and the Chris-
tian who has taken up his cross, and followed
his Redeemer, has seldom to look behind a*,
the wrath that he is escaping, but onward and
upward, at the Saviour who is his hope and his
254 SERMON II.
conductor. This is the grand practical prin-
ciple of the Gospel, the moving-spring of the
Christian's duty, and the rich fountain of his
obedience; that faith which displays his Re-
deemer as actually present, and the glorious
blessings which he has purchased, full in view.
This is no fable, no nice fanciful speculation ;
it is a principle that has been acted upon since
the foundation of the world.
The chapter before us contains a splendid
catalogue of those that were moved, inspired,
and invigorated by its mighty energies ; men
that " forsook their country," went out, not
knowing whither they went, and became stran-
gers and pilgrims upon the earth Abraham
and all the patriarchs ; men who, through the
distance of a thousand years, saw the Redeemer
afar off, before he had descended upon earth,
and followed the bare and distant promise of
God, as if it were the full and living substance:
they submitted to exile, suffering, and re-
proach ; and what is the reason that is as-
signed? " As seeing him who is invisible."
The Redeemer, to them, was a dim and twink-
ling star ; and yet cheerfully and gratefully
did they steer their lonely course by its mild
SERMON II. 255
and sacred influence. But upon us the Sun of
Righteousness has risen.
The apostle (after closing his glorious list
of those who saw Him that was invisible, long
before he came,) turns round upon those who
believe that he has come, and summons them to
imitate their example : " Wherefore, seeing we
" are compassed with so great a cloud of wit-
" nesses, let us lay aside every weight, and
" the sin that doth so easily beset us : and let
" us run with patience the race that is set
" before us, looking unto Jesus, the author
" and the finisher of our faith ;" unto Jesus
who was invisible !
And gloriously did he who tells you that
your " faith must be the substance of things
" hoped for," and who summons you to look
unto the invisible Redeemer gloriously did
he fulfil his own injunction ; for, looking unto
him, did he and the whole company of the
apostles, and the glorious army of martyrs,
precipitate themselves through peril, persecu-
tion, and death. The description of what they
suffered makes the blood run cold ; and yet
how do they speak of it ? " This light afflic-
" tion ! this light affliction, which endureth
256 SERMON II.
" but for a moment, worketh for us a far
" more exceeding and eternal weight of glory ;
" while we look not at the things which are
" seen, but at the things which are not seen."
It was by looking at things invisible as if
actually present, that they proved more than
conquerors in all their struggles.
Another of that glorious company, exhort-
ing his converts to give trial of their faith,
points to Him that is invisible " whom having
" not seen, ye love ; in whom, though now ye
" see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with
" joy unspeakable and full of glory."
May we, as we value the souls that he has
purchased as we value the blessings that he
offers, so keep him living in our view, that we
may run the race that is set before us ; and
whether it be our destiny to perish by the
slow and icy hand of disease, or by the angry
violence of man, may we be found looking
unto the " Author and Finisher of our faith,
" with our eye fixed on Him that is invisible /"
SERMON III.
GENESIS, i. 26.
And God said, Let us make man in our i
after oar likeness.
IF a man were suddenly asked, To what cre-
ated being he would compare the Almighty;
what object, among all those that surrounded
him, he conceived to have been originally in-
tended by its Creator for his peculiar image and
representative ? he would probably point to the
sun, and would say, that there he saw God at
once most faithfully and most gloriously repre-
sented. He would say, that in it we seemed
" to live, and move, and have our being ;" that
every where, and at every moment, its influence
is felt ; that it appears to possess the power of
calling things into existence, and of consigning
them to nothing again ; that all creation seems
to depend upon it for sustenance, comfort, and
enjoyment ; that by its kind and gracious light
we become acquainted with each other, and
with the objects by which we are surrounded :
s
258 SERMON III.
that it both gives us all that we enjoy, and
afterwards enables us to enjoy it ; and that,
like its Almighty Creator, it has no respect of
persons, but scatters its rich blessings abroad
with generous and impartial liberality. This
would be a very natural answer : and thus we
find that the first kind of idolatry of which
men were guilty, was the worship of the sun ;
and in some nations it is still continued, and he
is there regarded not so much the image of the
Divinity, as the Divinity himself.
But there was a time when there was a
more magnificent representative of the God-
head. There was a time when we were pre-
ferred before the sun, and the moon, and the
host of heaven. But a little before, God had
formed the sun, and the stars, and the firma-
ment, and he saw that they were good ; and
yet not one of these did he pronounce his image,
and as if he thought he was coming to a
greater work than all before, and one in which
he felt himself more particularly interested, he
seems to prepare Himself for our creation,
" Let us make man in our own image." For
the production of inferior animated beings, he
was contented to employ inferior agents : when
SERMON III. 259
he would create other living things, he com-
mands the waters and the earth to produce
them. " Let the waters bring forth abundantly
" the moving creature that hath life, and fowl
" that may fly above the earth in the open fir-
" mament of heaven ; and let the earth bring
" forth the living creature after his kind, and
" cattle, and creeping thing, and beasts of the
" earth after their kind." But when he comes
to man, he seems to rise to the work Himself ';
" Let us make man in our own image." He
appears to have taken great and unbounded de-
light in the production of mankind. The bless-
ing which he pronounced upon him is repeated
a second time, as if he felt peculiar pleasure in
bestowing it ; and when his work was finished,
he looked with fondness upon the image of
himself that he had made, and pronounced it to
be very good ; it is as if he had said, * I give
' you a portion of my glory and my character ;
* I consign it into your hands and your care.
* Behold, I gave the sun a portion of my light,
* and bade him go forth with it into the world
' as my servant and my minister ; but I give you
' a share of my attributes and my immortality,
' and my everlasting blessing is upon you if you
260 SERMON III.
' fulfil the trust.' Which of us will now stand
forward and claim the fulfilment ?
This image this beautiful image has been
long since shivered and disfigured; but its
fragments remain to testify that it once existed.
There is in the hearts of men a testimony that
they shall live for ever ; a voice that echoes
through futurity ; a sense that they shall see
strange things in another world ; thoughts that
wander through eternity, and find no resting
place. This is a fragment of God's image, a
shattered remnant of his immortality, and it is
there to testify against us ; for if it had been
perfect, nothing would be more delightful than
to think that we should live for ever ; to look
forward into brighter scenes, and rejoice in the
glory that should be revealed. All the gold of
Arabia would not be worth one hour's excursion
of the mind of man into the regions of futurity.
For ever and for ever would his mind be reach-
ing forward, and dwelling with fondness upon
the thought, that never, from age to age, when
time should be no more, should he cease from
being. The pleasures of the spirits that walk
to and fro in the light of God's countenance,
and circle his throne rejoicing, would crowd his
SERMON III. 261
fancy and delight his hopes. Visions of celes-
tial happiness would visit him in dreams of the
night, and, compared with the dim and distant
perspective of eternity, all earthly things would
seem " weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable."
And what is the fact ? Let every man judge
himself how his natural heart shrinks from the
contemplation of a future state of being ; how
he shudders to look into eternity, as into some
dreary and bottomless pit. What a cold and
dismal thing does immortality appear; and
what a refreshment it is to his spirits to with-
draw his thoughts from the consideration, and
return to his beloved earth ! And then, only
observe with what eagerness and desperation
he gives up soul and body to the pursuit of
things which he knows full well will soon be to
him as if they had never been. And yet, this
man, if you were to ask him the question,
would tell you, that he expected to live for
ever ; and that when his body was mouldering
in the dust from which it was taken, his soul
would plunge into an ocean of spirits without
bottom and without shore. This he would
tell you gravely, as a matter of course. And
then only observe him for one week or for one
262 SERMON III.
day, or for this day, which has been sanctified to
immortal purposes, and you will find his cares,
his hopes, his fears, his wishes, his affections,
busied and bustling about this little span of
earth, and this little measure of time which he
occupies : and death finds this immortal being
making playthings of sand, and carries him away
from them all, into a land where they shall all
be forgotten. This is a strange and astonishing
contradiction, the only thing that looks like a
blunder through all the works of nature. Every
thing else seems to know its appointed time
and its appointed place : the sun knows his
place in the heavens, he does his duty in the
firmament, and brings round the seasons in their
order, and the ocean knows the boundaries be-
yond which it must not dare to pass ; every
animal knows the home that kind nature has
provided " the ox knoweth his owner, and
" the ass his master's crib : but Israel doth
" not know ; my people doth not consider."
Among all the creatures that surround us, we
are the only beings that look not to our native
home; the only beings that seem to have
broken the laws of nature ; to have forgotten
our owner, and the mansions of our Father's
SERMON III. 263
house. This naked expectation of immortality,
while we see no beauty in it, that we should de-
sire it while we are feeding on ashes, and have
lost our relish for immortal food is one of the
fragments of God's image ; it shews that it
once existed, and that it now is broken.
But look again, and observe all the astonish-
ing faculties of man ; his reason, his memory,
his imagination. Observe only how he can, as
it were, take knowledge by violence, how he
can lock it up in his memory, and keep it in
store for his use ; with what quickness and in-
genuity he can invent and contrive ; with what
judgment he can weigh, and deliberate, and
decide ; how he can extort nature's secrets, how
'he can penetrate into the distant works of God,
and inform when the sun shall be darkened,
and when the moon shall refuse to give her
light.
Consider all these astonishing faculties,
worthy of the master-piece of God, and then
look at the brutal and abominable passions that
blacken and deface his soul ; look at this same
immortal creature, beautified with all the gifts
of the Almighty, blotting out the very under-
standing with which he has been glorified, by a
264 SERMON III.
drunkenness of which brutes are incapable ;
nay, sometimes " glorying in his shame," and
boasting of having thus spoiled the good work
of God ! Observe him next, inflamed with lust,
and plunged into profligacy and debauchery, and
making the eternal soul, that has been armed
with such glorious faculties, the servant and
slave of his perishable body. Observe him riot-
ing in hatred, malignity, and revenge, and ad-
mitting the dark passions of an evil spirit into
the soul that the Almighty had made to be an
habitation for himself.
Measure now this creature with himself;
the wonderful powers of his mind, the grasp of
his memory, the lightning of his invention,
with the depravity of which the beast of the
field is incapable ; the impurity that brings his
soul into bondage to his body, the malice and
revenge that make him an abode of the spirit
of darkness. Truly " the wild beasts are in our
" ruins, and the dragons are in our pleasant
" places." These are fragments of an image
that was beautiful ; enough to shew that it once
existed, and that now it is broken.
And amongst these ruins there is a voice
sometimes heard, like the spirit of a departed
SERMON III. 265
inhabitant, unwilling to leave even the ruins
of the palace which he once had occupied ; a
voice that " reasons of righteousness, temper-
" ance, and judgment to come ;" that some-
times catches the ear in the momentary stillness
of the day, and still more in the dead of the
night, before deep sleep falleth upon men ; but,
like the murmur of a ghost, men cannot bear
to listen to it, but hurry out of its reach. And
thus does conscience sometimes remind us of
former days, of hours of sin, of time squandered
away that can never be recovered, of an impure
heart, of a worldly and carnal mind, and proves
that it is a remnant of God; for it tells us,
" that for all these things, God will bring us
" into judgment."
But, alas ! it does no more than reproach and
condemn ; for, alas ! it cannot change an old
heart ; it cannot " create a new spirit within
" us ;" it cannot raise our affections from the
dust upon which we are treading ; it cannot fill
us with heavenly dispositions ; it cannot make
us look forward with delight to scenes of future
glory. Alas ! this is beyond the power of con-
science ; it serves to reproach, but cannot re-
store ; it is but a GHOST among the ruins,
266 SERMON III.
but a voice among the tombs ; it is a poor rem-
nant of what once was a living image of the
Almighty ; enough to shew that it once existed,
and that now it is broken.
But again, observe him gifted with the
power of speech, the power of communicating
thought for thought, and circulating knowledge,
and truth, and love through all his fellow-crea-
tures. Just conceive for one moment what he
would be without it ; how black, how ignorant,
how dreary, how comfortless ! where would
then be mutual assistance, mutual advice, the
communication of knowledge, the interchange
of affection? Observe man, the only created
being endowed with this glorious faculty, and
then consider the use that he has made of it.
Listen to the curses and the blasphemy against
the very Being who bestowed it, who gave it,
that it might rise before the throne in halle-
lujahs. Then hear the falsehood, the deceit, the
prevarication issuing through the channel where
truth should for ever flow ; then hear the im-
pure and wanton jest, that circulates poison,
and nurses and assists the natural corruption of
the heart, when (God knows !) it has enough to
corrupt and brutalise it within ; then listen to
SERMON III. 267
the scandal, the malice, the invective, and the
recrimination, upon the tongue to which God
gave the eloquence of affection and benevolence,
and the music of pity and consolation ; then
attend to the lips that can be eloquent and vo-
luble on every subject but one, that can des-
cant on the market and its prices, on the world
and its fashions and its politics, nay, on every
little impulse of the feelings, and every fine-spun
sentiment of the mind ; but if the great God
intrudes into conversation, his ways or his
dispensations, his mercies and his loving-kind-
nesses, the tide begins to ebb, the glow of
society dies away, and the cold and heartless
silence betrays that an unwelcome stranger has
made his appearance. Truly this is a magnifi-
cent fragment of that illustrious image ; enough
to shew that it once existed, and that now it is
shivered and broken.
Alas ! it is no wonder that when God looked
again upon the earth, and saw the wickedness
of man, that he said, *' I will destroy man from
" off the face of the earth." Nor was he de-
terred from doing so by the multitude that it
overwhelmed in ruin. In those days, no doubt,
they compared themselves with one another ;
268 SERMON III.
no doubt they said, We are all tolerably alike ;
' none of us is singularly wicked ; if God pu-
' nishes me, he must punish the rest of man-
* kind along with me.' But did God therefore
withhold his hand ? No ; but it is stated as the
very reason of his vengeance, that all the earth
was sunk in wickedness ; and their guilt was
aggravated by the very circumstance that they
countenanced each other in their sin, and thus
joined in a kind of deliberate rebellion against
his authority.
But, even leaving punishment out of the ac-
count, conceive what must be the natural con-
sequence of having, as it were, disappointed the
object of our creation, and of having run counter
to God's original intention. Must not the na-
tural end of those things be ruin ? But, " Thou
" turnest man to destruction : again thou sayest,
" Come again, ye children of men." The
Creator said once more, " Let us make man in
" our own image ;" and he came down him-
self from heaven to create him a second time.
He left his bright and glorious abode on high,
for us poor and wretched wanderers, who had
not only forsaken his good and pleasant paths,
but had actually forgotten that we needed one
SERMON III, 269
to bring us back again ; who were so degene-
rated as to have forgotten our degeneracy ; and
he came to create us anew, and he came as " a
" man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief:"
that we might once more become the image of
God, he was contented to come himself in the
image of man ; and by that stupendous atone-
ment upon the cross, by that sacrifice, which
will be regarded with astonishment by men and
angels to all eternity, he has accomplished his
new work of creation. We are told that " our
" old man was crucified with him ;" so that we
are to " put off, according to the former con-
" versation, the old man which is corrupt ac-
" cording to the deceitful lusts, and put on the
" new man, which after God is created in right-
" eousness and true holiness." We are de-
clared expressly to be " God's workmanship,
" created anew in Christ Jesus, unto good works"
But how is it, you will say, that the death
of Christ becomes second life to us ? How is
it that his sufferings can create us anew ? By
this one sacrifice he bore in his own person
the punishment due to our sins. " He was
" wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised
" for our iniquities: the chastisement of our
270 SERMON III.
" peace was upon him ; and by his stripes we
" are healed. All we, like sheep, had gone
" astray, we turned every one to his own way;
" and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity
" of us all." By this satisfaction to his justice,
the communication was once more opened be-
tween God and man ; for we are told, " That
" God was in Christ, reconciling the world
" unto himself, not imputing their trespasses ;"
and through his merits, his atonement, and his
intercession, the gift of the Holy Spirit was pro-
cured, by which the image of God may be again
stamped upon our hearts, and our souls moulded
into a resemblance to Him " who is of purer
*' eyes than to behold iniquity." Thus does
God again " breathe into his nostrils the breath
" of life, and man again becomes a living soul."
Him that cometh to this good Creator, he
" will in no wise cast out;" "for as God liveth,
" he willeth not the death of a sinner."
But we must come deeply sensible of our
want of a renewing spirit and of a purifying in-
fluence. God will not cast his pearls before
swine, " lest they trample them under foot."
We must learn our lost and ruined state. We
must feel that our natural hearts have wandered
SERMON III. 271
far from him who is the only fountain of all
that is good ; that we have followed our own
ways and our own imaginations, and that we
are unable to recover ourselves from the broad
way that leadeth to destruction ; for it is not a
few partial changes, a few sins now and then
forsaken, that can restore us to our former glo-
rious state. Alas ! the poison has sunk deeper ;
it has mixed with our heart's blood, and pene-
trated into our vitals. If we do not feel thus
naturally corrupt and helpless, and that we need
a higher power than our own to change, to
strengthen, and to purify let us save ourselves;
let us not call ourselves by the name of Christ ;
let us act a bold, manly, and a consistent part ;
renounce him, and declare honestly that by our
own strength will we stand or fall ; that by our-
selves we are willing to encounter the burning
eye of God ; that we are able to deliver our-,
selves from that justice which demands blood
for sin ; and that we can change and purify
our own hearts, and of ourselves mould them
into the image of the Almighty,
But if we feel ourselves truly unable either
to escape from punishment or to qualify our-
selves for heaven, let us come with an humble
272 SERMON III.
and contrite spirit to Him who died that he
might give gifts unto men, and submit ourselves
to his creative influence, " A bruised reed
" will he not break." " He will gather the
" lambs with his arms." As we look to him
with prayer, and converse with him through
his Gospel, we shall find new and better dis-
positions growing within us, holier habits of
thought collecting and increasing, a new in-
terest excited within us about things regarded
before with indifference, a power over sin
that is an earnest of future triumphs, a plea-
sure in studying the divine dispensations, and
discovering fresh traces of wisdom and goodness
where others see nothing but what is gloomy
and unintelligible, and an activity in the ful-
filment of every duty to God and man. And
then " to him that hath shall be given ;" our
progress in grace and obedience will every day
become easier and more delightful, our per-
ceptions of future and invisible things will
become more lively, and our affections will be
set upon things eternal in the heavens, where
Christ sitteth at the right hand of God. Those
subjects of thought which we before con-
sidered cheerless and tiresome, will wear a
SERMON III. 273
beauty that was before unperceived : and the
obedience that before appeared irksome and
insupportable, will become our light yoke and
our easy burden. We shall be able to measure
our advance, by keeping our eyes steadfastly
fixed upon him, who came to new-create us by
his Spirit into the image of God ; who was
himself the express image of the Father, soft-
ened down to human comprehension and hu-
man imitation. By keeping our eye upon that
holy and divine Redeemer as our pattern, and
as the source of our means of conforming to it ;
by constantly asking ourselves the solemn and
humiliating question " Is it thus that Christ
" would have thought, or said, or acted? or
" is this the temper by which he would have
" been actuated ?" can we alone attain even
the faintest resemblance. However short we
may be of our divine original, we must not
dare to take any human pattern. Even the de-
voted Paul said, " Be ye followers of me as I
" am of Christ." Divine and delightful Re-
deemer! who didst turn from thy bright course
among the stars unto the valley of the shadow
of death for our sake, suffer us not suffer us
not to think it too much to turn from the broad
274 SERMON III.
way that leadeth to destruction, to meet thee
in this career of mercy ! Suffer us not to look
at thee only to hate thy beams, that bring to
our remembrance what we were from what
height fallen ! but change us by thy light and
thy Spirit to thine own glorious image ; " and
" when we awake up after thy likeness, we
" shall be satisfied with it."
SERMON IV.
MATTHEW, xiii. 44.
The kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a
field, the, which when a man hath found, he hideth,
and for joy thereof goeth, and selleth all that he hath 9
and buyeth thatjield.
THIS is our Saviour's account of the kingdom
of Heaven. The great body of mankind ap-
pear to differ with him in opinion. They do
not seem to agree with him in either of the two
points that he has here stated ; neither ac-
knowledging, that the kingdom of Heaven is a
hidden treasure ; nor admitting that, even when
discovered, it may cost a man all that he has
to attain it. That they are of a different opi-
nion from our Saviour upon these subjects
scarcely requires a proof. The case between
them may be briefly stated thus : According
to him, the kingdom of Heaven is a hidden
treasure. Salvation is a treasure which is
naturally none of ours. Among all the riches
that nature has scattered over the surface of
T 2
SERMON IV.
the world, it is not to be found. If we would
find it, we must turn our back upon them all ;
and seek for it as if we were diving into the
bowels of the earth. But what says the world ?
So far from regarding everlasting life as a hid-
den treasure which they must use all their
power and diligence to explore, they consider
it to be something that they may stoop for in
their hurry through life, without either checking
their speed, or turning aside either to the right
hand or to the left. If they really and soberly
believed that eternal life was something that
was naturally hidden from them, and which
they must turn out of their way to look for, or
perish for ever, it seems impossible that they
could go wandering up and down the face of
the earth in search of other objects, with the
weight of such a conviction as this hanging
heavy upon their souls. With such a thought
as this following them, like a spectre, through
life, gliding by them during the business of
the day, glaring upon them in the repose of
the night, what strength or what spirits
would these wretched men have to go on
snatching those things, the end of which they
knew to be death ?
SERMON IV.
And yet, look back at the world from which
you have now for a few moments escaped, and
to which you will soon, in a few moments, re-
turn ; and recollect, how many do you ima-
gine have ever stopped short in the middle of
their career, and for even one day have looked
round for salvation ; who have stepped aside
out of the world as it was sweeping along, and
have returned to seek for the solitary spot
where the treasures of mercy and immortality
were concealed ? Nay, rather, how many do
you recollect, who were following every object
of human pursuit except this one that is worth
them all ? Recollect how many of them would
look at you as a strange man, who had taken
up wild and fanciful notions, if you were to ask
them a plain question, that shall be put to them
at the day of judgment, " Did you seek first
" the kingdom of God, and his righteousness?"
Truly, if they seek a kingdom of Heaven, it
cannot be that of which our Saviour speaks,
for " that is a hidden treasure ;" truly, if they
find a kingdom of Heaven, it must be a new
one of their own discovery > they must stum-
ble upon it in the highway, and meet it in the
markets : but let them not look for that which
278 SERMON IV.
he has promised, for, alas ! it lies not in
the wide gate, and the broad way ; for, if we
believe him, they lead to destruction. And if
you will trust for salvation to your generous
Redeemer, who paid himself, body and blood,
for you, rather than to the hollow-hearted
world, that would wring the last pittance from
your dying grasp before it was cold, you must
retire from the broad and beaten track where
the world is driving along in pursuit of all its
vanities, and seek for the treasure that God has
buried ; and, as you approach the spot, be sure
to put your shoes from off your feet, for " the
" place where you stand is holy ground :" you
must leave earth and earthly things behind
you, for, remember, you are looking for the
kingdom of Heaven.
Observe the reason why the treasure is
hidden. Is it that your Almighty Father is
unwilling that you should attain it ? Is it that
he takes pleasure in your destruction ? Or is it
that he apprehends his riches may be expended,
his beneficence impoverished, his store of mercies
exhausted ? Is he too unmindful of you to save
you ? " Behold, he makes his sun to rise on the
" just and the unjust." No: but if we observe
SERMON IV. 279
the circumstances under which this very para-
ble was delivered, we shall learn why salvation
is hidden from us : it was related, amongst
many other parables, to a vast multitude that
covered the sea-shore. The subjects of which
these parables treated were the most awful
upon which the human mind and the human
heart can be exercised : the laws, the judg-
ments, the dispensations of God : the duty of
man in this state ; his lot in that which is to
come. Yet from this multitude the kingdom of
God was hid; they understood not what he
spake ; though " they had eyes they saw not ;
" though they had ears, they heard not ; and
" then- hearts were hardened." The great
truths of religion were sounding around them
on every side and they attended not ; for they
looked for an earthly prince, who should bring
them riches, power, and dominion ; they looked
for the kingdom of this world they looked not
for the kingdom of heaven ; and therefore was
that treasure hid from them, because they un-
derstood not its value ; they did not feel it to
be a treasure. No : God will not " cast his
" pearls before swine." But come to him
with a profound sense of the value of an
280 SERMON IV.
immortal soul ; come to him with humble
anxiety to learn where your treasure is buried,
and he will not be wanting to you. If you
lack wisdom, ask him ; for " he giveth to all
men liberally, and upbraideth not." Take your
Bible on the one side, and your heart on the
other, and weigh them well together. Look in
the one at the holiness of God ; look in the
other at the corruption and insignificance of
man ; then prostrate yourself before your Fa-
ther, and beseech him to shew you the way of
salvation, and he will not be wanting. There
will be angels with you at midnight, who will
descend upon you while you are studying his
will, and tell you that " for you is born a
" Saviour." He will command his star to rise
for you in the East, and it shall stand over the
place where your treasure lies. There go, and
ye shall find that " which cannot be gotten for
" gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the
" price thereof. It cannot be valued with the
" gold of Ophir, with the onyx, or the sap-
" phire ; no mention shall be made of corals or
" of pearls ; and the topaz of Ethiopia cannot
" equal it." Take care how you undervalue
this salvation; for remember, and remember again,
SERMON IV. 281
that the reason why this treasure is hidden
from any man is, because he does not feel its
value. If the kingdom of Heaven be hid from
you ; if Christ's atonement be not yours ; if he
be still buried, and be not risen for you ; the
reason is because you do not know its value ;
for, to them that believe, " Christ crucified is
" the power of God, and the wisdom of God."
How then are we to know and feel its va-
lue ? The first thing is evidently this ; to know
and feel what sin is, in all its awful enormity :
for is it not evident, that we cannot estimate
and embrace salvation unless we are profoundly
sensible of the danger from which we are saved?
Consult your own common-sense. Is it not
folly to say, that you believe in Jesus Christ,
and hope to be saved by his blood from your
sins, when you are not fully sensible of the
guilt of those sins, and the punishment they
would draw down upon your head ? Be assured
God will not save those who do not deeply feel,
from the very bottom of their hearts, their want
of a Saviour. If you do not feel it, save your-
self : but if you think that too bold an under-
taking, then away to your own heart, and
know what it is to have offended Almighty
282 SERMON IV.
God, and to have called for nothing less than
the blood of Christ to purify it ! Consider only
the things you have done; consider all your
direct and deliberate transgressions of the Law
of God, against which your own conscience ex-
claimed loudly, but in vain : consider all these
things that you have left undone which you
ought to have done, all your silent omissions ;
sins, many of which stole by you softly, with-
out noise, or alarm to your conscience, be-
cause you did not keep it alive and vigilant to
your immortal concerns ; awful and treache-
rous sins ! because they gather as you count
them, so that you know not how many are
behind : but, above all, consider that sin, which
is the fountain of all other sin, the disposition
of mind from which they flow, the habitual
forgetfulness of God ; the everlasting and un-
interrupted transgression of the great Law of
God to man, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy
u God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and
" with all thy strength." Then, when you have
weighed those sins and fallen down prostrate
under the weight of them before your gracious
Redeemer, smiting your breast and saying,
SERMON IV. 283
" God be merciful to me a sinner !" then will
you be able to understand the value of that
treasure which God has bestowed, and then in-
deed will you feel the reason why it is buried and
hidden from the rabble who are running head-
long after riches, and pleasures, and honours,
because they do not feel their want of it.
But though a sense of sin, a broken and con-
trite heart, is the first and indispensable requi-
site to forming a just estimate of our redemption,
and, therefore, to our taking the full advantage
of it ; blessed be God ! it is not the only one.
There is a second requisite behind: and
what is it ? The words before us will disclose :
" Which treasure when a man hath found, for
" joy thereof he goeth, and selleth all that he
" hath, and buyeth that field." The first, the
necessary, the bitter requisite, is grief; grief
for those sins that nailed the Son of God to the
cross, and pierced his side. But the second is
joy ; joy that man cannot give, and man can-
not take away. Now observe that this joy de->
pends for its very existence upon the sorrow
that precedes it, and is in proportion to its
extent : for to say that we shall rejoice at a
284 SERMON IV.
salvation from those sins which caused us no
sorrow or no alarm, would be truly absurd : and
here can we see how a Christian's sorrow and
a Christian's joy go hand in hand; and as
" there is more joy in Heaven over one sinner
" that repenteth, than over ninety and nine
" who need no repentance ;" so is there more
joy in the breast of that sinner over his own
repentance, than will ever exist in the breast
of those who fancy they need none. Let this
convince us how poor, how cold, how hardened
are our hearts ! for how few of us can really
remember to have rejoiced over the salvation
which Christ has wrought for him, with half
the delight which he has felt at some earthly
success, some temporal advantage. Recollect,
there will be an hour of your life the last
when the sweetest music that ever reached
your ear would be the voice that would whisper
with an authority from God, that " yours was
" the kingdom of Heaven." It would make the
blood thrill freely again through the frame from
which it was just ebbing and subsiding: it
would make the faint lips colour, and utter a
gasp of thankfulness, that appeared to have
been locked in everlasting silence : it would
SERMON IV. 285
make the eyes open with a gleam of joy, that
appeared to have been closed for ever. Have
you felt any thing like this ?
But beware how you mistake that joy which
may indicate that you have found that treasure.
Behold ! you will know it by its fruits ; for he
who felt that joy " went and sold all that he
" had, and bought that field." He made no
bargain : he did not say, this much of the world
will I keep, and thus much will I resign ; he did
not say, I will keep my covetousness, but I will
resign my sensuality : he did not say, I will
retain my drunkenness, but will surrender my
malice and revenge : but he comes humbly and
devotedly, and flings down his vices, his pas-
sions, and his prejudices, before the throne of
Almighty God, and says, " Take all, take
" every thing, take what thou wilt, and give
" me that which contains my salvation !"
It is true, men will laugh at his impro-
vidence and simplicity ; and when they see him
cheerfully relinquishing the riches they so des-
perately pursue, and the pleasures of which they
are so fondly enamoured, they will exclaim,
What a foolish bargain has this man made in
giving such a fine price for that barren field !
286 SERMON IV.
but what will he care when he knows what it
contains ? Morning and evening will he retire
to the solitary spot, and beseech his good Father
to put a holy guard over the place, that no evil
may come near, to rob him of his hope and his
happiness : and in the day will he watch, lest
he should be plundered by that enemy, who
knows its value well, for he once enjoyed it,
and has lost it for ever.
Yet do not conceive that he will remain in
listless retirement and indolent meditation ; for
in that treasure he will find the armour of
righteousness, in which he will array himself
on the right hand, and on the left ; from that
treasure will he take the helmet of salvation
and place it firmly upon his head ; from that
will he gird himself with the sword of the
Spirit, and his feet shall be shod with the pre-
paration of the gospel of peace : and at the
time when men are fretting themselves about
their hollow pleasures, forgetting perhaps
that such a being ever existed, or remember-
ing him only in order to ridicule the silly sacri-
fice that the poor man had made, he will
come out suddenly amongst them, all richly
and gorgeously apparelled, to run his race of
SERMON IV. 287
faith, and hope, and charity, in the eyes of all
mankind ; so that men shall look at each other
aghast, and shall say, as they did of him who is
the author and giver of all these gifts, " Is
" not this the son of a man like ourselves?"
Whence hath this man all these things ? But
they cannot long mistake whence it proceeds :
when such a light shines before men, they
cannot but say, " Truly this is God's work !"
and many may be led to look for that trea-
sure, which they see can produce such glorious
riches.
SERMON V.
MATTHEW, x. 28.
Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest.
IF an inhabitant of some distant part of the
universe, some angel that had never visited
the earth, had been told that there was a world
in which such an invitation had been neglected
and despised, he would surely say : " The in-
" habitants of that world must be a very happy
166 people ; there can be but few among them
** that labour and are heavy laden ; no doubt
146 they must be strangers to poverty, sorrow,
" and misfortune; the pestilence cannot come
" nigh their dwellings, neither does death ever
" knock at their doors ; and, of course, they
" must be unacquainted with sin, and all the
" miseries that are its everlasting companions."
If such were our case, we might let our
Bibles moulder into dust, and " refuse to hear
" the voice of the charmer, charm he never so
" wisely ;" even of him who says, " Come
SERMON V.
" unto me, and I will give you rest." So that
the first thing we are naturally led to consider
in this, as in every other invitation, is the kind
of persons to whom it is addressed : for if we
do not find that we correspond to the descrip-
tion, it would be a waste of time to expend any
further consideration upon the subject.
It is addressed to those that labour and are
heavy laden : so are all the promises of the
Gospel. They are all made in language of the
fondest, the kindest, the most affectionate con-
solation. It is language that could not be un-
derstood, that would be utterly unmeaning, if
addressed to those who were perfectly at ease
in their feelings, and had no weight upon their
minds. To him that is at ease in his posses-
sions, the Gospel speaks in a solemn and hollow
voice : " Thou fool, this night thy soul may be
" required of thee, and then, whose shall all
" those things be ?" But to those whose hearts
are disquieted within them, it speaks in a tone
of the softest tenderness, and the most enchant-
ing compassion.
How is the office of our Redeemer described,
first by the prophet, and afterwards by him-
self? " The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
u
290 SERMON V.
" because the Lord hath anointed me to preach
" good tidings to the meek ; he hath sent me
" to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim
" liberty to the captives, and the opening of
" the prison to them that are bound ; to com-
" fort all that mourn ; to give unto them
" beauty for ashes, the oil of joy, for mourn-
" ing, the garment of praise, for the spirit
" of heaviness."
Now this is what our Saviour came to per-
form ; it is the formal description of his office ;
and you perceive he is sent to the broken-
hearted, to the captives, to them that are
bound, to them that mourn, to them that
are in the spirit of heaviness. At one time, he
is beautifully represented as speaking " a word
" in season to him that is weary ;" at another,
he is described as " the Sun of Righteousness,
" rising with healing on his wings." He opened
his ministry with blessings " on the poor in
" Spirit;" with blessings " on them that
" mourn." He answered the accusations of the
proud men who were at ease in their possessions,
and who felt not heavy laden, that he " came
" not to those that were whole, but to those
SERMON V. 291
" that were sick ;" and then he points to the
humble publican who came heavy-laden to the
house of God, so that he could not lift up his
eyes unto heaven, under his burden, and that
man found rest unto his soul. And when
that Redeemer was about to depart, that
Redeemer, whose office it was to bind up the
broken-hearted, to comfort them that mourn,
to give rest to the heavy-laden, what did
he promise ? " Another Comforter, that should
" abide with us for ever." Such is the strain
of the Gospel from beginning to end. It is the
ministry of consolation, that therefore, from its
very nature, speaks only to them that need to
be consoled.
The Gospel is " a word in season to him
" that is weary ;" therefore it speaks only to
him that is weary, to him that is seeking rest
and finding none ; and to him it brings relief,
refreshment, and repose. It finds you a bruised
reed, it props and supports you. It finds
you weeping, and it wipes away all tears
from your eyes. It finds you fearful, cheerless,
disquieted, and it gives you courage, hope, and
tranquillity. There is a wilderness before her,
u 2
292 SERMON V.
and the garden of Kden behind ; before her is
lamentation, and mourning, and woe ; behind
her, come thanksgiving and the voice of melody.
Thus is the Gospel an invitation to those
that are heavy-laden ; and it is the business of
every man to ask himself solemnly the ques-
tion " Is he one of those who are invited?"
If you be one of those who labour and are
heavy-laden, come now, come freely, and you
shall find rest unto your souls ! (We shall pre-
sently consider how you are to come, so as to
accept this invitation.)
But if you are not heavy-laden, ask your-
self the cause. Is it because you have already
accepted this invitation, and have already found
rest unto your soul? If this be the case,
" good luck have thou with thine honour ! ride
" on, because of the word of truth, of meek-
" ness, and of righteousness !"
But is your mind at ease ? is there no weight
upon your spirits ? You are, perhaps, at rest ;
but it may not be the rest that Christ has pro-
mised. Then this invitation is not to you ;
it is to the heavy-laden: the Gospel has no
promises for you ; for its promises are those of
comfort and consolation. If you are contented
SERMON V. 293
with this fearful ease, " sleep on, and take
" your rest !" perhaps you will not awake
until the sound of the last trumpet. But if this
is too terrible a resolution, then rouse yourself
this instant. But you may say, " How am 1
" to become one of those who are here invited?
" Am I to go wandering over the world in
" search of some burden that may qualify me
" to accept this invitation ? Am I to invent
" some new kind of grief for myself, to
" strike out some unnatural kind of uneasiness?
" Where is this heavy burden ? where is this
4< sorrow, without which I cannot come to him ?"
" --Behold it is nigh thee, even in thy mouth
" and m thy heart." It is in thy mouth :
there is scarcely a day of our lives that we do
not utter or hear some complaint against man-
kind, and the world, and the inconstancy of
human affairs. Where will you turn yourself
without meeting a man to salute you with a
murmur ? to tell you that something has gone
wrong with him that something is not as it
should be ? Where will you find a man that has
not some thorn in his side? The world is fuU of
these cowardly and despicable complaints;
and no one dreams of a neglected Saviour, that
294 SERMON V.
stands ready to give you rest from them all.
Really and truly, do you mean to say that,
when you are asked at the day of judgment
why you did not come to him who offered rest
to the heavy-laden, you will be able to answer
with sincerity " I was too happy to come to
" him ; I felt no burden." But it would not
be in thy mouth, if it were not also in thy
heart.
Consider the words : they are set in oppo-
sition to the words " yoke and burden," a few
verses below ; where Christ offers his yoke to
those that labour, and his burden to those that
are heavy-laden: so that the words imply bondage
and toil. It means : Come to me, all ye
that labour under any galling yoke, and all
ye that are laden with any heavy burdens,
and I will give you rest.
First : are you one who are in the service
of any sin against which you know that the
wrath of God is registered? Are you in bondage
to any of your lusts or appetites, and labouring
under its yoke, so that it turns and drives you,
like one of your own cattle, wherever it pleases,
so that it does what it likes with you, and says,
" Go, and you go ; do this, and you do it ?"
SERMON V. 295
and do you afterwards feel the heavy burden
of your own contempt, and of a guilty conscience,
a burden that makes you feel you have de-
graded yourself to the rank of a brute, that can
be turned with a bit and a bridle, a burden
that weighs you down and prevents you from
looking up to Heaven like a man, lest you see
wrath written against you, and fiery indigna-
tion ? Or are you one who are in the service of
the world, fretting yourself under a yoke of
toils, and cares, and watchings, and long calcu-
lations ; and have you felt the burden of many
a bitter disappointment ; and, at all events,, the
weight upon your mind, that an hour will come
when you will be called away from all the
things upon which you have set your affec-
tions ; when you will find that you have made
your treasure upon earth, and will have to leave
your heart with it behind you ? Or are you
one who has been trying to earn your own way
to Heaven toiling to make up with Heaven a
long account of debtor and creditor ; and have
you discovered that you have all this time been
heaping an insupportable burden upon your
back ; that the law is spiritual, but that you
are carnal, sold under sin ?
296 SEUMON V.
Just consider how the apostle discovered
this burden in himself. " I know that in me,
" that is, in my flesh, dwelleth no good thing ;
" for, to will, is present with me ; but how to
" perform that which is good, I find not. I
" find a law, that when I would do good, evil
*' is present with me." " I delight in the law of
" God after the inward man, but I see another
" law in my members, warring against the law
" of my mind, and bringing me into captivity
" to the law of sin which is in my members."
Then he exclaims, " O wretched man that
< f I am ! who shall deliver me from the body
" of this death ?" He felt the burden hanging
heavy upon his soul : during all this time he
had been engaged, as it were, in putting it into
the balances, and weighing it ; and he found
it so awfully oppressive, that he cries out
" O wretched man that I am ! who shall
" deliver me from this burden of sin ?"
And do you feel nothing like this in your
own heart ? Do you find no law of God, and
no law of sin ? A law of God, setting before
you what he loves ; and a law of sin, leading
you to say and do what he hates ? Nay, how
often have you yourself admitted that your
SE11MON V. 297
conscience is an awful burden, by your attempts
to shake it off; to get rid of its load, to invent
some contrivance for lessening its weight ; lean-
ing your burden against a shattered wall, which
one day or other will give way, and your bur-
den bear you down to the ground. How often
are you fond of throwing in false weights, for
the purpose of deceiving yourself as to the real
state of your conscience.
But there is one remarkable consideration
that is fully sufficient of itself to convince us
that we have a load, and a very heavy one, hang-
ing upon our hearts and our consciences : it is
simply this, our unwillingness to examine
them. There is not one of us who does not
feel it to be a loathsome, a disgusting, a most
painful, and a most humiliating task. Only
observe with what eagerness we avoid it ; how
many excuses we make in order that we may
escape an acquaintance with our own hearts
and an inquiry into our own consciences. Now
this is a positive proof that we know full well
the inquiry would turn against us. It is the
testimony of our hearts against themselves at
the very outset. Why should you be afraid
of examining yourself, if you did not know
298 SERMON V.
well that you would find a heavy burden
within ? Just consider what a delightful occu-
pation would self-examination become if we
had any reason to suppose that our hearts
would make a favourable report ? Every man
loves to hear his own praises, if he believes
them to be true. O if we had any idea that
our own heart would praise us, there would not
be a more delightful task upon earth than that
of examining ourselves. How eagerly should we
steal away to our closets and our Bibles if we
thought that we should come away satisfied
with ourselves, approving ourselves, assured
that all was safe within ! How happy should
you be in weighing your heart if you thought
you should find it really a light and an easy one !
How happy should you feel in looking at it over
and over, and again and again, if you thought
you should find it good, and pure, and holy !
What a luxury would it be to start a new virtue
at every step of our inquiry, to indulge in the
contemplation of our own goodness, and the
applause of our own consciences ; and what a
beautiful thing would the Bible appear to us
if we thought that at every page we turned we
read our own salvation ! O then, what must be
SERMON V. 299
the real state of the case, when we would study
any thing rather than the book of God, and
would plunge into any society rather than the
company of our own hearts ! Is it not a proof
that, in the one, we know we should find the
evidence of our guilt ; and, in the other, the
registry of our condemnation ? This plain and
simple fact, that we would do any thing rather
than examine our own hearts, is a sufficient
evidence of the corruption of our nature;
we are afraid to look at it : a sufficient proof
of the heavy burden within ; we are afraid
to weigh it.
So that you perceive, that when God invites
only those that labour and are heavy-laden, he
does not call upon you to invent any new kind
of burden or sorrow for yourself, but merely to
know and feel your real state. Nothing can
be fairer: he just requires that you should be
fully sensible of the state in which you are,
before he condescends to save you from it ; that
you should feel your burden, before he con-
descends to remove it. Just conceive what a
mockery it would be to talk to a man of com-
forting him for sorrows that he never felt, and
of relieving him from a burden that he never
300 SERMON V.
endured! This is plain common-sense: may
our common-sense never rise to testify against
us at the day of judgment !
Nay more, our very pleasures are a burden
to us for how many of them are the causes of
pain, of sorrow, of remorse ! Upon how many
of them do we look back with disgust, after the
enjoyment of them has ceased ! And then, last
of all, are they not bounded by death ? This is
the gulf in which they are all swallowed up.
So that the more of these pleasures we shall
have enjoyed, the more we shall have set our
affections upon them ; the greater will be our
unwillingness to part with them ; the greater
will be the burden we have been heaping upon
death-beds.
We have now considered to whom this in-
vitation is made : it is to those that labour and
are heavy-laden. Who is there that does not
feel he is included in the invitation ? The next
thing to be considered is, how it is to be ac-
cepted ? " Come unto me." Though all these
promises are made to those who are heavy-
laden, it is that they may come : if they come
not, all is lost !
It is plain, then, that the first step in coming
SERMON V.
to him must be a full and perfect reliance upon
his power and his willingness to give you rest :
and who can doubt his poiver his power, who
is the Son of God ? who first gained the victory
over the grave himself, to shew that death
should have no dominion over those whom he
protected !
And who can doubt his willingness to save ?
Who, that looks for one moment at the cross,
can dare to doubt it ? O ! if we were but half
as willing to be saved as he is to save us, which
of us would not depart this day redeemed?
Only observe how he who makes the promises,
beseeches, entreats, implores you to corne to him.
O ! if we were half as earnest in our prayers
to him as he is in his prayers to us, which of us
would not this day find rest unto his soul ?
But though perfect is the first step that
leads to this rest, recollect, it is but the first ;
it must be immediately followed up by others.
For the next verse immediately proceeds :
" Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ;
" for I am meek and lowly of heart." Now,
to take a person's yoke upon you is to become
his servant : so that the meaning is, you must
take me for your master, and learn of me. You
SERMON V.
must be willing to take off that heavy burden,
the yoke of sin, the yoke of the world, and
allow him to put his in its place. You must
fling down at his feet your pride, your drunken-
ness, your impurity, your avarice, your worldly
mindedness. You will make no bargains with
him for keeping one sin, and letting another
go : this would be mere traffic ; not taking him
for your master : it would be endeavouring to
serve two masters.
The only way of being sure that you are
coming to Christ is, are you coming all to
him? Are you keeping any sin to yourself?
Are you keeping your favourite sin ? This is the
shortest and the only sure trial. If you are not
surrendering that, be assured you are attempt-
ing to serve two masters, Christ and that fa-
vourite sin, whatever it may be. The only way
of trying yourself is this : Do you allow Christ
to obtain a mastery over all your vices ? Do
you make him the fountain of all your virtues ?
Do you avoid alLevil for his sake? And, above
all, is he the bright example that you follow ?
Do you take some poor human standard of ex-
cellence, and put that in the place of Christ ?
Or do you look to him, not only for salvation,
SERMON V. 303
but for example ? Is his lowly and meek hu-
mility, his pure and holy conversation, his
active and benevolent charity, his mild and
gentle patience, his fervent and constant piety,
his spirit of mercy and forgiveness, are these
your pattern of perfection to which you seek to
be conformed?
Now the last thing to be considered is, the
rest which he bestows ; in what does it con-
sist, and how does he bestow it? The two
following verses contain a full explanation :
" Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me."
You perceive it is in the exchange of yokes and
burdens that this rest consists ; in taking off
the uneasy yoke and the heavy burden, and
taking in its place Christ's easy yoke and light
burden : " Take my yoke."
Now, what is Christ's yoke? " He that
" loveth me keepeth my commandments :" and
we are told by the same apostle, " His com-
" mandment is not grievous;" and the reason is,
because we keep his commandments from a
principle of love. It is not that we wear his
yoke and take his burden in order, like a hire-
ling or a slave, to earn our own rest and sal-
vation, but it is the free service of warm, and
304 SERMON V.
earnest, and humble gratitude ; a service of
love that, after doing all, makes us willing to
exclaim, " We are unprofitable servants !" It
is because we serve one who is meek and
lowly of heart, anxious to teach us by the in-
fluence of his Spirit how to find his yoke easy
and his burden light ; how to find it delightful
to do the will of his Father which is in Heaven,
and thus to resemble our divine Master; so
that, instead of being servants and slaves, we be-
come \hefriends and the brethren of our Master,
and find his service perfect freedom : our obe-
dience is not the means of our procuring our
rest, but is the rest itself.
The blessed Saviour always administers to
those who come to him, w r ith heart and soul,
both the means of fulfilling his will and of
finding it sweet, easy, and delightful. He
teaches us and enables us to do it from humble
love and earnest gratitude ; to look to him for
fresh supplies of spiritual strength ; and, when-
ever we are weary and faint by the way, to
turn aside to him, where he stands by the foun-
tain of living waters and gives freely to all
that are athirst ; and then with fresh strength
we raise our light burden, and go on our way
SERMON V. 305
rejoicing. It is true, men choose to consider
Christ as a hard task-master, and his blessed
service as gloomy and severe : but to these
men there are two very short answers : first,
that it is only to those that labour and are
heavy-laden that this is addressed, to those
who feel an insupportable load upon their souls
and their consciences ; and to them the ex-
change is indeed delightful : but if these men
feel themselves perfectly at their ease, if they
are happy in their present state, they are very
welcome to take their own ease. Secondly,
that the service of Christ always proceeds from
a motive of earnest and humble gratitude, or it
is no service at all. It is not so many separate
and detached acts of service; but it comes warm
and entire from a holy and sacred affection that
makes it a service of perfect freedom.
x
SERMON VI.
MATTHEW, xi. 12.
They that be whole need not a physician, but they that
are sick.
WE may remember that this was the an-
swer of Christ to the Pharisees when they re-
proached him with admitting sinners into his
society ; and it would, therefore, at first appear
that they did not conceive they were sinners
themselves when they ventured to bring such
an accusation against him. And yet this seems
hardly possible: blind and self-righteous as they
were, we can scarcely imagine that any man
could obtain such a victory over his conscience,
or bring the art of self-deception to such per-
fection, as to fancy that he had never sinned !
Now, to us, it must appear one of the
strangest things in the world how any man
could entertain the least doubt upon the sub-
ject. If a man were to tell us that he was not
a sinner, we would consider it a sign not of
SERMON VI. 307
innocence, but of derangement. God knows !
many a man seems to pass through life as if
he were walking in his sleep ; and sin and
righteousness appear nearly alike to him : he
seldom opens his eyes to see things as they
really are ; but still it is impossible to suppose
that he does not often encounter a shock that
bewilders and alarms him, and stumble upon
some sin that rouses him to a sense of guilt.
ReaUy it seems inconceivable that any man
possesses the art of self-deception to so ruinous
a degree. Our Saviour's answer may lead to
the true state of the case: " They that be whole
" need not a physician, but they that are sick."
They did not perceive that sin was a disease.
They knew, indeed, that they had been guilty
of several gentle offences, a sin now and then ;
but they had not learnt that it was a disorder
seated in their very constitution. This seems
to have been the fatal error of the Pharisees ;
the tremendous mistake that blinded their eyes,
so that they saw not, and stopped their ears,
that they heard not. The fact is, if they had
regarded the soul as they did the body, if they
had but reasoned in the one case as in the
other, it is astonishing what new and alarming
x 2
308 SERMON VI.
views would have arisen upon the minds of
these men, and how many of them we should
have found taking the lowest seat with him
who ate and drank with publicans and sinners,
and gathering up the crums that fell from the
table !
If any one of us were now suddenly in-
formed by a physician that a deadly malady
was at this instant preying upon his vitals, that
his blood was poisoned, and his health under-
mined, and his constitution falling asunder,
he would, doubtless, return to his house in no
very comfortable state of mind ; he would
throw himself upon his bed, and feed upon the
gloomy thoughts of approaching dissolution ;
would begin, perhaps, to make his will, and
call his friends about him to apprise them that
he was soon to bid them farewell; and if he
felt a joint ache, and his pulse begin to beat
faster or slower, or if he looked in the glass
and saw his cheek turning pale, and his lip
becoming livid, and his eye growing dim, he
would say; Alas! he told me nothing but the
truth ! and this is that fearful disease that is
to bring me to my grave ! And then how would
all the little symptoms be noted and remem-
SERMON VI. 309
bqred ; how would the nature and the seat of
the disease be studied and examined ; and if
a physician were to drop a hint that the dis-
order was within the reach of his skill, or if
there was a whisper through the family that
something could be done, and that hope was
not yet to be renounced the very news would
be a kind of health to you, and your faded and
pallid countenance would brighten with anti-
cipated freshness and renovation ! Now, if a
man were really convinced that such a disease
as this had taken possession of his eternal soul,
what can we suppose would be his sensations !
If a distant hint, if an indistinct murmur were
breathed that there was something wrong
about it ; an eternal thing with something
w r rong about it ! to think that that living spirit
within us, by which we can hold communion
with the unseen world and the Father of Spi-
rits, and which is destined to wander through
eternity, is indisposed and out of order ! what
alarm, what jealousy of inquiry should it ex-
cite ? what earnest investigation of symptoms ;
what anxious search into the nature of the
complaint and the possibility of a cure ? And
yet it is astonishing with what perfect com"
310 SERMON VI,
posure a man not only can hear the voice of
Almighty God warning him, but can acknow-
ledge that there is no health in him, and yet
scarcely think it a subject worth his inquiry !
Really it is pitiable and melancholy to
hear with what accuracy a sick man will de-
scribe all the marks and featuress of his disorder;
how every passing pain, every change, every
symptom, and every fluctuation of health and
strength is treasured up, and amplified, and
discussed. What a physician does the sick
man become in his own case ! nay, with what
seeming pleasure does he dwell upon every
circumstance ! with what fond and longing
eloquence he can expatiate upon his pangs and
his sufferings, as if he loved them because they
are his own ! But if you inquire into the health
of hivS eternal soul, its sicknesses, its symptoms,
its peculiar constitution, its signs of life and
death ; all dumb, all languid, all flat and un-
profitable ! Before we go farther ; is not this a
sufficient proof that all is wrong, that the spirit
within him has been left to take care of itself,
while the heap of dust to which it is attached
has excited such an interest that every grain
of it seems to have been weighed and counted?
SERMON VI. 311
O that it would force itself upon our senses,
and burst itself upon our notice! O that
this mysterious stranger within us could ap-
pear to us in some palpable shape, that we
might inspect, and handle, and examine it ;
that we might be able to feel the beating of its
pulse, and watch the changes of its complexion ;
that we might know when it looked pale,
and sickly, and death-like, and when it wore
the fresh and rosy hue of health ! But it hides
itself from my view, it muffles itself from my
observation; and though I can amuse myself
with looking at the perishable body in which it
is contained through a microscope, and study-
ing its very infirmities with a fond and melan-
choly delight, I do not feel a sufficient interest
in the immortal and unseen spirit within to
follow it into its hiding-places, and pursue it
into its recesses. If we went no farther, this
is enough to prove that there is some fatal dis-
ease within that we do not seem to care for
the inquiry.
But, in the next place, when the body is
concerned we seldom find that we mistake a
symptom for the disease. Only observe with
what scrutinising ingenuity a man will pene-
SERMON VJ.
trate into the hiding-places in his constitution
to discover the root and ground of some dis-
order that has shewn itself in some external
sign ! And should not the blind Pharisees
have known, even of themselves, that it is from
within, " out of the hearts of men proceed evil
" thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders,
" thefts, covetousness, deceit, lasciviousness ;"
that all these evil things come from within, and
" it is out of the abundance of the heart the
" mouth speaketh." These, sins as they are,
these, against which the great God has regis-
tered his wrath, and for all which we shall be
brought into judgment, these are, after all,
signs and symptoms of something worse within.
Our evil words and our evil deeds are only
overflowings of the soul, and do not shew the
depth of the fountain from which they proceed.
It has, indeed, its ebbs and its flows, like
those diseases that shew themselves at some
periods more than at others ; but we should
make a sad error, if we mistook the signs of a
complaint for the complaint itself. It is often
by a slight variation of the pulse, a pain,
trifling in itself, a change in the habit or aspect,
that would hardly be observed unless narrowly
SERMON VI. 313
examined and inspected, that a physician de-
tects a malady which is making serious and
frightful inroads upon the constitution.
We may at once convince ourselves of this
by imagining ourselves thrown into a thousand
situations in which we have seen others in-
volved, and from which we have been pre-
served we know not how ; and in which sins,
that have only shewn themselves by faint and
transient flashes, would have burst into a blaze,
and have raged with the fury of a conflagra-
tion. Awful and tremendous truth ! that our
sins, while they are the signs, are not the mea-
sures of the sin within ; and while they are
terrible proofs that it exists, still leave us to
discover its height and its depth, its length and
breadth ; they may graduate its tides &&& fluc-
tuations, but they leave its depths unfathomed,
and its shores unexplored. But if some power-
ful conjuncture of attractions should operate,
we know not what tempests are lurking in its
bosom, and ready to burst forth. Then, as
there are different kinds of bodily, so there are
of spiritual disorders. You will see some of an
ardent and fiery constitution, whose complaint
will shew itself by violent signs that cannot be
314 SERMON VI.
mistaken ; and they prove that sin and death
are rioting within them, and withering their
eternal health, by an ostentation of their de-
pravity, by drunkenness or debauchery, or by
blasphemy, riot, or revenge. These men have
the signs of a raging fever, and they often pro-
ceed to that degree of derangement and deli-
rium that they actually forget the difference
between health and sickness, and fancy that all
is safe at the moment they have attained the
height of their disorder !
But there are others of a milder tempera-
ment, where the signs are more silent and more
treacherous; where the eye is bright and the
countenance is florid, and the frame receives
no shock, and the nerves remain composed,
and the spirits tranquil ; and yet death is
feeding upon the vitals ! These are the men
whose walk in life is generally decent and re-
spectable ; but the heart and the affections
are fixed on perishable objects ; whose care,
whose hopes, and whose dear delight, are things
visible, that shall pass away ; souls that feed
on ashes, and declare their kindred with the
worm that perisheth by feeding upon perish-
able food ; whose minds represent the tombs
SERMON VI. 315
to which they are approaching, -whited se-
pulchres, that indeed are beautiful outward, but
if you look within, you find nothing but death !
These persons seem to descend into the grave
with a fatal gentleness that causes no shock
to awake them ; they waste away by a linger-
ing consumption, and feel not that they are
dwindling, and dwindling, into ruin ; and they
know not that " where thy treasure is, there
" will thy heart be also ;" and that therefore,
if it be not set upon God and Heaven, and im-
mortal things, thy eternal soul is wasting into
destruction, and the worms are underneath
thee, and cover thee !
There are numberless varieties of spiritual
complaints ; perhaps equal in number to those
of the body, which are most emphatically called
in Scripture, " the plagues of men's hearts."
But now observe the various excuses we
attempt to make, the thousand ways in which
we endeavour to deceive ourselves with respect
to the disease of the eternal soul within us ;
and then observe how vain how silly would
these appear if they were applied to the body.
How often will a man make the excuse that
he was born with the seeds of this corruption,
316 SERMON VI.
and plead this as a reason for cherishing and
encouraging it, or at least for neglecting it and
allowing it to work its own way ! Now what
should we think of a man who attempted to
quiet our fears, when we were labouring under
a cruel bodily complaint, by telling us that it
is in the family, and we inherit it from our an-
cestors ? Did it ever save any man's life yet ?
But again : there are men who will mix in
that society, and advance with the utmost se-
curity into those situations where impurity,
sensuality, and a worldly and carnal frame of
mind are encouraged, and where affections are
more and more set upon earthly pleasures and
earthly enjoyments, and yet they will declare
that no evil consequences can arise, and that
they felt no spiritual disadvantage from the
indulgence.
Now, what should we think of a man who
should tell us, if an infectious complaint were
raging around us, that we might venture
securely into the midst of the contagion, and
frequent those houses where it prevailed ? and
who should tell us, that if we did not actually
feel the infection, or the poison, while it was
mixing with our blood and entering into our
SEKMON VI. 317
veins, we might consider ourselves safe, and
conclude that the effect might not afterwards
break forth and carry us into our graves ?
And yet it is thus that we often attempt
to deceive ourselves both with respect to the
existence, the nature, the danger, and the effects
of our spiritual diseases ; although any man
that reasoned, thought, and acted in the same
way with respect to the body, would be consi-
dered to have forfeited his claim to the attribute
of reason, and to have renounced his common
sense. And then, when one thinks what may
be the death of an eternal spirit, what new,
what fearful, what unknown miseries it has to
undergo ! what it must be to moulder and
waste through all eternity ! we cannot dwell
upon it it is too much !
But there is a gracious Physician, who
comes to bind up the broken-hearted; the
good Samaritan, that stands by the way-side to
pour wine and oil into our wounds, to minister
to our sicknesses, and to heal our infirmities.
All those who feel the cruel breach that sin has
made in their health, and who are sensible that
they cannot recover themselves, may come to
him and he will assuredly relieve them.
318 SERMON VI.
Now, when an earthly physician is called in,
what is the first thing required of the patient ?
A perfect reliance upon the skill and the good-
will of the physician. What should we think
of that patient who felt a disease rioting in his
vitals, and should begin to analyse the medi-
cines that were administered, and to demand
an account of the particular mode in which they
were to effect his cure ? Would not the phy-
sician be obliged to give him all the information
he himself possessed before he could explain
it ? And is it much that the Lord Jesus Christ
shpuld demand from us that faith which we
must necessarily place in a human being, or be
content to lie down and perish ?
Just consider how many silly expedients a
sick man will try w r here there is the most distant
hope of recovery ; and then say, whether you
will not trust the all-powerful, the all-wise,
the all-gracious Being, who bore all the sick-
nesses and infirmities of your bodily nature-
all for your sake, and submitted to the agonies
of death to deliver you from hopeless ruin ?
Be assured that, if you really feel the bur-
den of your disease, you will not hesitate a
moment. Come to him with earnest, humble
SERMON VI. 319
prayer with a heart at once penetrated with a
sense of its corruptions, and a love of the Di-
vine Being who offers to pardon and to purify
and assuredly he will not refuse ; for he tells
us specially that he came not for those that
are whole, but those that are sick ; and this he
himself explains in the following verse : " I
" came not to call the righteous, but sinners,
" to repentance." But here he also shews us
the nature of the cure ; he came to call them to
repentance, to a change of mind.
It must be, of course, by some change in
the inner man that a radical disease must be
exterminated from the constitution. It seems
as if it were actually out of the nature of things
that it should be otherwise. When the good
and benevolent Being vouchsafed to entreat his
wayward and rebellious people to deliver their
own soul, he says, " Make you a new heart ;
" for why will you die, O house of Israel ?"
as if death were the sure and inevitable con-
sequence of their old state, from which it was
inconsistent with the natural course of things
that they could be saved except by making a
new heart and a right spirit within them. But
320 SERMON VI.
this he is willing to do if we come earnestly
and humbly to look for it ; for he declares, " I
" will give my Holy Spirit to them that ask
" it ;" and, " he that spared not his own Son,
" how shall he not also, with him, freely give
" us all things !"
But we must allow him to choose his own
way. It is generally by producing new habits
and tempers of mind new desires and affec-
tions, which gain strength by degrees, that he
effects our cure. We have seen but few bodily
cures effected by any sudden or instantaneous
power ; and they were generally most subject
to relapse.
The good and benign Physician consults our
weakness and our nature at the very time that
he undertakes to overcome them. How is the
cure to be conducted, from its weak beginning,
to health and maturity ? Now, how would an
earthly physician answer this question, pro-
posed with respect to a bodily complaint ? He
would say, " by exercise." Just so the new
principle implanted within us, the heavenly
tempers and exalted affections, the delight in
God and things invisible, that is the dawn of
SERMON VI.
health to the sick man, is to be cherished and
invigorated by a constant converse with holy
things, and a constant energy in the perform-
ance of every duty. Consider how the great
Physician was employed, when he was up-
braided by the haughty Pharisee, and when he
declared that he was engaged in the very work
of healing those who are spiritually sick, and
calling sinners to repentance : he was eating
and drinking with the sinners ; he was engaged
in familiar, yet holy conversation with them ;
and what though he is now far above, out of
the range of mortal sight ; though he is not now
employed in working those bodily cures which
were faint representations of the renovation of
a ruined soul ; although he now no longer walks
in our streets, letting his blessed shadow fall
upon our infirmities as he passes along, yet his
Word and his Spirit are still with us the Spirit
which he sent as his substitute, which is to aid
and invigorate our prayers ; and the Word that
is a substitute for that divine conversation, by
which he spoke health to the sinner's soul,
while he sat at meat with them. And that
Word is wonderfully adapted to all varieties of
constitutions, and the 'several degrees of spi-
Y
SERMON VI.
ritual health they may have attained ; for " all
" Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and
" is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for cor-
" rection, for instruction in righteousness, that
" the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly
" furnished unto all good works."
SERMON VII.
1 CORINTHIANS, vi. 20.
Ye are bought with a price.
THE use that St. Paul makes of these words
is as remarkable as the words themselves. Some
time after he had left the Corinthians, he was
informed that many of them, while they still
professed to be Christians, had fallen away
from the purity of the Gospel which he had
preached. They no longer trembled, when the
man was gone who used to reason among them
" of righteousness, temperance, and judgment
" to come." They relapsed into former ha-
bits with an appetite that seemed to have been
sharpened and increased by the self-denial to
which they had for a time submitted ; and the
evil spirit, which had gone out for a season,
said, " I will return to my house whence I
" came out; and he took other spirits more
" wicked than himself, and went in, and dwelt
" there; and the last state of many of those
Y 2
324 , SERMON VII.
" men was worse than the first." St. Paul
remarks, that many vices, such as extortions,
strife, envy, and revenge, were gaining fearful
ground upon them : many of them indulged in
gluttony, in drunkenness, in debauchery, in
adultery, to an extent that had been before un-
known. They prostituted their bodies to in-
temperance, and their immortal souls to covet-
ousness, malignity, and corruption.
This was cruel and bitter intelligence to
such a man as Paul, one, whose heart and
soul were wrapped up in the success of his
ministry, .who seemed to rejoice with the joy
of ten thousand angels over one sinner that re-
pented,, and mourned like one heart-broken if
one soul, that appeared to have been won from
sin, had fallen away from its immortality. He
accordingly writes to them a letter, the most
solemn and the most tender that can well be
conceived, in language at once the most dig-
nified and affectionate; and he here brings
down the great argument of the Gospel upon
them with all its weight.
Perhaps we shall understand it better if we
first consider those which are generally used in
such cases.
SERMON VII. 325
If a prudent man of the world, who had
little respect for religion, but a high sense of
what is called morality, had been sent to
preach to these men, what arguments do we
conceive he would have employed ? He would
probably have said : * The excesses in which
* you indulge will ruin your health, will shorten
* your days, will rack your body with pain
' and disease, will enfeeble your understanding,
' rendering it poor, unsteady, and effeminate,
* unable to follow any regular, manly, and ho-
' nourable occupation in life; you will lose
' both your own respect, and the respect of
' the world ; and if you cherish ill-will, malice,
' and envy, it will destroy your peace of mind,
' and keep you at variance with your fellow-
' creatures, with whom you should live in
' friendship and tranquillity. 5 And he would
say very right : these arguments are in general
very true ; but, alas ! they are seldom found to
avail; and when they do, suppose the object
gained, their hearts relieved, their lives length-
ened, their success in the pursuit of affluence
secured, their reputation standing fair in the
eye of all the world ; there is yet something
behind ; there is a death, and there is a judg-
SERMON VII.
ment; and have they looked to them? have
they prepared for them ? Verily they have had
their reward, the reward they looked for,
health, wealth, long life, and reputation. What
claim have they to any thing farther ?
But suppose a man who possesses a higher
sense of religion, but who forgets to look for it
in his Bible, who recollects that there is to be
a state of rewards and punishments, but who
forgets that it is only through a blessed Me-
diator that we can hope for escape from the
one, and for the attainment of the other, sup-
pose such a one sent to reform these profligates,
what might he say ? He would probably say,
' The course in which you are proceeding is
6 offensive to Almighty God, and will draw
* down his everlasting vengeance and indigna-
6 tion upon your heads ; but, change your
' course, and reform, and you will then deserve
* his forgiveness, his favour, and his blessing.'
Alas ! this argument would, it is to be feared,
have less chance of succeeding than the former ;
for while it places the objects to be attained
at a greater distance, it leaves their attainment
much more uncertain ; for, in the first place,
how could they know whether the God of holi-
SERMON VII. 327
ness would pardon past enormities for the sake
of future obedience ? Suppose they had lived
a life of righteousness to the very moment of
which we are speaking, would they not be
obliged to continue it to the end ? How then
can they know whether future obedience may
atone for past transgressions ?
But, in the next place, suppose all past sins
cancelled, to what are they to look forward ?
One might say, * I know not what kind of
' righteousness or what degree of righteousness
' God requires. If he requires a life of unsin-
6 ning obedience, I am lost for ever ; if not, I
' know not what vices I must give up, or what
' I may still keep without forfeiting his favour.
* I have no reason to say where he will draw
' the line : if he can endure sin at all, without
' punishing it, he may pardon me in my pre-
6 sent state, without any change whatever.'
But what was the argument of Paul, the
Christian apostle, the minister of the Gospel ?
" Ye are not your own : ye are bought with
" a price." You are bought and sold, body
and soul : you are no longer your own property.
Now the conclusion that he immediately draws,
is, " Therefore glorify God in your body, and
328 SEHMON VII.
" in your spirit, which are God's." I do not
call upon you to renounce your evil ways, be-
cause you think it may conduce to your own
health and convenience to your own satis-
faction and gratification here to your success
in life, and to the establishment of a fair repu-
tation ; I should then acknowledge you to be
your own property, to belong to yourselves :
nor do I summon you to repentance because you
are able to atone for your past transgressions,
and to make your own peace with God ; this
would look as if I still acknowledged you to
belong to yourselves, and to be your own pro-
perty, and that you could make a bargain with
Heaven, that you could buy off a vice with a
virtue, and a sin by some fit of obedience : but
I challenge you as the property of Jesus Christ,
which he has purchased to himself for ever and
ever, that you surrender yourself into his ser-
vice, and glorify him as your Master, your
Saviour, and your Redeemer.
This is the argument of God himself to
every one amongst us, to turn from the sins of
his own heart and his own life ; and it should
be as omnipotent as the God from whom it
proceeds : " Ye are bought with a price."
SERMON VII. 329
From what are we bought ? From these very
sins, and the punishment they would draw
down upon our souls. Here is every motive
that can actuate a rational being : here there
is no doubt of the dreadful aspect which our
sins wear in the sight of the Supreme Being ;
for they required a terrible price to release us
from them nothing less than the blood of God;
and here is no doubt of love and mercy and
forgiveness for the price is paid. O then,
as you would not disappoint the good and gra-
cious Being in all that he has done for you ; as
you would not wish that that price were paid
for you in vain, acknowledge yourself his pur-
chased servant, and glorify him in the body
and in the spirit that he has bought ! You must
become his property. But you will say, ' Be-
* hold, are not all things his? Are not heaven
* and earth, the sea, and all their inhabitants,
' the firmament, the vast expanse of the uni-
' verse, and all that it contains, his property?'
Yes : they are indeed all his : but there
was one loved and favoured being among them
all, whom he called peculiarly his own. In
our Father's house there were indeed -many
hired servants; but among all his creatures
330 SERMON VII.
there was one Son ; for he said, " Let us make
" man in our own image :" and he formed him
for a representative of himself. He was the
property of God, as a child is the property of
his father. His thoughts belonged to God; for
there was not one which he wished to conceal
from him : they loved to dwell upon the glo-
rious attributes of his Father, and admire the
wonders of his power and of his goodness. No
foul and corrupt desires, no sordid wishes inter-
rupted the purity and brightness of his soul ;
no angry, envious, or revengeful passion dis-
turbed its deep and beautiful tranquillity. The
spirit of man was then clearness and sunshine ;
not a storm to ruffle, not a cloud to obscure it ;
and it was transparent to the eye of Him in
whose sight the sins that seem but specks and
atoms to our view appear enlarged to a fearful
size. The language of his lips belonged to
God ; for " out of the abundance of the heart
" the mouth speaketh :" and then the heart
abounded with all good and holy thoughts, and
therefore no foul or bitter language issued
from such a fountain, but it overflowed at his
lips in praise or thanksgiving. The deeds of his
hands and the course of his life belonged to
SERMON VII. 331
God; for his body was the servant of his soul,
and was the glorious instrument by which he
carried the wishes of a good and benevolent
heart into execution. " In his law did he exer-
" cise himself day and night," and he " glori-
" fled God in his body and his spirit." If he
was in subjection to God, he was yet in bond-
age to no other being in the universe ; and His
yoke was easy, and His burden light.
What need is there to dwell upon the miser-
able change ? Which of us sees any thing like
his own character in that which we have been
considering ? Or which of us, after reflecting
for a moment upon what man was, and ought
to be, can look upon himself, without smiting
upon his breast, and saying, " God be merci-
" ful to me a sinner !"
Who is the Lord and Master of our body
and our spirit, and whom do we glorify with
them? Whom do we follow and obey, and
whose will have we most frequently and gene-
rally consulted in our conduct through life? To
whom do our thoughts belong? Upon what
objects do they delight to repose, and how
many of them would you wish to conceal from
the pure and everlasting gaze of your Creator ?
SERMON VII.
How often would you wish that his eye had
been closed upon you, and that he could not
read the secret movements of your heart? Are
they not often such as you would be ashamed
to disclose even to a poor mortal like yourself ?
And yet there will be a day when they will be
made known, when the secrets of all hearts
will be revealed.
To whom does your conversation belong?
Upon what subjects do you most delight to
speak ? Does the name of God occur only to
be blasphemed ; or, if it ever rudely intrudes
i
into your conversation, is it not banished like
an unwelcome visitor that interrupts your en-
joyments ? How often would you wish Heaven
deaf to your voice, and that the ears of the
Almighty were closed to the words of your
mouth? And yet there will be a day when
every wanton, blasphemous, and unholy and
uncharitable expression will be read aloud :
" For every idle word that men shall speak,
" they shall give an account thereof in the day
" of judgment."
To whom do your actions belong ? Of all
that you have done, and of all your pursuits in
life, how many have you done or undertaken
SERMON VII, 333
for the purpose of glorifying Almighty God ;
and how many to glorify yourself, your own
pride, your own covetousness, your own vanity,
your own malice, your own sensuality, and the
opinion of the world ? And yet, " for all these
" things God will bring thee into judgment."
Ask yourselves solemnly the question, whom
have you served ? Have we not sought to do
our own will, and not the will of him who made
us ? The consequence is, that instead of being
free, we have fallen into bondage to our own
passions and lusts, and have been the sport of
every temptation of the world, and the victim
of that dreadful being who is the author and
promoter of all sin and all misery. When we
broke the bonds that united us to our Cre-
ator, every gust of passion, every whisper of the
world, and every suggestion of the devil, ob-
tained dominion over us ; and what is the con-
sequence? " Know ye not, that to whom ye
" render yourselves servants to obey, his ser-
" vants ye are to whom ye obey? Whether
" of sin, unto death ; or of obedience, unto
" righteousness ?" If the Lord of your soul, and
the Master whom you serve, whom you have
chiefly and most frequently consulted, be not
334 SERMON VII.
God, recollect the wages of such obedience is
death ; and which of us has not been in such
bondage to corruption, and has not earned and
purchased to himself the awful reward ? But,
blessed for ever be that God who still looked
for the sons that he had lost, for the flock that
had wandered, and who paid the ransom that
once more set us free to our salvation, we
have been bought with agony and bloody sweat;
with tears and groans ; with writhings of the
body, and woundings of the spirit; with the
torture of the cross, and the life of God;
amidst darkness and fearful signs, and the rend-
ing of the rocks, and the bursting of the tombs.
All that the frame and the spirit of man could
endure, was suffered for us ; and all that the
love and mercy of God could give, was la-
vished upon our salvation.
Such is the value that God has set upon
our heads ; such is the price by which he pur-
chases us back, and makes us his own sons and
his family for ever : and it is therefore that he
calls upon us to glorify him in that body and that
spirit, which he has thus made his own by all
the claims both of creation and redemption.
For, as St. Paul in another place explains it,
SERMON VII. 335
" If Christ died for us, then were we all dead ;
" and he died for all, that they which live
" should not henceforth live unto themselves,
" but unto him who died for them, and rose
*' again."
If you reject this sacrifice, then no price has
been paid for you, or it has been paid in vain ;
you do not acknowledge it ; you must save
yourself, without hoping that one single drop of
your Redeemer's blood shall fall upon your
soul, to render it fit to stand before the holiness
of God. If your heart sinks, and your soul
shudders at such a thought, then recollect, that
if Christ died for you, then were you dead,
dead in trespasses and sins, in bondage to
corruption, and the servant of those masters
whose wages is death ; and recollect that the
very purpose for which he died, and without
which you disappoint the glorious salvation that
he has wrought for you, is, " that henceforth
" you should not live unto yourselves, but
" unto him who died for you and rose again."
We must die with him if we hope to live with
him : we must enter into his service, and be-
come his disciples by glorifying him in the
body and the spirit, which he has redeemed;
336 SERMON VII.
and then can we look with pure and lowly
hope for the forgiveness of our past wanderings,
and of the numberless transgressions of which
we are guilty, even after we have surrendered
ourselves to his good guidance : then can we
look for support in the thousand falterings
which we shall make in our journey, when we
faintly attempt to tread in his gracious and
sainted footsteps.
1 He has purchased your thoughts ; for he has
offered to make you the temple of his Holy
Spirit, who will purify you from sin, and fill
you with righteousness and true holiness, and
who will give you strength in all your trials, and
consolation under all the cares of the world,
the infirmities of your nature, and the sinkings
of your hearts.
He has purchased the words of your mouth ;
for he has given you an example that ye should
follow him, " who when he was reviled, reviled
" not again, and in whose mouth was found no
" guile ;" and who out of the good treasure of
his heart, brought forth good things.
He has purchased your bodies ; those sinful
bodies, which were once the masters of our
souls, by whose means we often become the
SERMON VII. 337
servants of corruption and sensuality : those
members, which were before the instruments of
unrighteousness unto sin, are now made the
instruments of righteousness unto God ; and,
by the help and power of that spirit which he
always gives to those that humbly ask him, we
shall be able to wield these stubborn and rebel-
lious members, the former instruments of sin
and corruption, in the living service of our
Redeemer. It is as if we had stormed the
camp of the enemy, had seized his weapons
and his armour, and had turned them against
himself.
Choose, then, which master you will serve
Mammon or God. Choose, then, which wages
you will receive Death or Immortality : and
recollect that you can no more serve both these,
than you can receive the wages of both ; and
that the service of God and of Mammon are as
inconsistent as the death and immortality that
are their natural consequences. Think, before
you decide, which master loves you most ;
think which would sacrifice most for you.
Think what price the cold and ungenerous
world would give to redeem you from a single
pang of body or mind ; and think with what
338 SERMON VII.
kind and devoted prodigality your blessed
Redeemer paid down himselfhis body, and
his meek and holy spirit, for your everlasting
welfare.
Finally : it may be useful to reflect that
the happiness of the next world will consist in
glorifying God in our body, and in our spirit,
and in enjoying the delights of his everlasting
presence. We can conceive no other : so that
it might be well, even on this account alone, to
cultivate a disposition that is to constitute our
happiness to all eternity : for even if our wild
hopes of attaining heaven without glorifying
him upon earth were fulfilled, after all, what
would it come to? The last trumpet would
summon us to glorify him in our body and in
pur spirit for ever and ever !
SERMON VIII.
COLOSSIANS, in. 3.
Set your affections on things above ; not on things on
the earth.
To go to heaven when we die seems to be
the grand wish that we form to ourselves when-
ever we happen to fall into a serious mood of
thinking, or begin to grow melancholy at the
prospect of death. To go to heaven, and then
it would appear that nothing more was wanting
to complete our happiness.
And yet there is one very simple question,
that is quite surprising we so seldom think of
asking ; and that is, " What kind of place we
" should find it if we went there?" That
heaven is a scene of unbounded happiness and
everlasting delight there is no doubt whatever ;
but should we find it so, is quite another ques-
tion. We know that a deaf man might be
surrounded with the sweetest music and the
most enchanting harmony, and to him it would
be all dead silence ; and a beautiful portrait or
z 2
340 SERMON VIII.
a lovely landscape would be nothing but dark-
ness to a blind man's eye.
But to come still nearer to the point; we
know that the same company that would be
enjoyed by a man of one description would be
actually insupportable to another ; and that
there are many situations in which one man
would find himself perfectly happy, that would
make another utterly miserable. Now, to de-
cide the question at once, only conceive for a
moment that every man was allowed to choose
for himself in this particular, and that heaven
was to be just what every man pleases ; and
what would be the result ? Only look back
upon your life, and observe the scenes in which
you felt yourself most at home the things in
which your soul has most delighted where
your heart was most interested and engaged ;
and that would be your heaven. Fix your eye
upon those scenes of your keenest enjoyment-
mark them well, dwell upon the circumstances
by which they were characterised, and you
have the kind of heaven that you would choose.
" Where your treasure is, there would your
" heart be also."
With some men heaven would be what
SERMON VIII.. 341
we will not dare to name : we must draw a
curtain over it ; we might mistake it for a
scene that bears another name. With others,
it would be the sumptuous board and the
splendid establishment. With others, it would
be the reward of ambition, and the shout of
popular applause. With others, a round of
the amusements that fill up the vacancies of
human life. And, in general, it would proba-
bly be just such a place as this earth, only
with a certain number of comforts and advan-
tages superadded, and a certain number of
dangers and inconveniences removed.
Now, is it not probable that to such men as
these heaven would be a state either of languor
or of misery ? Heaven is not a theatre, that
shifts the scene to suit itself to every foolish
fancy and every silly humour of the spectators.
It has, indeed, its fulness of joy and its pleasures
for evermore : but the question is, have we the
power and the relish to enjoy them ? We will
suppose, for a moment, that our hope of going
to heaven is, some way or other, fulfilled, and
that (God knows how) we have passed the fear-
ful account that we shall have to render, of
sins committed, of duties neglected, of bless-
342 SERMON VIII.
ings abused, of time squandered away. We
will suppose that we have found our way into
that heaven that is the object of our hopes :
what have we to promise ourselves ? We know
at least what we shall not find there ; we know
that " naked as we came into this world, naked
" shall we go out of it ;" that the body which
held us and the earth together is laid in the dust
from which it was taken ; the bond that united
us to this lower world is snapped, and the chan-
nel through which we communicated with it
withdrawn; and this busy stage, upon which
our affections have been running to and fro,
seeking rest and finding none, is at once con-
cealed from our view, and becomes to us a dead
blank. Alas ! alas! what object shall we fasten
upon to fill up the dreary vacancy which was
once occupied by our busy pursuits and our dear
pleasures upon earth? For the gold and the silver
are gone, and the pipe, and the viol, and the
tabret, have died away in silence. What shall we
seize upon to employ our minds, or to interest
our hearts, or to excite our desires, or to fill up
our conversation ? Alas ! where is the buying
and the selling, the bustle of business, or the
enthusiasm of enterprise, that supplied us at
SERMON VIII. 343
once with our cares and our hopes ? Where is
the flowing goblet, and the wild and wanton
merriment that used to set the table in a roar ?
Alas ! alas ! what shall we do for the delightful
trifles by which we contrived, while we were
upon the earth, to get rid of time, and forget
that it was rolling over our heads ? What shall
we do for those wild pursuits by which we
made ourselves mad for a time, and hunted
eternity out of our minds ? What shall we do
for conversation ; upon what subjects shall we
converse ? And then to go on in this way for
ever ! and for ever ! and for ever ! We cannot sit
thus dreaming through eternity. If this be
Heaven, would to God he had left us still upon
our beloved earth ! Wherefore have ye brought
us out of Egypt, where we ate and drank and
were merry, and have left us here to perish in
the wilderness ? Eetter would it have been for
us to have still our interchanges of hope and
fear, of pleasure and pain, of repose and fatigue,
of joy and sorrow, than to endure this dismal
serenity, than to say in the morning, " would
" to God it were evening;" and in the evening,
" would to God it were morning."
Such is what we shall not find in heaven.
But what is it that is there ? What vast fund
344 SERMON VIII.
of unexampled enjoyments, what crowd of fresh
delights ? What is there to interest our affec-
tions and to fill our thoughts ? " Even He that
" filleth all things ;" the only Being that can
satisfy our immortal spirit ; " whom to know is
" life eternal," for " this is life eternal, to know
" thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom
" thou hast sent. 5 ' All the blessings and delights
of heaven are described as flowing from him.
" In thy presence is fulness of joy, and at thy
" right hand are pleasures for evermore." To see
his face ; to rejoice in the light of his counte-
nance; to awake and behold his glory, are the
strongest and loveliest ideas of happiness that
even the language of inspiration, and " lips
" touched with fire," have been able to convey.
" I beseech thee," said the prophet of old,
" shew me thy glory." If thy presence go
" not up with me, carry me not up out of this
" wilderness. I will stay here in the desert
" with thee ; for what is the land flowing with
" milk and honey without thee?" But the
everlasting employment of the blessed spirits
is praise, and adorations, and hallelujahs : they
are for ever before the throne of God, and serve
him day and night in his temple, and they rest
not day and night, saying, "Holy! holy! holy!"
SERMON VIII. 345
Now it may be well to ask ourselves soberly
the question how much of our present hap-
piness consists in this which we find is to be the
happiness of heaven to all eternity ? Really,
does it suit our ideas of happiness ? Is it the
happiness that we have been enjoying for our
past life ? As God liveth ! have we been most
happy when he was nearest to us, or farthest
from us? Have we most enjoyed ourselves
when he was most in our thoughts, or least in
our thoughts ? Really, are our greatest plea-
sures those with which God has least to do ?
and does it appear strange to us that there
should be such a luxury in knowing God f Per-
haps there are some to whom it conveys a very
dead and very cheerless idea. To know God !
to be engaged in celebrating his praises to all
eternity ! How long could we endure such a
labour upon earth ? Alas ! alas ! how heavy and
monotonous would it appear ! and what a release
would it be to our spirits to launch again from
the austerity of his society into the gay varieties
of life ! Then what becomes of your hopes of
Heaven? Must it not miserably disappoint
you ? What would become of you, a forlorn
and bewildered stranger, among the saints that
346 SERMON VIII.
rest not day and night, saying, Holy ! holy ! holy |
What would you do? how would you dispose
of yourself after the first glow of adoration had
subsided, and the first swell of the anthem had
died away upon your ears ? Their joys would
be lost to you : for it is no stupid and sense-
less worship in which they are engaged ; no
idle clamour, or servile adulation. But they
" sing with the Spirit, and they sing with the
" understanding:" they know wherefore they
praise him ; it is because they are becoming
more and more acquainted with him who only is
inexhaustible. Every other subject of thought
would be drained by eternity : but him, bound-
less and unfathomable, they learn, and study,
and adore for ever and ever !
It is no heartless inquiry into abstract
science ; no cold and merely intellectual dis-
quisition ; but the pure and glorious delight
of a celestial spirit observing Infinite Wisdom
carrying into effect the designs of Infinite Be-
nevolence ; the thrill of admiration that arises
from being allowed to contemplate the source
from which love and goodness are for ever issu-
ing in all directions.
They see and pursue him in the works of
SERMON VIII. 347
nature, and are permitted to discover his glory
in the heavens, and his handy-work in the fir-
mament. They are finding out, by his permis-
sion, secret after secret in the vast scheme of
the universe ; and are taught how he guides
the sun in his course, and ordains her journey
for the moon ; for what purpose he made the
stars, and how he upholds them aloft, and
makes them his servants ; and thousands of
mysteries, of which we never dream, are they
discovering in his works ; and at every disco-
very they fall down and cry " Holy ! holy !
" holy !"
But more especially do they study him in
his work of Grace and Redemption ; (" for
" these are things which angels desire to look
" into;") they remember that he forsook his
throne and left his glory to look for a guilty
and outcast world, that had wilfully plunged
into darkness; they remember that he took upon
him our vile and loathsome nature, bearing our
sins and carrying our infirmities ; they re-
member that " he was despised and rejected of
" men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with
" grief; that he was wounded for our sins,
" and bruised for our iniquities," and tasted
348 SERMON VIII.
the bitterness of death for our sakes : they see
him afterwards ascending up on high, and
leading captivity captive, and bestowing gifts
on man ; and behold him seated at the right
hand of the Father, and making intercession
for the transgressors ; and all this for beings
who had deserted his pleasant pastures who
had flung away his rod and his staff, and leaned
upon broken reeds ; and (what is most astonish-
ing) had actually lost their taste and relish
for immortal things ; and yet talk of hoping
to go to heaven, without waiting to inquire
what heaven is, or what it means. This work
of mercy do the blessed inhabitants of heaven
study for ever and ever : for it is inexhaustible
as the works of creation itself. New beauties
and fresh glories are discovered at every view.
Effects, which perhaps never occurred to the
human imagination, may be developed from
time to time; and at every new discovery of
love the whole heavenly host brighten with
immortal gratitude, and lay down their golden
crowns before the throne, saying; " Holy!
" holy ! holy !"
But this devotion to the one great source of
happiness only serves to bind them to each
SERMON VIII. 349
other in ties that are delightful and everlasting :
stronger than all the confederacies of sin ;
stronger than the affections of parent and child,
brother and sister, husband and wife, are the
affections of these immortal spirits to each
other.
It is true they all turn their faces towards
the throne; but their love and their regards
all meet in him who sitteth upon it. Jealousy
and envy, malice and revenge, are far away,
chained down in the lake that burns for ever.
Truth, clear truth, that needs no concealment,
shews them each other's hearts ; and there they
find Eternal Love written in living characters
by the finger of God.
Delightful beyond all the pleasures of the
earth is the sweet counsel that these blessed
beings take with each other, and the converse
in which they indulge : it always binds them
closer than before ; for the subject is still the
one good God, the good and great Redeemer,
who brought them together and still holds
them in eternal union. Is this the heaven you
hoped for ? Do you find yourself capable of
that happiness in which it consists ?
SERMON IX.
LUKE, ix. 3.
And he said to them all: If any man will come after me,
let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and
follow me.
THESE are fearful words ! It is true, they
contain an invitation : it is true, they are writ-
ten by the mildest, the gentlest, and the most
gracious being that ever moved upon the earth ;
who loved us more than we have ever loved
each other, or ourselves ; and they invite us to
follow him, who leads the way to all that is
good, and pure, and holy, and delightful : but
they speak of self-denial, and suffering, and
mortification. There is not a single human
passion to which they condescend to appeal ;
not one of our vices, our frailties, or prejudices,
or our infirmities, not one even of the kind
and generous affections of our nature, which
they deign to conciliate or solicit for their
support ; for in the same breath it is declared
SERMON IX. 351
" Whosoever loveth father, or mother, or sister,
" or wife, or his own life, more than me or the
" gospel, is not worthy of me."
These are fearful words : they need only be
uttered in order to prove how we disobey
them. If, instead of reading them in this place
and on this day, when our minds have attained
something of a serious and a solemn cast from
the service in which we have just been engaged,
we were to meet them in the course of our
daily occupation ; if they were to cross us in
the midst of active life, while we were pursuing
some of the dearest objects of our desires,
they would sound something like the toll of a
death-bell in our ears, and lead us to ask our-
selves this simple question, Am I now follow-
ing my Redeemer, or am I following my own
imaginations ?
And yet there was a time when it was
obeyed by thousands and ten thousands : there
were men who rejoiced to bear their cross ; to
many he had only to say, " Come, follow me,"
and they followed him : many of them rejoiced
that they were counted worthy to suffer shame
for his name ; " they were troubled on every
" side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not
352 SERMON IX.
" in despair; persecuted, but not destroyed;
" always bearing about in the body the dying
" of the Lord Jesus " they " gloriied in the
" cross of Christ, by which the world was
" crucified to them and they to the world."
For three hundred years they sustained their
faith, and followed the steps of their Redeemer
through oppressions, torments, and persecu-
tions that exhausted the malice and ingenuity
of man ; in which the fury with which their
enemies pursued them, and the miseries to
which they were exposed for their faith, could
only be equalled by the devotion and fortitude
with which they were sustained. Patiently
and cheerfully did they bear their cross : it
was not long since their Redeemer himself had
suffered; his footsteps from Jerusalem to
Calvary were yet fresh upon the earth ; and it
was not forgotten how he said, " The servant
" is not greater than his Lord." Those were
days of affliction : but when milder times suc-
ceeded, and when the violence of persecution
had subsided, Christians began to forget that
they had still to bear their cross : they began
to fancy that there was a different gospel for
the persecuted follower of Christ, and him who
SERMON IX.
is left at ease in his possessions. We must
have persuaded ourselves that there is some-
thing very different between the gospel of
those days of glorious and devoted suffering
and the gospel of these later times, when
scarce one holy thought or one pure affection
of the heart rises to our Redeemer ; when the
weight of the cross is hardly felt, and scarcely
one guilty passion is overcome, one sinful de-
sire repressed for the sake of him who said,
" Whoever will come after me, let him deny
"himself, and take up his cross daily, and
" follow me."
And yet let us be assured that, however
times and seasons may change, the everlasting
gospel is still the same. God is always to be
worshipped in spirit ; for f( God is a spirit;
" and they that worship him must worship
" him in spirit and in truth." All the laws of
the gospel are therefore spiritual, and are con-
sequently unchangeable; for however customs,
and manners, and circumstances may alter,
however the way in which we are to carry our
obedience into effect may be influenced by
difference of situation, the fountain in the
heart, from which all our actioniare to proceed,
2 A
354 SERMON IX.
must be the same, the obedience of the soul
of man to his God must be the same. The
disposition of the Christian is the same through
all eternity: and the same spirit that led the
martyrs to the stake is to conduct us through
the struggles of sinful nature and the tempta-
tions of a guilty world.
Our Saviour foresaw that in prosperity we
should be tempted to forget this, and for that
very reason he seems to have added the word
" daily" in the passage before us, to remind
us that it is not so much by separate acts, and
mere outward sufferings, that he expected us
to bear our cross, as by the constant disposition
of our hearts and the common tenor of our
lives : and for the same reason he takes care
to explain the expression, " bearing the cross"
not so much by enduring persecution, or being
willing to give up our lives in his service, as by
denying ourselves daily.
Can we be at a loss to understand this?
We have only to compare ourselves with him
whom we are to follow, in order to perceive
how much we must deny ourselves, and that,
every hour of our lives, we have to cast down
imaginations and high things that exalt them-
SERMON IX. 355
selves against the knowledge of Christ: I do
not even say, look at your wilful and deliberate
sins: stop in the midst of any earthly pur-
suit in which you are engaged, look into
your heart, see what passions, what dis-
positions are there. Then look at the blessed
Jesus, look at his purity, look at his devo-
tion, whose meat and drink it was to do the
will of his Father which is in heaven, his
exalted love to God, his universal love for
every human being, for friend and for enemy,
a love which nailed him to the cross, from
which he dropped the prayer, " Father, forgive
" them, for they know not what they do ;" and
then shall we understand what it is to deny
ourselves daily, daily to bear our cross, though
we had never any other enemy to persecute us
but the sin within our own hearts. One mo-
ment's comparison between ourselves and him
whom we are here commanded to follow,
will shew us that we must crucify the guilty
nature within us, that we must bring every
guilty passion into subjection to a higher prin-
ciple, that we must teach our earthly affec-
tions, even the most innocent, to move like
2 A 2
356 SERMON IX.
slaves only at the permission of the spirit of
holiness residing within us.
Therefore let us beware of the fatal excuses
which we hear every day of our lives : " If we
" act up to the nature that God has given us,
" shall we not do well? God cannot have given
" us these passions without intending that they
" should be gratified. Why do you therefore
" tell us that they are to be daily mortified
" and overcome, and only indulged under the
" government of such a holy feeling, that, even
" then they are only half enjoyed ?" The plain
and decisive answer is this, it is not the nature
which God has given you. Alas ! supposing, for
an instant, that this corrupt and sinful nature
is that which God originally gave, what will
it teach us? Ask the labourer, who denies him-
self the repose which famished and exhausted
nature seems eagerly and almost irresistibly to
demand, and who struggles through the burn-
ing day of unremitting fatigue, why he defrauds
nature of every moment of rest and recreation
which he can wring from her ; and he will tell
you, that self-denial is the common lot of man;
that when the earth was given for sustenance
SERMON IX. 357
to man, God said, " In the sweat of thy face
" shalt thou eat bread all the days of thy life."
Now what human nature can do, shall it not
do for its God? If we find ourselves in the
company of another, even of our dearest and
most confidential friend, there is a degree of
self-denial and restraint under which we lay
our behaviour a restraint which we shew in
his presence: now the respect which we feel,
and the restraint to which we subject ourselves
in the presence of a human being, shall we not
shew in the presence of " the God who is of
" purer eyes than to behold iniquity," who
watches every thought of our souls, and who
counts the beatings of our hearts ?
At different periods of our lives we break
the kindest and dearest ties by which nature
can bind us to a fellow -creature : we leave
friends, and home, and all the associations of
infancy and youth, for the purpose of bettering
our fortunes ; and enter into new society as if
into a new world, and undergo as it were a
second birth into new scenes : sometimes tra-
verse the globe in search of gain, or in the hope
of a brief establishment in life before we die ;
and what we can do for these miserable objects,
358 SEKMON IX.
shall we not do for God and for salvation ?
Shall we be surprised when we hear him say,
" Whoso loveth father or mother, or sister or
" wife, yea, or his own life, more than me, is
" not worthy of me."
Our exertions for immortal happiness, and
the self-denial necessary to accomplish it, should
in fact be as much greater than that we now are
willing to exercise, as immortality exceeds the
objects which we now pursue. Alas ! we shall
have to deny ourselves daily as long as our
nature is such as it is. This is not the nature
which God gave us. The nature which God
gave us was holy, pure, and an image of him-
self ; the nature under which we now labour is
sensual, corrupt, and so far from meriting the
blessings of another world, that it has lost even
a relish for its enjoyments. Our affections are
all earthly : we have no love to spare to our
God ; for to love the God of holiness we must
become holy, as he is holy. It is therefore that
we are commanded to deny our nature daily. It
would sound strange if an angel were com-
manded to deny himself daily. Deny what?
His .pleasure consists in the everlasting con-
sciousness that he is in the presence of God,
SERMON IX. 359
at whose right hand there are pleasures for
" evermore." His pleasure consists in explor-
ing and admiring the perfections of God his
power, his wisdom, his unfathomable goodness ;
in holding humble communion with his Creator,
and paying him devoted and everlasting adora-
tion. Would it not sound strange if he was
commanded to deny himself these ? But look
to man ! Alas ! the difference between his
pleasures and those we have been describing
will make us feel in our hearts the necessity of
" denying ourselves," and will shew us the full
meaning of the precept. With which of all
among us exists that feeling of love to God, and
of delight in his presence, which is all in all
with the angel ? With which of us is it the
natural feeling of the heart ? And yet it should
be the predominant principle, or it is nothing.
It would seem absurd to state that God should
be any thing but the first and ruling object of
our affections, that he should be subordinate
to any other. Accordingly we find that the
most tremendous denunciations are registered
against those " who forget God :" and as that
love of God, that delight in his presence,
that worship of his perfections, which the angel
360 SERMON IX.
enjoys, is not the natural or governing feeling
and sentiment of our souls, how fatally would
this difference shew us (even if Scripture were
Silent upon the subject in every other passage
but that before us) the justice and necessity of
that precept, that " we must deny ourselves ;"
that we must contradict our nature, and make
it move in daily and perpetual subordination to
a grander principle 1 .
fiut, alas ! when we look behind, when we 1
look before, what consolation is there from the
past, what hope is there from the future ? From
the past it is that we have now ascertained our
dahger ; and a moment's communion with our
hearts will shew us how helpless of themselves,
how ineffectual and insufficient they are, with-
out some new vital energy to assist their weak
endeavours, to work out the great spiritual
change, without which heaven and its happi-
ness cannot be comprehended, much less at-
tained. But the Redeemer says, " Take up
" your cross and follow me." Here is indeed
consolation and pardon for the past \ hope and
immortality for the future. As the ruins of that
pure nature which God had endowed us with,
and the express declaration and entire tenor of
SERMON IX. 361
Scripture, prove that a great change has taken
place in the human race a moral corruption, that
has broken the image which God has made for
himself, and has given a shock to a part of his
creation which he once pronounced to be " very
" good ;" it appears absolutely necessary that
some great change, some moral convulsion,
some shock equal to the first, should take place
in order to restore the derangement that was
thus produced. God himself descended to
bring his own work back to its purity. By the
suffering on that cross he did what we could
never have done for ourselves : he made atone-
ment for our guilty desertion of God ; he be-
came a full, perfect^ and sufficient sacrifice for
the sins of our degenerate species ; and, through
that suffering and the merits of his blood, he
procured for us an assisting Spirit, that is to
keep pace with the weak exertions of our hearts,
and help to overcome within us the dominion
of sins, from the punishment of which we shall
thus be acquitted through his mediation.
Of this great salvation the leading condition
is, Faith in that Redeemer, a full reliance
upon him and his merits, which only can pro-
cure us pardon and immortality : and nothing
362 SERMON IX.
can teach us to understand the nature of that
faith, by which only we are saved, better than
the very passage before us : " Take up your
" cross and follow me." It makes Christ, and
Christ alone, the object that we are to keep
constantly, unremittingly in view, as all we
can depend upon for hope, and blessing, and
salvation ; but it shews that in order to this we
must follow him, we must tread in his steps,
we must imitate his example. In fact, faith
(that word upon which so many stumble) in-
cludes in its signification what we all perfectly
well understand by a word very like it, fidelity ;
the fidelity of a servant to his master, of a
disciple to his teacher. We look to him for
every thing ; for hope, for example, and for
strength. For hope to his atonement, through
which only we must look for every spiritual
blessing which our Heavenly Father bestows ;
for example to his life of purity, and holiness,
and charity ; for strength to his Holy Spirit,
without which our feeble struggles against the
guilty nature within us would be all useless
and unavailing.
Thus the text before us shews us, as it were,
in a beautiful picture, the connexion between
SERMON IX. 363
faith and its practical effects upon our lives
and our feelings. It represents us following
Christ humbly, yet indefatigably, under the
burden of the cross ; keeping him in view as the
only ground of our hope and our reliance ; and,
in order to keep in sight, we must toil on in our
journey, bearing the cross, treading the path he
has gone before us. The moment we cease to
tread in his footsteps, the moment we halt in
the way in which he has preceded, he has got
out of sight, and our faith and practice fail at
the same instant.
SERMON X.
MATTHEW, xi. 30.
My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
IT is almost always by comparison that we
judge of the ease or the hardship of our situa-
tiorh You will generally find, that any man
who complains of the severity of his lot, com-
pares it either with some happier state that he
had himself formerly enjoyed, or with the more
prosperous circumstances of those by whom he
is surrounded ; at least you would think him
entitled to very little pity, if he continued to
murmur arid repine when his situation was nei-
ther worse than what it was before, nor worse
than that of most of his neighbours*
If you should attempt to reconcile him to
his situation, what would be the most natural
method of proceeding ? By comparison : by
showing him how much worse it might have
been. Now this is the best way of estimating
the ease of the Christian yoke, and of weighing
SERMON X. 365
the burden that our Redeemer lays upon our
shoulders ; and thus shall we soon discover how
gracious are those commandments which we
think it hard to fulfil ; how indulgent are those
laws which we often neglect and despise : then,
when we have compared them with other yokes
and other burdens, shall we learn how easy is
that yoke to which we often refuse to submit ;
how light that burden which we often fling
with impatience to the ground.
Let us first look abroad for matter of com-
parison. The greater part of the world have
never yet been visited by the Gospel of Christ;
have never yet heard the message of love and
salvation. Now it may be curious to observe
what are the religious yokes and burdens which
these people have imposed upon themselves ;
that is, in other words, what are the religious
duties by which they hope to become objects
of the Divine favour, and partakers of the bless-
ings he bestows, to turn away his anger, to
purchase his favour, to escape his vengeance,
and conciliate his mercy. Perhaps it would
be impossible to invent a new kind of bodily
torture which many among these wretched
people have not willingly undergone for these
366 SERMON X.
objects. All those who are anxious to render
themselves acceptable in the sight of God
actually devote themselves to misery, and go
in search of some new kind of suffering, by
which they think they can become more worthy
of his approbation. It would be a kind of
punishment to us even to hear some of them
described. Death, in its ordinary shape, ap-
pears much too easy, and would be a relief to
their sufferings ; but they contrive to lengthen
out its agonies, so that many of them are dying
for half their lives in lingering torments, in
which they conceive the Supreme Being takes
peculiar delight. Sometimes these miserable
men offer their children, their relations, or their
friends, as a sacrifice to appease his fury ; and
at other times they fly from the company of
men, and all the comforts of society, to devote
themselves to the service of the Almighty in
caverns and wildernesses. Now observe, this
arises from no command of God, no revelation
from Heaven ; it is the sentence of man upon
himself the yoke and the burden that he has
laid upon his own shoulders.
Suppose God had said to us " Wear the
" yoke which you find your fellow-creatures
SERMON X. 367
" have voluntarily chosen. I will allow you to
" attain eternal life through these sufferings.
" Go, be your own torturer, bring your
" children to my altar, and honour me with
" their blood; and banish yourself from the
" company of your fellow-creatures for ever,
" and you shall be an inheritor of my kingdom ;"
which of us could complain ? Measure these
sufferings and miseries, great as they are, with
life everlasting with the glories of God's pre-
sence, and the unseen riches of a future world,
and you would say, Lord, here I give thee my
body, which thou requirest to be burnt
here it is, ready for the agony ; and here are
the children whose blood thou requirest of my
hands, and here am I, prepared to fly from the
fellowship of my brothers, and hide my head
in the woods and the wilds from the sight of
human kind, yet still I feel it is only through
the voluntary bounty of thy goodness and thy
mercy, that even all this can be made to avail,
and it will still be the effect of thy loving kind-
ness if even thus I become an inheritor of thy
kingdom.
Such then is the yoke and the burden of
368 SERMON X.
our neighbours, and such is what our yoke and
our burden might have been.
It is now time to look to what it is. Where
now are our stripes, our agonies, the writh-
ings of our body, and the woun dings of our
flesh? where is the lingering death which we
are to endure, and the visitation of the wrath
of God upon our souls ? " He was wounded
" for our transgressions : the chastisement of
" our peace was laid on him." There was a
beloved Son, whose blood was shed for our
sakes ; but the lamb was not taken from our
flock, nor the child from our bosom : there
was one who left his home on high for this
wilderness beneath, and has left us in our
cheerful homes, and our peaceful habitations :
his yoke was indeed severe, and his burden
was heavy, for it was our toil that he endured,
and our burden that he bore. " Surely, he
" hath borne our griefs, and carried our sor-
" rows !" and he has borne and carried them
away.
There is not a single pain of body or mind
that we are called upon to endure because it is
pain, or for the sake of the suffering itself.
SERMON X. 369
There is indeed self-denial and mortification.
But it seems to be a law that cannot be broken
that where there is sin there must be pain ;
as long as there is sin alive within, there will
still be the struggle and the battle. But, even
here, he is still with us ; for, " I am with you,
u even to the end of the world ;" and his holy
and powerful Spirit is ever ready to sustain us.
Now look at the imaginary god of the In-
dians, watching with a kind of savage delight
the agonies of his votaries ; and then look at
your Redeemer, bearing away all the sufferings
to which you were devoted, and assisting you
in the conflict that you have yet to undergo !
He was verily and indeed crucified for our
sakes, and his body nailed to the tree ; but
when he turns to us, he lays the cross gently
upon our shoulders, and when he commands us
to be crucified with him, he asks for no tor-
ments, no blood, but that we should " Render
" our bodies a living sacrifice, holy and accept-
" able, which is our reasonable service ;" that
we should offer them as temples for his Holy
Spirit, that we may glorify him in our body
and in our spirit. He left the bosom of his
Father to become your atonement ; but when
370 SERMON X.
he speaks to you, he tells you to live still in the
midst of your family, to tell them how good
the Lord is, to teach them his judgments and
his statutes, to shew them the path of life, and
to lead the way, to educate a family for heaven,
that your " Sons may be as the young plants
" about the house of your God, and your
" daughters as the polished corners of the
" temple." The earth was to him a desert
and a wilderness ; he was a stranger and a pil-
grim, " that had not where to lay his head :"
but when he speaks to you, so far from com-
manding you to desert your common brethren
and fellow-creatures, he has united you to them
by a bond as strong as that which holds the
world together ; for he has said, " As I have
" loved you, so love one another ; and, by this
" shall all men know that ye are my disciples."
To perpetuate this divine benevolence, he has
ordained that the day which he has chosen for
himself should be a day of common assembling
among those that love him, that they may shew
how they love one another. He has pronounced
a blessing upon Christian fellowship, " Where
" two or three are gathered together, I am in
4< the midst of them ;" and the sacrament
SERMON X. 371
that he left as a memorial of himself, he left, at
the same time, as a memorial of Christian bro-
therhood and affection.
Such is our yoke and our burden ! Let him,
who has thought it too hard and too heavy to
bear, be prepared to state it boldly when he
shall appear side by side with the poor and
mistaken Indian before the throne of God at
the day of judgment. The poor heathen may
come forward with his wounded limbs and
weltering body, saying, * I thought thee an
' austere master, delighting in the miseries of
' thy creatures, and I have accordingly brought
6 thee the torn remnants of a body which I
6 have tortured in thy service.' And the
Christian will come forward and say, *. I
' knew that thou didst die to save me from
' such sufferings and torments, and that thou
' only commandedst me to keep my body in
' temperance, soberness, and chastity, and I
* thought it too hard for me ; and I have ac-
' cordingly brought thee the refuse and sweep-
6 ings of a body that has been corrupted and
' brutalised in the service of profligacy and
' drunkenness, even the body which thou
* didst declare should be the temple of thy
' Holy Spirit/ The poor Indian will, per-
2 B 2
372 SERMON X.
haps, shew his hands, reeking with the blood of
his children, saying, ' I thought this was the
' sacrifice with which God was well pleased :'
and you, the Christian, will come forward with
blood upon thy hands also, ' I knew that thou
' gavest thy Son for my sacrifice, and com-
' mandedst me to lead my offspring in the way
* of everlasting life ;' but the command ' was
* too hard for me, to teach them thy statutes
' and to set them my humble example : I have
' let them go the broad way to destruction,
' and their blood is upon my hand and my
* heart and my head.' The Indian will come
forward, and say, * Behold, I am come from
* the wood, the desert, and the wilderness,
* where I fled from the cheerful society of my
' fellow-mortals because I thought it was
' pleasing in thy sight.' And the Christian
will come forward, and say, * Behold, I come
( from my comfortable home and the commu-
* nion of my brethren, which thou hast gra-
' ciously permitted me to enjoy ; but I thought
* it too hard to give them a share of those bless-
' ings which thou hast bestowed upon me ; I
6 thought it too hard to give them a portion of
' my time, my trouble, my fortune, or my in-
6 terest; I thought it too hard to keep my tongue
SERMON X. 373
( from cursing and reviling, my heart from ha-
' tred, and my hand from violence and revenge.'
What will be the answer of the Judge to the
poor Indian none can presume to say. That
he was sadly mistaken in the means of salva-
tion, and that what he had done could never
purchase him everlasting life, is beyond a
doubt; but yet, the Judge may say, " Come
" unto me, thou heavy-laden, and I will give
" thee the rest which thou couldst not pur-
" chase for thyself." But, to the Christian,
" Thou, who hadst my easy yoke, and my
" light burden ; thou, for whom all was already
" purchased." Thank God ! it is not yet
pronounced : begone ! and fly for thy life !
We have now compared the Christian yoke
with that of others, we have looked abroad
for comparison. We have next to look at
home, and compare it with those yokes which
the Christian yoke displaces, those yokes
which are flung off when this is assumed.
There is the yoke .of pride : and who has
not felt its weight ? There is scarcely a day of
our lives in which our pride is not hurt. Some-
times we meet with direct affront ; at other
times, we do not think we are treated with the
374 SERMON X.
respect we deserve ; at other times, we find
that people do not entertain the opinion of us
which we would wish them to hold ; but,
above all, how often do we find ourselves
lowered in our own opinion ; and then the
yoke of pride becomes more uneasy by our
endeavours to regain our own good opinion,
and to hide the real state of the case from our
conscience.
But the Christian's yoke is humility; its
very nature depends upon humility : for no one
has submitted to the service of Christ, or be-
come his disciple, until fully sensible of his own
unworthiness, and, consequently, of his want
of the merits of a Redeemer. Thus has the
Christian become acquainted with the plague
of his own heart, his sin has been often be-
fore him ; and, however deeply he may lament
its guilt, he has lost that blind and haughty
self-sufficiency that makes him uneasy at the
neglect of others, or afraid to stand the scru-
tiny of self-examination.
There is the yoke of debauchery and sensu-
ality : that galling yoke, which even those who
wear it cannot bear to think upon ; and, there-
fore, they still continue to plunge into drunken-
ness and profligacy lest they should have time
SERMON X. 375
to think on their lost and disgraceful situation.
Those miserable men, when the carousal and
the debauch are over, then begin to feel the
weight and the wretchedness of the yoke that
they are bearing. They then feel what it is
to load their bodies with pain and disease, and
their everlasting souls with every foul and sin-
ful thought ; to have brutalised their nature,
or to have sunk it, by intoxication, into a state
of which brutes seem incapable ; and they then
feel the weight of their yoke, when this in-
dulgence has put them into such a state of
madness and insensibility that they may com-
mit a crime which will be the yoke and the
burden of their consciences for the rest of their
lives. Is it necessary to compare the Christian
yoke with this ? We will not disgrace it by
naming it in the same breath.
Then there is the yoke of covetousness :
and who does not know all the cares, all the
watchings, all the restless days and sleepless
nights, and, after all, the endless disappoint-
ments that the most prosperous and successful
will have to encounter through life ? And then
the fearful anticipation of that day, when a
man shall find that all these things are as if
they had never been !
376 SERMON X.
The Christian, indeed, has his fears and his
tremblings, his watchings and his prayers;
and he has to bear his burden through the
strait gate along a narrow way. But richer
than all that misers ever dreamed of, or fancied,
is the treasure over which he watches ; and
its attainment is as much more certain, as
its value is more lasting and more glorious :
" Seek, and ye shall find," sounds sweetly in
his memory, and hope already represents the
heaven to which he is approaching ; and the
love of Christ, and the power of his Spirit, and
the conviction that the Lord is on his side, and
that " He is able to keep that which is com-
" mitted to him," will make his cares and his
watchings more delightful than the rich man's
repose.
O ye sinners ! who have set your hearts
upon the world and its vanities, and who say
that the Lord is a hard task-master ; and who
think that the spiritual delights of his service,
even upon this miserable earth, are all vain
imaginations, if you do not believe that the
Lord will fulfil his promise upon earth, do you
mean to say that you believe he will fulfil his
promises in heaven ? Do you pretend that you
SERMON X. 377
trust in Christ for acceptance in another world
when you doubt his good promise in this ? Do
you mean to say, that you believe that he is
able and willing to raise your vile body at the
last day, and that he is not able and willing to
support you under any spiritual sacrifice that
you may make for his sake that he is not able
to change and purify your old heart ? Do you
really believe the one without the other ?
But the grand difference between the Chris-
tian and the man of the world is, that the bur-
den of the one is gathering as he proceeds,
while that of the other is becoming lighter and
more easy : the man of carnal mind and worldly
affections clings more and more to his beloved
earth, and new cares thicken around his death-
bed ; his burden is collecting as he advances,
and when he comes to the edge of the grave it
bears him down to the bottom like a mill-stone.
But the Blessed Spirit, by gradually elevating
the Christian's tempers and desires, makes obe-
dience become more easy and delightful, until
he mounts into the presence of God, where he
finds it " a service of perfect freedom."
SERMON XL*
Preached at St. WerburgKs Church, for the Parochial
School of St. Audeon, %lth June, 1818.
ROMANS, v. (part of the 12th Verse.)
By one man sin entered into the world.
IT is a gloomy thought, that we were once
better than we are : many a generous spirit has
had life embittered by such a recollection ; and
a similar feeling is naturally excited when we
consider that we are degraded beings in the
scale of creation, and that we have lost the
attitude which we were intended to maintain
among the works of God.
It is indeed easily said, with a sigh, that
we are fallen beings, and it is easily forgotten
* This was one of the author's earliest sermons : it has been
transcribed for the press from several detached fragments of
paper, and it is supposed that parts of it have been lost, which
accounts for some apparent incoherency in the plan. How-
ever, imperfect as it is, it may not appear unworthy of a place
in this Collection, as a specimen of the author's first addresses
from the pulpit. EDITOR.
SERMON XI. 379
again. But when this humiliating truth has
once taken possession of the mind ; when it
ceases to be a mere verbal admission, and be-
comes a living and habitual principle, it is sur-
prising what a powerful ascendancy, and what
a purifying influence it exercises over the heart
and the faculties ; how it quenches the fiery
and restless spirit within us ; how it subdues
much of what is bold and daring in the dispo-
sition ; how it hangs like a dead weight upon
many a haughty and aspiring thought; how
it crushes many a proud and ambitious pur-
pose in the dust! and it is well that it should
be so. It is no great proof of courage to carry
a higher spirit in the sight of God while we
are moving through life, than we expect to
sustain when we are stretched faint and pow-
erless upon our death-beds ; or to tread with a
firmer step and a loftier port upon the face of
the earth, than when we are advancing to the
throne of God at the day of judgment.
But if a sense of our degeneracy represses
all the proud and rebellious principles of our
nature, it is calculated to draw forth in a pecu-
liar manner all that is humble, and kind, and
amiable, and affectionate ; it teaches us to
look upon others with a pity inspired by our
380 SERMON XI.
own experience ; it calls upon us loudly to
make common cause against the misfortunes of
our common situation ; for it is a grand prin-
ciple insinuated into our nature by the Deity,
that we are more intimately linked together by
a sense of common danger than by a state of
common security. Humility is the true source
of Christian benevolence ; humility, that reads
its own lot in that of a fellow-creature, that
reminds us " that all have sinned," and that
therefore we are all strangers and pilgrims on
the earth. It does not, like the benevolence of
the world, seat you upon an eminence, from
which, like some superior being, you may fling
a scanty and occasional pittance to the wretches
whom you see struggling beneath ; but it places
you with them, side by side, toiling onward the
same way, only better furnished for the jour-
ney, and called on by the voice of God and all
the charities of the human heart to reach forth
your hand to your weaker and more helpless
fellow-travellers.
The fall of man, and the consequent deterio-
ration of our nature, has been ridiculed by many
of the enemies of Christianity as fabulous and
unphilosophical ; but it should be recollected,
that we cannot indulge a single hope of ever
SERMON XI.
rising to a higher state of being, without ad-
mitting an equal probability, in the nature of
things, that we have fallen from it : we must
give up our hopes of a more spiritualised and
glorious existence, and condemn the human
race to utter annihilation, upon the same prin-
ciple on which we deny the possibility of our
corruption and degeneracy : and if we atten-
tively observe the features of the nature to
which we belong, we shall perceive a struggle
between different principles, and a discordance
of feeling in the same person at different pe-
riods, that we often unconsciously regard as the
conflict of two contending natures.
We have, indeed, but a slight account of
the state from which we fell : perhaps it would
have been useless to have described it more
circumstantially we might not be capable of
understanding it. The prophet seems to have
exhausted description when he tells us, that
we were " made in the image of God ; so that,
if we wish to ascertain what we were, it would
seem we must look to the Deity himself. This
would be a bold task, even though we under-
took it for the purpose of humbling ourselves
to the dust. But there is one circumstance re-
382 SKRMON XI.
lated which helps us to understand in what
consists our humiliation : when Adam had
sinned, he shrunk from the voice of God. The
presence of that gracious Being, who was iden-
tified with every blessing that he enjoyed, was
before gratefully and gladly encountered : the
thought of God was above him, and enveloped
him, and he could throw his heart open, fear-
lessly, before him, and shew him his own
image. But now, how many of the thoughts
of our heart would be put to flight by one
glance of God into our souls ! how many of our
pleasures would vanish before the idea of his
presence ! We know too well what an enemy
to many of our favourable pursuits is the God
" who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity ;"
and when we hear his voice, we attempt to
shut ourselves from his view by excluding him
from our thoughts, as if, under the shelter of
such a subterfuge as this, we could elude either
his scrutiny or his vengeance ; and if nothing
occurred to seize our attention by surprise, o ;
force our minds upon the consideration, per-
haps the first thing that would awaken us to a
just sense of our situation would be the sound
of the last trumpet !
SERMON XI. 383
But sometimes we have strange misgivings.
In the depth of the night, when we are left to
darkness, to silence, and ourselves, the utter
stillness, and the blank void that surround us
sometimes bring a powerful sense of God's
presence along with them, and the more we
attempt to escape it, the more palpably it seems
to gather around us in the obscurity. Some
way or other, man can never be totally alone ;
the very absence of every other being, and of
every other object of sense or thought, appears
almost necessarily and irresistibly to suggest
the presence of God. Then, when we seem to
feel ourselves, as it were, under the immediate
pressure of the Almighty, the thought will oc-
cur, ' Was he not equally present this day and
' every moment of my life ? and yet how little
' have I been influenced in my heart, conver-
* sation, and conduct, by the sense that his eye
' was everlastingly open upon me, as it is at
' this instant !'
In the fire and vigour of active life, man
devotes all his energies, faculties, and exertions
to the attainment of some favourite object, and
pursues it, as if it were immortality itself, with
a fond and desperate idolatry. The fatal remark,
384 SERMON XI.
that all he seeks is " vanity," intrudes into his
conversation, or suggests itself in his schemes.
He gives it the usual tribute that is paid to
most moral truths a sign of acknowledgment,
then hurries on, snatching his joys, and strug-
gling through his difficulties, until a blow is
struck ! His hope, upon which he built his
happiness, is shivered; he stands aghast, like
one startled from a dream, and the common and
monotonous truth, that all he seeks is " vanity,"
comes upon him, like something strange and
oracular, with a painful and bewildering no-
velty, arising from the consciousness that it
had long been sounding in his mind and
echoing in his fancy, but had never before
reverberated to his heart. Then, at length,
when he has no other object to which he can
turn either for pursuit or relief, for activity or
repose, he thinks of turning himself to his God ;
and the thought will occur, * If I had served
' my God as I have pursued this earthly object,
' he would not have deserted me :' the thought
will occur, ' If God had offered me immortal
' happiness, such as eye hath not seen, nor ear
' heard, neither hath it entered into the heart
' of man to conceive, merely if it were then the
SERMON XI. 385
6 first object of my desires, to me it had been
' lost ! My affections never ascended into hea-
6 ven, they went wandering to and fro upon
* the earth, seeking rest and finding none.'
We then learn the nature of sin, we learn that
we have forsaken God, and that we have not
only lost immortality, but even a relish for its
enjoyments.
The very pleasures we are capable of enjoy-
ing exhibit something ruinous in their nature.
In the course of our lives we find that evil is not
only perpetually interchanging with good, but
that it is actually necessary to its very exist-
ence. If we attentively observe our pleasures,
we shall find that many of them partake of its
nature ; and if it is often an interruption to our
enjoyments, it is still oftener, perhaps always,
either their chief cause, or one of their necessary
ingredients. Our passion for variety is an evi-
dent proof of this : we are so far from having a
lively idea of smooth and uninterrupted happi-
ness, that the most luxuriant description soon
becomes languid and uninteresting : while the
mournful, the terrible, the abrupt, possess a
strange and mysterious attraction, which seldom
loses its influence over our minds. Our greatest
386 SERMON XI.
pleasures are often only escapes from pain ;
often grow in proportion to it, are often height-
ened by contrast ; and many can reflect with
pleasure upon the bitterest grief, in recollecting
the sweetness of the consolation by which it
was followed. Such is the incomprehensible
nature to which we belong ! We are perpetu-
ally flying from evil, and meeting it at every
turn in the shape of good ; pursuing good, and
finding it evil in disguise ; talking of happi-
ness, without well knowing what it means.
In such a state as this, when we knew not
whither we were tending, and while no light
was thrown across the grave into another world,
it is natural to suppose that we felt compara-
tively little in each other's fate. Yet even in a
more hopeless state than this, does our great
poet represent the fallen angels consoling each
other in their melancholy destiny, for whom no
gospel ever sounded, and no Saviour ever bled,
to cheer them into exertion, and to consecrate
their communion. But to us has he come :
and if he had never said, " As I have loved you,
" so love one another ;" if he had never said,
" What you give unto these little ones is given
" unto me ;" would not the sense of your com-
SERMON XI. 387
mon fall animate you to assist them to a com-
mon renovation ?
And let it not be forgotten, that the charity
of a Christian and of a man of the world are far
asunder. The charity of the man of the world
is bestowed as the gift of some superior being
to a creature of a lower order ; the charity of
the Christian is the self-devotion of Paul for
his brethren of the same great family.
# # * *
Perhaps we were destined to have risen into
the rank of angels ; perhaps we were destined
to have become ministering spirits to such
being as ourselves.
And if there were then any guilty world which
had rebelled against its Creator, and which he
had flung from him, in his wrath, among the
refuse of creation ; and if it contained sin, and
misery, and death, robberies, murders, adulte-
ries ; if its inhabitants had forgotten their God,
as if he had never existed, and ri vetted their af-
fections upon the few perishable blessings that
were not yet taken away ; if, at the same time,
there still remained some fragments of a grander
nature, some scanty gleams of a brighter in-
tellect, some faint and transitory glo wings of
2 c 2
388 SERMON XI.
purer and holier affections, some few traits of
resemblance to that happy nature which we
enjoyed ; it might have been one of our permit-
ted occupations to visit, at certain intervals, this
ruined people. Then might we have enjoyed
that light and easy charity which we must not
now dare to arrogate to ourselves, the con-
descending benevolence of superior beings to
their fallen and degraded inferiors. If, while we
were wandering through the universe and ex-
ploring the infinity of God, the sound of sor-
row and despair were to reach us from some dis-
tant and passing world, we might turn aside, for
a moment, out of our course, and drop the con-
solation, without looking into the misery that
we relieved. We might make our visits as we
pleased, and ease a grief or share a joy, as either
wa^s presented to our view ; and if their Creator
again looked graciously upon that abandoned
race, and sent a Saviour to bring them back
within reach of his goodness, we might come
down softly upon the shepherds of that people,
as they were keeping watch over their flocks by
night, with good tidings of great joy, or bear
the spirits of the redeemed from a world of
restlessness into their everlasting repose. But
SERMON XI. 389
this is not the charity for such beings as we
are, either to receive or give. Our salvation
was not effected by such happy beings as these :
it was by one who was " a man of sorrow,
" and acquainted with grief."
It is a cruel mockery of our nature to repre-
sent Christian charity with all the decorations
of a heathen goddess, and arrayed in the fond
and romantic ornaments that charm and invite
the imagination. Alas ! Christian charity has
no wings to bear her through a purer and loftier
atmosphere, while she showers down blessings
upon the multitude beneath : she does not drop
the sheaf into the poor man's bosom, or the
garland upon his cottage, while she passes in
her car of triumph over his head. But some-
times she is found in the most loathsome of hu-
man habitations, and in contact with wretches,
from whose guilt or whose misery the moral
sense recoils, and at which the refinement of
education shudders in disgust : sometimes her
figure is scarcely discernible while she struggles
her lonely and weary way through the crowd
of poverty, impurity, and sin : she may be seen
turning into the dark and comfortless hovel, and
speaking the blessed gospel of God, over the
390 SERMON XI.
dying embers of a winter's fire, to the shivering,
perhaps hardened beings that surround it : at
other times, she stands over the damp and squalid
bed, where the frame is racked with suffering
and disease, where perhaps conscience is doing
her angry work, or is lying, still more fearfully,
asleep. It is folly to attempt to reconcile this
to the Christian's mind by painting her with
the graces and the virtues in her train. Alas !
even the blessed beings that are then perhaps
actually around him, the constituted autho-
rities of heaven, that minister to a Christian's
imagination, and upon which his fancy is per-
mitted to repose, even these often appear to
forsake him ; the guardian -angel seems to stand
far aloof above the cabin that is the scene of
pollution and depravity ; the waving of golden
pinions is but dimly seen through the soiled and
shattered lattice ; the song of cherubim and
seraphim is only heard faintly, aloft and at a
distance, through broken intervals, between the
shrieks of bodily pains, or the groans of mental
agony ! But the Christian recollects that there
was one gracious Being who went before him,
and who left an invigorating spirit behind him,
SERMON XI. 391
whose office was to support those whom all the
world had forsaken.
# # # *
Suppose it were suddenly revealed to any
one among you, that he, and he alone of all
that walk upon the face of this earth, was des-
tined to receive the benefit of his Redeemer's
atonement, and that all the rest of mankind was
lost and lost to all eternity ; it is hard to say
what would be the first sensation excited in
that man's mind by the intelligence. It is in-
deed probable it would be joy to think that
all his fears respecting his eternal destiny were
now no more ; that all the forebodings of the
mind and misgivings of the heart all the
solemn stir which we feel rising within us
whenever we look forward to a dark futurity,
to feel that all these had now subsided for ever,
to know that he shall stand in the everlast-
ing sunshine of the love of God ! It is perhaps
impossible that all this should not call forth an
immediate feeling of delight : but if you wish
the sensation to continue, you must go to the
wilderness ; you must beware how you come
within sight of a human being, or within sound
SERMON XI.
of a human voice ; you must recollect that
you are now alone upon the earth ; or, if you
want society, you had better look for it
among the^beasts of the field than among the
ruined species to which you belong ; unless
indeed the Almighty, in pity to your desolation,
should send his angels before the appointed
time, that you might learn to forget in their
society the outcast objects of your former
sympathies. But to go abroad into human
society, to walk amongst beings who are now
no longer your fellow-creatures, to feel the
charity of your common nature rising in your
heart, and to have to crush it within you like a
sin, to reach forth your hand to perform one
of the common kindnesses of humanity, and to
find it withered by the recollection, that how-
ever you may mitigate a present pang, the
everlasting pang is irreversible; to turn away
in despair from these children whom you have
now come to bless and to save (we hope and
trust both here and for ever)! perhaps it would
be too much for you ; at all events, it would be
hard to state a degree of exertion within the
utmost range of human energy, or a degree of
pain within the farthest limit of human endur-
SERMON XL 393
ance, to which you would not submit, that
you might have one companion on your lonely
way from this world to the mansions of hap-
piness. But suppose, at that mon$nt, that the
angel who brought the first intelligence returns
to teU you that there are beings upon this
earth who may yet be saved, that he was
before mistaken, no matter how, perhaps he
was your guardian angel, and darted from the
throne of grace with the intelligence of your
salvation without waiting to hear the fate of
the rest of mankind, no matter how, but he
comes to tell you that there are beings upon
the earth who are within the reach of your
Redeemer's love, and of your own, that some
of them are now before you, and their ever-
lasting destiny is placed in your hands ; then,
what would first occur to your mind ? priva-
tions, dangers, difficulties ? No : but you
would say, Lord, what shall I do ? shall I tra-
verse earth and sea, through misery and tor-
ment, that of those whom thou hast given me
I may not lose one ?
# # # #
We are not indeed called to perform duties
to such an awful extent, but we are called
394 SERMON XI.
upon to perform several duties of the same
description. It may be yours to move amongst
your fellow-citizens, diffusing a Christian's cha-
rity and a Christian's example through many a
circle of society ; to heal many a broken heart ;
to cheer many a wounded spirit ; at least you
will not forsake these children : that indeed
should be your light and delightful duty. On
the mature and the aged, many a gift falls
dead and unvalued many a seed is sown that
never springs into harvest. But here, where
youth is flexible and genial (and the decency
in which they now stand before you proves
how the seed is cultivated), every grain that
you sow may bring forth an hundred-fold,
bearing fruit to everlasting life.
SERMON XII.
1 CORINTHIANS, xiii. 12 and 13.
Noiv we see through a glass darkly ; but then, face to
face: now I know in party but then shall I know,
even as also I am known. And now abideth Faith,
Hope, Charity, thtse three; but the greatest of
these is Charity.
IT must sometimes appear very extraordi-
nary, that God has not thought fit to give us
more information respecting the pains and
pleasures of the world to which we are fast
approaching. We know, indeed, that there
are the torments of hell and the delights of
heaven ; that there are sufferings, compared
with which, all the misery that we can undergo
upon the earth would appear rest and tran-
quillity ; and that there is a fulness of joy
that would make all earthly happiness seem
" vanity and vexation of spirit."
This " we see in a glass darkly :" but
when we attempt to explore those glorious
396 SERMON XII.
mansions of unextinguishable happiness, or
those awful regions of hopeless misery, or to
discover of what particular kind are those suf-
ferings and those enjoyments, our search is
stopped. We find that, in a great measure,
" clouds and darkness rest upon them," and
that we shall not well comprehend their na-
ture, until the day when we shall be wrapped
in the flames that shall never be quenched, or
mantled in the glories that shall shine as the
firmament, for ever and ever.
It is very natural that our curiosity should
feel mortified at the disappointment ; but, be-
sides, we cannot help conceiving that if we
were better acquainted with these punishments
and these enjoyments, we should be more
powerfully restrained from sin and more vigor-
ously excited to obedience. We cannot help
thinking, that if the miserable man who is
storing up " wrath for himself against the
" day of vengeance," in drunkenness and de-
bauchery, in an unholy conversation, in an
old heart, unchanged and un sanctified, only
knew what were the particular agonies that
awaited him in the world to come, he could not
proceed in his course of misery and perdition ;
SERMON XII. 397
and if the Bible contained a history of the
dismal abode to which he is approaching, with
a minute and circumstantial account of all its
chambers of horrors, and this wretched man
were to study beforehand the sufferings into
which he was plunged, it seems to our frail
conceptions impossible, that he would not cast
himself upon his knees, and smite upon his
breast, saying, " God be merciful to me a sin-
" ner !" And, on the other hand, we cannot
help fancying that if the glories of everlasting
felicity were more distinctly revealed to the
humble and contrite, who are bearing their
cross and following their Redeemer, they
would encounter temptation with greater vi-
gour and resolution, when the crown that was
purchased for them was hanging distinctly in
view, and they had a clearer and more lively
representation of the immortality to which they
were advancing.
But the fact seems to be, that in our pre-
sent state we are not capable of more than is
already revealed. The great probability is, that
these pains and these pleasures can never be
understood except by actual experience,
except by being actually suffered, or actually
398 SERMON XII.
enjoyed. This seems to be intimated by the
apostle in the verse immediately preceding
those before us : " When I was a child I spake
"as a child, I thought as a child ; but when I
" became a man, I put away childish things."
He describes our state in this life as one of
infancy or childhood, in which our language,
and our notions of things, must be suited to our
childish capacities. Now we know, or we
ought to know, what a privilege it is to receive
an education that cultivates and informs our
minds, that enables us to read the word of
God, and to understand as much of his will as
has been revealed. In fact, what would we
take in exchange? And yet we know how
fruitless it would be, when we were first com-
mencing to instruct a child in spelling, if we
should endeavour to excite it to diligence, by
descanting on the miseries of ignorance, or en-
larging on the advantages of education, and all
the pleasures that it afforded, or by attempt-
ing to disclose the treasures that the word of
God contains. We should see clearly that such
things were beyond its capacity ; and that,
before it could comprehend all these pleasures
SERMON XII. 399
and advantages, it must understand them nearly
as well as we ourselves.
So it is with us, in some degree, in this
mortal state. We are mere children, and in-
capable of adequately comprehending the things
that belong to a more advanced condition of
existence. But all of which we are capable
our blessed Father has given. Let us return
to the example with which the apostle has sup-
plied us.
When you found yourself unable to make
your child comprehend, before it could read,
the advantages and peculiar blessings of a good
and religious education, by what means would
you induce it to submit to your commands ?
You would first endeavour to supply it with an
implicit confidence both in your wisdom and
your good- will : you would endeavour to make
it feel, that though it could not perceive the
use of what you were teaching, you were cer-
tainly working for its good : you would shew
it by your kindness and your love, by all the
sacrifices you were willing to make for its com-
fort and welfare, that you could have nothing
but its happiness in view ; and thus its confi-
400 SERMON XII.
dence in your wisdom, your good-will, and
affection, would stand instead of an actual
knowledge of the advantages to be derived from
the instructions you were conveying, advan-
tages which, we have already seen, it could
not yet comprehend.
And thus does our Father deal with us.
We are poor, ignorant, and helpless children,
who do not understand either all the miseries
of sin, or all the glories of a noble and more
exalted state. Such knowledge is too wonder-
ful for us ; we cannot attain unto it. But the
gracious Lord, in place of this knowledge, has
given us Faith, a ground of trust and con-
fidence in him, that may induce us to learn his
law, and to submit ourselves, our souls and
bodies, to his good government. What proofs
has he not given us of his wisdom, his good-
will, and his affection ? We need mention but
one. We need not even speak of all the noble
faculties with which he has endowed us, all
the gifts that he has showered upon our un
worthy heads health, strength, home, and
friends, comforts and blessings that cannot be
counted, We need mention but one, " He
*' that spared not his own Son, but gave him
SERMON XII. 401
" for us, how shall he not, with him, freely
" give us all things ?" This is the great ground
of a Christian's faith, that for us blind,
childish, corrupt, and guilty sinners (so far
from deserving incapable even of understand-
ing the enjoyments of a future and holy state)
he gave his own Son! What earthly parent
is entitled to this confidence? O if we had
waited for such a proof of the kindness of an
earthly father before we had submitted our-
selves to his guidance, we should have been
now naked, dark, and wandering savages.
One would have thought that we might have
given our gracious Father credit for his good
intentions; but, though we knew God, we glo-
rified him not as God. It was not enough ;
for though the " ox knoweth his owner, and
" the ass his master's crib," we went after our
own lusts and imaginations, we would not
believe what we did not understand, the mise-
ries of the guilty, and the joys of the righteous.
We would not believe them, so as to purify our
hearts and change our lives and conversations.
Yet he would win our confidence, he would
engage our affections, he would make us
regard him as a Father, and obey him as a
2 D
40 SERMON XII.
Father, and " he spared not his own Son."
And thus as the earthly father, instead of
vainly attempting to describe, to his child all
the blessings and pleasures of good habits and
a religious education, would inspire him with a
trust in his good intentions, so God, when
nothing else could save us, delivered up his own
Son; and thus convinces us what good things
he has in store for them that love him, that
we might be willing to forsake our own ways
the ways of ruin and misery, and submit to
be taught, to be educated, to be directed by
him ; and therefore does he declare, " Except
" ye be converted, and become as little children,
" ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven."
Thus faith abideth instead of knowledge,
and is to produce the same effect. It is instead
of the knowledge of the miseries of hell and the
glories of heaven : for what must we believe
them to be, if it cost the blood of the Son of
God to deliver us from the one, and to purchase
for us the other ?
But this is not all. When your child had
been led to repose his confidence in your good
intentions, and had accordingly submitted his
will to yours, and consented to be taught, con-
SERMON XII. 403
trolled, and directed by your instructions and
commands, as he advanced and improved you
would attempt to give him some distant idea of
the good and glorious effects of the discipline
to which he was submitting : as his mind
became more enlarged, you would find him
better able to comprehend the happy conse-
quences. You would soon release him from
the bare necessity of taking your word that you
were working for his good. He would soon
learn to guess, from the progress he had al-
ready made, the noble advantages that were to
follow : he would see them, but still, through
a glass, darkly : and thus hope would be added
to faith.
Thus does our Father educate those who
have first submitted themselves, soul and body,
to his government, with implicit and unbound-
ed faith that he will work all for their good.
To those who thus with humble faith renounce
their own ways, and say, " Not my will, but
" thine be done," he soon causes a light to
spring; he gives them a hope, a hope of the
particular kind of good things which he has in
reserve for them. Thus saith St. John : " Be-
" loved, now are we the sons of God ; and it
2 D 2
404 SERMON XII.
" doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we
" know, that when he shall appear we shall
" be like him, for we shall see him as he is."
Here is the hope of the Christian, that he shall
be made like the Saviour; that he shall see him
and shall always enjoy his presence: and St. Paul
tells us, that " we are come to the heavenly
" Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of
" angels, to the general assembly and church
" of the first-born whose names are written in
" heaven, and to the spirits of just men made
" perfect." This is the Christian's hope that
he shall be like the Saviour, that he shall
enjoy the everlasting presence of God, and the
society of angels, and of just men made perfect.
He has his eye raised above the earth, and
fixed upon objects far above mortal vision, but
not out of the sight that God has quickened
and enlightened : and, in comparison with the
glories that shall be revealed, earthly pleasures
dwindle and melt down into nothing.
Thus abideth hope instead of knowledge.
Like the patriarch in days of old, who said,
" I beseech thee, shew me thy glory;" who
was told, " thou canst not see my face, and
" live: but thou shalt stand upon a rock (and
SERMON XII. 405
" that rock was Christ), and it shall come to
" pass, when my glory passeth by, that I will
" put thee in a cleft of the rock, and I will
" cover thee with mine hand while I pass by,
" and will take away mine hand, and thou
" shalt see my skirts, but my face shall not be
" seen :" thus are we in a cleft of a rock, and
his hand covers us, and we see the dim light of
his skirts as he passes by ; but our flesh rests
in hope that we shall one day see his face.
But this is not all. When your child has
made some considerable progress, and, resting
on faith and animated by hope, has acquired
larger faculties and greater knowledge, and has
actually employed that knowledge in an active
life, and used it for its proper purposes, then
you can say to him, ' Now you need not merely
* rely upon my word;' now you need not even
feed upon hope; but now feel and know of
your own experience the beauty and delight of
the discipline to which you have submitted.
An'd thus does our Father deal with us in a
future world. Faith and hope will be no more :
they will both have done their duty, and we
shall bid them farewell for ever i we shall then
see the things that we believed, and enjoy the
406 SERMON XII.
things that are hoped. But charity or love never
faileth, for love will live and increase to all
eternity. In love, we have actual and present
experience of the future joys of the presence of
God. Now we believe, not because of thy
saying, -but we have known and tasted it our-
selves. We are expressly told that God is
love: he is not only boundless in love, but it
seems to be almost his very essence. It does
not say, love to this one, or to that one, but
love.
It is love that delights in God, in com-
munion with him, in meditation upon his at-
tributes and his dispensations, in the imitation
of his perfections ; " that suffereth long and is
" kind ; that envieth not, vaunteth not itself,
" and is not puffed up, doth not behave itself
" unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily
" provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in
" iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth'" Thus,
through love, shall we indeed bear the living
stamp of Almighty God upon our hearts ; and
heaven will be already begun in our souls.
Thus shall we learn something of the glories
that are to come, something that shall be at
once both a pledge and foretaste. And thus
SERMON XII. 407
also shall the wicked, and the worldly, and the
carnal man, obtain a foretaste of the horror of
hell, and of the cup that he is to drain. If,
instead of a faith, that throws him upon the
Lord Jesus Christ, he has a trust in himself,
and in his worldly possessions, for happiness ;
if, instead of a hope that raises his eye to
heaven, his thoughts go downward to the dust
upon which he treads, and his heart is the
abode of carnal, and worldly, and malignant
passions and desires, this man can form some
conception of the fearful region of misery. He
can conceive the opposite of that love which
constitutes the happiness of the blessed spirits
above : he can conceive a scene of everlasting
selfishness and suspicion ; of multitudes of evil
beings, without one link of affection to unite
them ; but the everlasting scowl of hatred is
upon their brows, and the curse upon their
lips. This may be a faint anticipation of those
terrible scenes.
We are here, then, in a state of education
for heaven ; and we may now form some con-
ception of the desperate infatuation of those
men who leave this mighty work for the list-
lessness of old age, or the agonies of a dying
408 SERMON XII.
bed ! It should be nothing less than the busi-
ness of an education, an education that begins
with a faith, that can only rise from a deep
sense of our own un worthiness and danger, and
that our sins need the blood of the Son of
God ; that proceeds to a hope, which raises
the eye and the heart from earth to heaven,
and changes all our views ; and then proceeds
to charity, which stamps upon us the image of
the pure and holy God.
SERMON XIII.
ECCLESIASTES, viil. 11.
Because sentence against an evil work is not executed
speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully
set in them to do evil.
IF we had seen one of our neighbours struck
dead by a flash of lightning, just after he had
been committing one of our favourite sins, it is
to be supposed it would make a serious impres-
sion upon our minds. If we afterwards beheld
two or three more of our acquaintances blotted
out of life in the same way, and for the same
reason, we should probably begin to bring the
case a little more home to ourselves. If there
were afterwards another, and another, and
another ; and we were in the habit of seeing
God's wrath executed every day, the moment
it was provoked, it is surprising what a change
we should presently observe among all the
careless and bold-faced sinners of society :
drunkards shrinking from the flowing bowl, as
410 SERMON XIII.
if it were filled with poison ; fornicators and
adulterers rushing from the threshold of the
house of sin and debauchery, as they would
from the flames of hell ; liars, swearers, and
blasphemers setting their finger upon their lips,
lest they should perish before the evil word
was fully pronounced ; thieves, misers, and ex-
tortioners, flinging away their darling profits,
lest they should be struck dead as they touched
them.
Then too, when men should see sentence
executed speedily against evil works, they
could not think of the sin without thinking of
the punishment along with it. How cautious
should we find them of venturing too near sin,
even in their tempers and conversation : we
should see a man turn pale whenever an evil
thought or an evil wish came into his mind, for
how could he tell but that the thunderbolt
would fall at that moment, if he ventured to
indulge it ? Then should we see men watching
and praying, that they might not fall into temp-
tation, who never knew what it was to pray
before ; and, it is probable, that those who were
witnessing the wrath of God coming down every
day upon the heads of sinners, in fire and brim-
SERMON XIII. 411
stone, would be so sensible of their danger and
their weakness, that they would renounce all
trust in their own powers and their own right-
eousness, and seek for his glorious strength,
who is able to shelter us from the storm and the
tempest, and to give us the victory over sin,
through our Lord Jesus Christ, and to make us
" more than conquerors, through him who
" loved us, and gave himself for us."
It seems to be very plain, that something
like this would be the case if God were to in-
terfere every day to execute sentence upon evil
works. Now mark the difference: only observe
with what perfect ease men can bring them-
selves to indulge in sin, as a matter of common
and ordinary occurrence, as naturally as they
partake of their sleep or their meals : and they
go into the way of temptation, and approach
the brink and the borders of sin, and say, there
is no danger !
Now what can be the reason of this astonish-
ing difference ? For every man seems to think
that he would refrain from sin if he knew that at
that instant he should stand the consequences.
What can be the reason of this difference ? Is
it that men have calmly made up their minds,
412 JSEllMON XIII.
after enjoying the pleasures of sin for a season,
to resign themselves quietly and contentedly to
the " Worm that never dieth, and the flame
" that is never quenched?" This can hardly
be the reason : it must be something else and
what is it ? The Psalmist has. informed us in
few words : " The wicked hath said in his
" heart, Thou wilt not require it." He does
not believe that God will fulfil what he has
declared ; he does not say so with his outward
lips, but he says it in his heart. With his out-
ward lips he says, It is all very true, the
sentence is gone forth : he is a God that will
by no means clear the guilty : the soul that
sinneth, it shall die : " and cursed is every one
" that continueth not in the law." It is also true,
that " God is not a man, that he should lie, nor
" the son of man, that he should repent : hath
" he said, and shall he not do it ?" It would be
rather a bold thing for a man to say, in the face
of all this, that God would not require it. One
would think we might take God's word for more
than this ; and yet so it is, that a man, because
he does not see sentence executed against an
evil work, either in the case of others or in his
own, because he does not hear and see God's
SERMON XIII. 413
justice every day in thunder and lightning,
begins to think that God only wants to frighten
him by such sentences. There is a chance that
God may not be in earnest : and upon this
chance, he plunges in, body and soul.
It may be well to spend a little time in
considering this case. Now, before we go a
step further, one simple question might decide
the business. What do you think does that
man deserve, who ventures his eternal soul
upon any chance ? Make the chance as great
and as plausible as you please : suppose, if you
like, that God had never passed regular sen-
tence upon sin ; had never published and
registered his wrath, and that there was only
a confused murmur through mankind, a light
whisper now and then stirring in the world,
that there was sentence to be executed against
the soul of every man that doeth evil, that
there was a hell of torment for the unrighteous
and ungodly : suppose a man had only a night's
dream to such an effect : let us be ourselves
the judges, what would that man deserve
who ventured his eternal soul upon such a
chance ? Would not any man, who held it so
cheap as to let it take its chance (be that chance
414 SERMON XIII.
great or small), have already sold and forfeited
it ? The mere fact, that he allows any thing
like chance in such a concern, is enough to
turn the chance into certainty certainty of
punishment.
But, in the next place, let us consider for a
little what is the chance that any sinner now sets
up against the sentence pronounced by the God
of Truth. It is, that sentence is not executed
speedily ; that he has sinned, and no thunder-
bolt has fallen, no blow was struck ; that he
has seen his neighbours sin, and that then too
no thunderbolt has fallen, and no blow was
struck. Now let us examine this chance for a
moment, and we shall be surprised to find,
that, even leaving all the threats and denun-
ciations of Scripture out of the account, and
taking the world as we see it and as we have
read its history, there is new proof that sentence
will be executed in the end. Now, to perceive
this, observe that in many cases sentence has
been executed against " evil works/'
Look to the flood : " When God saw that
" the wickedness of man was great upon the
" earth, and that every imagination of the
" thoughts of his heart was only evil con-
SERMON XIII. 415
" tinually, he said, I will destroy man, whom
" I have created, from the face of the earth,
" both man and beast, and the creeping thing,
" and the fowls of the air ; for it repenteth me
" that I have made "them;" and accordingly
the flood came down upon the world of the
ungodly.
Then look to Sodom and Gomorrah : " Be-
" cause the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah was
" great, and their sin very grievous, therefore
" the Lord rained down brimstone and fire out
" of Heaven." Look next to Korah, Dathan,
and Abiram : " Behold, they rebelled against
" the Lord, and against Moses and Aaron his
" servants, and the earth opened her mouth,
" and swallowed them up, and all that apper-
" tained to them."
Look next to the sentence upon the blas-
phemer : " The son of an Israelitish woman,
" in a quarrel with one of the men of Israel,
" blasphemed the Lord, and cursed ; and they
" put him in ward, that the mind of the Lord
" might be shewed them ; and the Lord spake
" unto Moses, saying, Bring forth him that hath
" cursed, without the camp, and let all that
" heard him lay their hands upon his head,
416 SERMON XIII.
" and let all the congregation stone him ; and
"- they brought forth him that had cursed, and
" stoned him with stones."
Look next to the man who broke the Sab-
bath : " And the Lord said unto Moses, the
" man shall surely be put to death; all the
" congregation shall stone him with stones
" without the camp ; and they stoned him, that
" he died."
Look next to the fornicators, " of which
" there fell in one day three and twenty
" thousand ;" cut off in their iniquities ; their
numbers could not save them. Look, in fact,
at the whole Jewish dispensation, where the
Almighty often made bare his arm, and exe-
cuted sentence speedily.
But look next to the Christian dispensation,
and behold the guilty pair standing before the
Apostles : " And though they came with their
" right hands full of gifts, yet they came with
" a lie upon their lips ; and the moment it was
" uttered, they fell down and gave up the
" ghost." And turn your eyes next to Herod,
arrayed in royal apparel, sitting upon his throne,
and making an oration to the people : and hark !
SERMON XIII. 417
the people are shouting, and saying, " It is
" the voice of a God !" and while they are
shouting, the angel of the Lord had smote him.
Look next to your own observation and
experience ; and there alone you will find suf-
ficient proof that, in many cases, sentence upon
evil works has been executed speedily. The
course of nature, and the constitution of society,
have been so ordained by the wisdom and the
justice of the Almighty, that the crime often
brings the punishment along with it. The
strong arm of the law often seizes the malefac-
tor while his crime is still fresh upon him, and
consigns him at once to death and infamy.
Then, in the next place, God often makes
drunkards and profligates their own execu-
tioners ; murdering their own bodies, wasting
and withering them with surfeit and disease,
and making their days few and evil ; sick of
life, and afraid of death, and crawling into their
graves before their time. Others execute sen-
tence upon themselves, by wasting their sub-
stance in riotous living, until they become the
guests and companions of the swine, and men
begin to pity and despise them. And sometimes
2 E
418 SEKMON XIII.
the sons become the executioners of their fathers,
and men propagate sin from generation to
generation, and see their own vices improved
and multiplied in their own children, who re-
turn them back their own iniquities, with
interest, into their bosom, and " bring down
" their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave."
And in every man's breast there is an exe-
cutioner that he generally contrives to set
asleep ; but sometimes there comes a shock
that rouses it from its slumber, and then it
begins to lash him and sting him, and smite
him upon the heart ; so that we may perceive
that in many instances (more perhaps than
we at first supposed) sentence is executed
speedily.
Now we are prepared to consider the chance
upon which the sinner relies when he sins, and
says in his heart, " Thou wilt not require it."
The chance is this : I know that sentence is
gone forth against every evil work, and that it is
pronounced by the God of the Truth ; but I have
sinned often sinned, and so have my neigh-
bours, and the earth did not open her jaws,
neither did fire and brimstone come down from
SERMON XIII. 419
heaven, nor did I feel any bad effect arising
from it, and therefore I have a chance that God
will not execute the sentence at all.
Now look at this chance. We have just
seen that sentence in many cases executed, yet,
strange as it may appear, this very imperfection
seems to be the strongest possible proof that,
in the next world, vengeance will be fulfilled
to the utmost. For observe, if we found that
every man in this life received just what he
deserved, and every evil work always brought
swift punishment along with it, what should
we naturally conclude ? There is no future
punishment in store : I see nothing wanting,
every man has already received the due reward
of his works ; every thing is already complete,
and, therefore, there is nothing to be done in
the next world.
Or if, on the other hand, there were no
punishment visited upon sin at all in this world,
we might be inclined to say, * Tush ! God hath
' forgotten :' he never interferes amongst us ;
we have no proof of his hatred of sin, or of his
determination to punish it ; he is gone away far
from us, and has left us to follow our own wills
and imaginations. So that if sentence were
2 E 21
420 SERMON XIII.
either perfectly executed upon the earth, or not
executed at all, we might have some reason for
saying, that there was a chance of none in a
future world. But now it is imperfectly exe-
cuted ; just so much done, as to say, ' You are
4 watched, my eye is upon you : I neither
' slumber nor sleep ; and my vengeance slum-
' bereth not.' And yet, at the same time, there
is so little done, that a man has to look into
eternity for the accomplishment.
These occasional visitations of God's wrath,
these sentences that sinners are often obliged
to execute upon themselves, these judgments
that sometimes fall and burst among us, come
often enough to tell us, that there is punishment ;
but so seldom, as to prove that it is yet to come.
They seem to be rather given as evidences, than
as fulfilments of the wrath of God ; rather as a
sign than a part; just as earthquakes and vol-
canic eruptions only serve to shew us what
fires are burning and labouring in the bowels of
the earth. The flames of hell seem to break
out sometimes before their time among men in
earthly judgments, to warn them of judg-
ments to come.
This is the sinner's chance, that, even if
SERMON XIII. 421
that Bible which speaks to him terrible things
were a falsehood, the very course of nature
and the current of human affairs furnish the
strongest possible proof of judgment to come.
" Out of thine own mouth wilt thou be con-
demned ;" thine own excuse will be thy con-
demnation. And which of us has not made this
excuse ? Which of us has not often said, in his
heart, " Thou wilt not require it ;" and sinned
in the face of the sentence registered against all
iniquity, in the face of the sentence registered
against fornication, uncleanness, inordinate af-
fection, evil concupiscence, and covetousness,
which is idolatry, against anger, wrath, ma-
lice, blasphemy, filthy communication, in the
face of the sentence registered against all those
that forget God? But you will say, Surely,
God is a merciful God ! Are we not told that
he is full of mercies and loving kindnesses,
that his mercy rejoiceth against judgment, that
he has sworn as he liveth, " that he hath no
" pleasure in the death of the sinner?" True:
his mercy is indeed boundless and astonish-
ing ; amazing, beyond what " eye hath seen,
" or ear heard, or hath entered into the heart
" of man to conceive." But how has that
SERMON XIII.
mercy been shown? By visiting sentence to the
very uttermost. He did not fling us his mercy
indolently from his throne; but he executed
sentence to the very uttermost upon his only
begotten Son. His mercy does not consist in
extinguishing his justice, but in executing it
upon the head of the Son in whom he was
well pleased. Awful mercy ! terrible forgive-
ness! mercy that we must not dare to trifle
with.
Let us be ourselves the judges: if any man
makes this mercy an argument for sin, what
new punishment, what fresh torments, how
many times must the furnace be heated for that
man, for him who dares to say, Because the
Lord Jesus has died for me, I will follow my
iniquities ! for him, who would thus make
Christ the minister of sin ! That blessed mercy
that glorious manifestation of infinite love,
was always used in Scripture as an argument
for repentance, for holiness, and for all good ;
but any man that curses God's blessing, by
turning it into an argument for continuing in
sin, how is he described in Scripture ? He is
" The enemy of the Cross of Christ;" and
" He crucifies the Son of God afresh, and puts
SERMON XIII. 423
" him to an open shame !" It had been " good
" for that man that he had never been born."
Every hour of sin that you add to your life,
under this dispensation, is gathering over your
head in judgment. The goodness of God, in
not cutting you off with your sins still green
and fresh, is turning every day into wrath. For
what says the apostle? " Despisest thou the
" riches of his goodness, and forbearance, and
" long-suffering, not knowing that foe goodness
" of God leadeth thee to repentance ;" but, after
thy hardness and impenitent heart, " Treasures!
" up wrath against the day of wrath, and reve-
" lation of the righteous judgment of God ?"
Here you see two things : first, that the good-
ness of God, in bearing with you thus long,
in not blotting you out from the face of the
earth while you were engaged in the last sin
that you committed, was leading you to re-
pentance : it cannot lead to mercy but through
repentance : secondly, you see that every time
you neglected and refused, " you have been
" treasuring up wrath against the day of
" wrath. There is a treasury of vengeance
in Heaven : and day by day, and hour by hour,
you have been casting in your mite. When
424 SERMON XIII.
will your cup be full ? Perhaps at this mo-
ment it may be overflowing; perhaps the plain,
simple warning that you hear this day may
be the last that the Lord God will ever vouch-
safe to your soul. This at least is certain,
that the next time you return to your sin it
will be in deliberate defiance of the wrath of
the Almighty. Who shall say, whether you
will be allowed to make the trial a second
time ? Probably your cup may then be full
and he may strike you dead upon the spot.
Or if not, he may let you live as a monument
of his vengeance ; and as Pharaoh was allowed
to live, after he had resisted all the means of
grace, that the Lord might openly manifest his
power and his justice upon him, God may pro-
long your life only that men may see a sinner
gasping without hope upon his death-bed, and,
as they look upon the horrors of your dying
countenance, they may smite their breasts and
say, "God be merciful to me a sinner!"
SERMON XIV.
1 JOHN, iv. 10.
Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved
us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our
sins.
IF God had waited until we loved him be-
fore he loved us, we should not have been as-
sembled here this day to read the history of his
mercies, and to humble ourselves before him,
in astonishment at the multitude of his loving
kindnesses. If God had waited until we loved
him, before he loved us, we should never have
known what it was to come together on a Sab-
bath morning, to talk of mercy and salvation,
and the holy charity that binds us to God and
to each other : we should be now bowing our
heads before the works of our hands, and the
inventions of our own imaginations : perhaps,
at this instant, we should be met together to
perform our impure and bloody ceremonies to
the powers of darkness ; the house which is
now the Lord's tabernacle, and the place
426 SERMON XIV.
where his honour dwelleth, might be the temple
in which we adored the God of intemperance
and sensuality, or made our offerings to the
wicked spirit that delighteth in war, violence,
and revenge ; or we might be flocking to the
table of our evil god not to eat the bread of
life, or to drink from the fountains of the living
water, but to sound his praises in festivals of
drunkenness, riot, and indecency ; or we should
be kneeling at his altar not to offer the sacrifice
of a broken and a contrite heart, but to worship
him with the knife, and with the blood of our
fellow-creatures ; and, perhaps, we should now
be preparing the children that we loved as our
own souls, to pass through the fire of sacrifice
that was kindled in his honour, that we might
satisfy his fury and avert his indignation.
It is true, the very mention of these things
may now shock our feelings, and we may fancy,
if we please, that no possible conjuncture of
circumstances could have reduced us to such
crimes and enormities : but such was the state
of the world at the time that the Son of God
came down upon the earth, and we shall not
find it very easy to prove, either that we are a
superior race of beings to the men of those
SERMON XIV. 427
days, or that the natural progress of society has
caused the difference between them and our-
selves.
The men of those days were our superiors
in many of the arts of civilised life, and it was
then four thousand years since the creation of
the world. The world had time enough to have
learned how to love God, if it could have loved
him : but " When they knew God, they glori-
" fied him not as God ; and their foolish heart
" was darkened." They had suffered the know-
ledge of God to be blotted out of their minds,
and of course the love of God had disappeared
from their hearts. Their religion only had
showed itself in their festivals, in drunken-
ness, impurity, and blood : in the common
course of their lives he was forgotten ; and, by
the terrible ceremonies by which they attempted
to appease his wrath, or conciliate his good-
will, they proved that they regarded him as
their enemy. So that if God had only allowed
men to go on in the way which they had chosen
for themselves, if he had not turned to them
before they turned to him, we should have been
now sitting in darkness and the shadow of death,
428 SERMON XIV.
sinning on to our ruin, without a thought upon
the God whom we were offending.
But, indeed, it is not necessary to look back
to past ages in order to make this gloomy dis-
covery. If a man looks into his own heart but
for one moment, he may soon perceive that if
God had loved us it cannot be because we have
first loved him.
Among all the natural passions and affections
of the human heart, where is the love of God
to be found ? We love parent and child, we
love friends and country, we love riches and
honour, we love sin in all its shapes, and we
embrace it with all our souls ; these affections
take their root in our nature, they grow wild in
our hearts, and scarcely require cultivation. But,
instead of finding religion growing naturally
within, only observe with what care and watch-
ing and anxiety it must be cherished, and re-
freshed, and preserved ; and if once neglected,
yea, but for a little, how soon it begins to
wither and decay ! Any of the other affections
of our heart it would be almost impossible to
get rid of ; but to acquire and cultivate a spirit
of religion, is the slow and patient work of
SERMON XIV. 429
earnest watchfulness and persevering humility.
Where is the man amongst us who would ven-
ture to put up to God such a prayer as this,
Regard me as I have regarded you; treat me
as I have treated you ? For how have we re-
garded him ? how have we treated him ? Really,
do we look upon him more as a friend or as an
enemy? How often do we wish that he was
far away, and that his eye was not open upon
our hearts, and that he did not hear the words
of our lips, or witness the deeds of our lives ?
How often would it have been a relief to us to
think that he was not everlastingly present
amongst us ? Does not our conscience often
bear testimony that we love the things he hates,
by the effort we make to forget and to banish
him whenever we wish to give way to our
sinful propensities, or to indulge in pride, covet-
ousness, drunkenness, sensuality, or revenge?
Is it not a confession that he is at war with
those things that we love, and that he who loves
sin cannot love God ? So true is the word of
God, which says, " He that loveth me keepeth
" my commandments."
It is too plain, that if God had cared as little
for us as we cared for God we should have been
430 SERMON XIV.
long since outcast, forsaken, and forgotten : but
" herein is love, not that we loved him, but
" that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the
" propitiation for our sins." And thus it is
stated by St. Paul; " God commended his
" love to us, in that while we were yet sinners
" Christ died for us :" and again, " When we
" were enemies, we were reconciled to God
" by the death of his Son." In these passages
we perceive that it means the same thing to be
a sinner to be the enemy of God and not to
/echini; and yet for these sinners, for these his
enemies, he sent his own Son to be the pro-
pitiation for their sins.
Herein is love! The apostle seems to
pronounce upon this as if there was no other
love in all the world besides, as if every thing
like love was swallowed up in this boundless
profusion of mercies. It is extraordinary with
what cold and composed feelings we can read
and think of this extraordinary sacrifice. It is
no doubt impossible to comprehend its full
extent; perhaps it is the employment of blessed
spirits, forages and ages to come ay, or for
all eternity, to make new discoveries in the love
of God and the death of the Iledeemer. Grander
SERMON XIV. 431
knowledge, new blessings, fresh features,
from this wonderful sacrifice, may be shewing
themselves to the spirits of just men made
perfect at every moment, world without end.
They are " things which the angels desire to
" look into."
But God has given us, perhaps, the fullest
idea of it that we are capable of conceiving,
when he tells us that he was Ms Son his only
Son. It is as if he desired every one of us to go
to his own heart, and find out who is the being
upon the earth that is dearest to its affections,
husband, wife, or only child ; the person
whom we regarded with the fondest love and the
most unbounded delight ; the person in whom
your whole soul seems to be wrapped up, in
whom you almost live, and move, and have your
being; and to imagine this object of your hopes
and affections dashed from a state of happiness,
and flung helpless into the midst of enemies and
persecutors ; become " despised and rejected
" of men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted
with grief;" and at length brought as a lamb
to the slaughter, and then descending into the
grave with torture, insult, and infamy. God
SERMON XIV.
himself seems to teach us to regard it in this
point of view, for he said unto Abraham, " Take
" now thy son, thine only son, Isaac, whom
" thou lovest." He repeats it, as if for the pur-
pose of cutting the father's heart, and giving it
a new stab at every word of fondness. " Take
" now thy son thine only son, Isaac, whom thou
" lovest, and offer him for a burnt-offering upon
" one of the mountains that I will tell thee of.'*
Abraham rose up, and took. Isaac his son, and
went into the place of which God had told him.
Then, on the way, a conversation occurs, in
which every word that the son speaks is calcu-
lated to make the father's heart bleed freshly.
It would be an insult to tell a father what were
Abraham's feelings when he bound his son, and
took the knife in his hand. At that moment,
however, the angel of the Lord called out of
heaven, and bade him stay his hand. But
when the Son of God bore his cross to the spot
of agony and shame, and was laid bleeding
upon the altar, no guardian angel descended
to relieve his sufferings ; and when he cried,
" My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken
" me ?" the whole host of heaven stood still :
SERMON XIV. 433
no voice of consolation was heard, and no mi-
nister of mercy descended to save his Son,
his only Son, whom he loved.
Such is the idea that God has given us of
his love ; but still it is imperfect, for it seems
as if every thing relating to God was infinite.
His power is infinite ; and we should judge but
poorly of its greatness if we measured it by
human power. In like manner his wisdom is in-
finite ; and we should never be able to conceive
its extent by comparing it with the greatest
wisdom of man. So also may we conclude of
his love. The sufferings of Christ appear to
contain something in them indescribable to the
human imagination, and unfathomable to human
discovery. His mysterious agony in the garden,
the weight of our sins upon his soul, and the
fearful exclamation, " My God ! my God ! why
" hast thou forsaken me !" convey an idea of
suffering, that we neither do nor can compre-
hend. Such is the love of God manifested upon
the cross, the love of God manifest in the flesh !
But, we may say, where was the necessity
of all this vast profusion of suffering, this
expenditure of means, this astonishing ma-
chinery of redemption ? Could not God have
434 SEKMON XIV.
forgiven us at a word? Now, only consider what
idea it is we form of God, when we imagine
that forgiveness is so very easy a matter. We
conceive him to be an arbitrary and capricious
Being, who can make laws and break them at
random, and fling his pardon to his creatures
carelessly from his throne. Is this a worthy
idea of him " who cannot lie, and who cannot
" repent ?" Recollect that mercy, with us,
means the reversing of a law, the changing of
an established order of things : our t very idea
of mercy implies an imperfection in the law, in
the decision upon the law, or in the execution of
the law. If human laws were perfect, or human
judges infallible, where would be the room for
mercy ? It was a question reserved for the
wisdom of Almighty God alone, to prove how
justice and mercy could be reconciled; to
hold forth forgiveness to the offender without
violating, relaxing, or suspending that law,
which is " holy, and just, and good." Accord-
ingly, we find that, upon the cross, the viola-
tion of that law was visited to the uttermost ;
that " he bore our sins, and carried our
" iniquities," that " the chastisement of our
" peace was upon him :" and thus we are told,
SERMON XIV. 435
in the passage before us, that " the love of God
" was manifested in sending his Son to be the
" propitiation for our sins :" and again, " God
" was in Christ, reconciling the world unto
" himself."
It is a terrible truth, which men would do
well to recollect more than they do, that the
same cross shews God's hatred for sin as well as
his love for the sinner ; the same cross shews that
he cannot forgive iniquity, and yet that he was
willing to visit it upon his own Son for our sakes:
it shews us his wrath and his love, and the one
appears to be the measure of the other. We
have been this day endeavouring to fathom his
love, and have found it impossible : and yet
the very immensity of that love seems to consist
in averting wrath, that is equally boundless and
inconceivable. Alas ! alas ! we deceive our-
selves strangely by fancying that it is an easy
thing for God to forgive sin. Consider well
what it is that makes it such an easy thing for
you to commit sin ; and you will find that it is
because you fancy it an easy thing for God to
forgive it.
The great and fearful question with every
man amongst us is, ' Has the blood of Jesus
2 F 2
436 SERMON XIV.
' Christ cleansed him from all sin ?' or, shall
he himself abide the awful consequences in the
eternal world ? For, as surely as God is true,
one or other of these must be the case. The
word of God supplies us with the means of
judgment, " If any man be in Christ, he is a
" new creature." It seems to be founded upon
a principle plain and obvious to any man's com-
mon sense, if we need no change, we need
no mercy.
He now stands at the door and knocks, and
invites you to acknowledge yourselves his at
his table ; and if we come with but half the
good- will with which he invites, and waits to
receive us, we are blessed and happy beings !
Let us beware how we turn our back upon it ;
or how we take it unworthily. We must come
to that table, forsaking our sins, which were so
hateful in the sight of heaven that they cruci-
fied the Son of God, and forsaking all claims
upon the ground of our own imperfect righte-
ousness. Let us " make mention of his name
" only ;" and may we so share the fellowship of
his sufferings that we may know the power of
his resurrection ! Amen.
SERMON XV.
1 CORINTHIANS, x. 13.
There hath no temptation taken you but such as is com-
mon to man : but God is faithful^ who will not suffer
you to be tempted above that ye are able : but will
with the temptation also make a way to escape, that
ye may be able to bear it.
PERHAPS nothing can exceed the efforts of
God to enable us to overcome temptation, ex-
cept our own endeavours to disappoint them.
There would be something amusing, if it were
not too terrible to amuse us, in observing the
riches of our resources, and the curious variety
of expedients which we have invented for tri-
fling with temptation ; forgetting, that to trifle
with temptation is to trifle with God.
Some of us plunge into it headlong, with a
sort of heedless and frantic desperation, never
stopping to look to the right hand or to the left,
even for the shadow of an excuse; shutting
our eyes as we hurry on, and imagining there is
438 SERMON XV.
no danger, because we do not see it ; flying
so rapidly from one temptation to another, that
there is no time for thought or reflection be-
tween ; until at last we arrive, full speed, at the
brink of the grave ! There is no stopping then ;
the force with which we arrived hurries us on-
ward of its own accord ; and we are hurled to
the bottom, with the weight of all the sins we
have committed bearing us down with greater
fury.
There are others amongst us, who first,
without any consideration, comply with the
temptation, and then stop to look about them
for the excuse : they first commit the sin, not
weU knowing at the time what defence they
can make, but trusting to chance, or to their
own ingenuity, for finding one afterwards.
There are others, more cautious and circum-
spect, who first look round for an excuse ; but
the moment they see any thing that bears any
resemblance to one, they are perfectly satisfied.
They dare not look that way again, lest a second
thought should undeceive them : it is an excuse
as it stands, but another glance, or one mo-
ment's closer inspection, might shew them that
all was false and hollow ; and rather than be
SERMON XV. 439
thus undeceived, they take it at the first view,
and surrender to the temptation, hoping that,
because they had deceived their own hearts,
they have deceived One " that is greater than
" their hearts." However, it may be well to
study them a little more attentively, as one
day or other we shall have to look them in
the face.
All the excuses which we are in the habit of
making, appear to be reducible to two classes ;
and, what is very remarkable, they contradict
each other. One of these dangerous apologies
is, that many of our particular temptations are,
in their very nature, different from those of other
men. We often persuade ourselves that we are
placed in circumstances totally different from
those in which other human beings are involved;
and often fancy that nature has given us pas-
sions and propensities from which the genera-
lity of mankind are entirely free, or by which
they are much less powerfully actuated. Hence
we flatter ourselves that our situation is so
original, and the temptations to which we are
exposed so unlike those which human nature
is generally called upon to encounter, that the
transgression into which it leads us is something
440 SERMON XV.
new that it stands distinct and alone ; and we
can scarcely bring ourselves to think that God
will class it with the ordinary violations of his
law, or sentence it to the same condemnation.
Thus we often go on, imagining that many of
our transgressions are exceptions ,to those of the
generality of men, and that we have made out
a new case for ourselves in the annals of sin, to
plead before the throne of God.
This is one of our excuses : but what is the
other ? The common frailty of our nature ; the
plea that all men do the same ; that our sins are
such as the bulk of mankind commit ; and that
we only gratify the passions of human nature,
or its common weaknesses, in complying with
such temptations. Now, would it not be
enough to shew the emptiness and silliness of
these apologies, to consider, that there is not
a single sin that we could not justify by such
means ? If the temptation seems to be peculiar
to us not such as human nature is in general
subject to, the first will serve. If it be one to
which the generality of mankind are exposed,
the second comes to our relief: so that we are
certain that, if the one fails, the other will suc-
ceed. One would imagine that this would be
SERMON XV. 441
enough. But the passage before us meets them
both. As to the^r^ excuse, that there are cer-
tain temptations peculiar to ourselves, and which
we do not share in common with our fellow-
creatures, it says, " There hath no temptation
" taken you, but such as is common to man."
But, even leaving Scripture out of the question,
what reason have we to suppose that we are an
exception to the general laws of human nature ?
Should we not rather conclude, that men who
partake of the same nature as ourselves may be
subject to the very same temptations ? We are
all inclined to conceal " the sins which most
" easily beset us :" therefore, without our ob-
servation, others may be exposed to those very
trials which we conceive exclusively our own,
and may, at that instant, be making the very
same excuse. There is no doubt that men
differ very much in their character and consti-
tution, and the ingredients of human nature are
variously mixed in different beings. The ruling
propensity in one man may be avarice; in
another, " evil concupiscence" and debauchery ;
in another, gluttony and drunkenness ; in
another, ambition ; in another, the predominant
passion may be, a fondness for mischief, for
442 SERMON XV.
riot, and blood ; while another may be governed
by a sottish indolence, or a wild inconstancy.
But, as the apostle declares (after enumerating
the gifts of the Holy Spirit to different men)
that " all these worketh one and the self -same
spirit" the spirit of righteousness, so may it
be said of these passions, all these worketh the
one and the self-same spirit the spirit of sin-
ful human nature. They are the common ele-
ments of our nature, only differently mixed ;
but it is generally in defence of the chief and
ruling passion that we urge the first excuse,
which we mentioned above : and thus every
man would yield to the passion to which he was
most attached, and would embrace the sin he
most loved. Every man would thus have chosen
one part of the law which he might break-
that part which he was always most inclined to
break ; and, therefore, the very part which he
was bound to be most watchful in observing.
There chiefly, and because it is our ruling pas-
sion, and that which exalts itself most against
the love of God, lies our perilous and fiery trial,
where our greatest resistance should be exerted.
There remains now only the second excuse
the frailty of human nature ; the common
SERMON XV. 443
tendency to sin which we all feel. Alas ! this
indeed is true : but it is equally true that there
is " a God of purer eyes than to behold ini-
" quity ;" a God who has said, " The soul
" that sinneth, it shall die ;" a God whom,
without holiness, no man shall behold. Yet,
even with the sense of this present to our minds
and our hearts, how totally unable do we feel
ourselves to make that great and continued
exertion to effect that complete revolution in
heart, in conversation, and in practice, which
shall qualify us to stand before the holiness of
God ! How totally unable do we feel ourselves
to make any advance, even under the conscious-
ness that we are bound by his command;
bound by our own consciences, our own hopes
and fears ; bound by the thoughts of death and
life ; bound by the prospect of misery or im-
mortality, to lay all our earthly affections at his
feet, and consecrate our very beings to his ser-
vice ! How feebly do we attempt to struggle
through the throng and crowd of temptations
that beset and besiege us on every side, and
that stand between us and our God ! The pas-
sage before us, in reply to our first excuse, de-
clared that there hath no temptation taken us
444 SEllMON XV.
that is not common to man ; but what says it
to our second, the frailty of our unfortunate
nature? " God is faithful, who will not suffer
" you to be tempted above that ye are able."
Here, with our warning is our great consolation.
It is not merely that God will assist us, but that
he will not suffer us to be tempted above that
we are able. It is uttered in all the majesty of
conscious omnipotence. " I will not suffer you
" to be tempted above that ye are able." It is
as if he had promised to work a miracle rather
than allow us to be overpowered; it is as if he
would shake the powers of heaven and earth
rather than that his promise should not be per-
formed; that he would check the course of
nature, that he would stop the sun in his ca-
reer, if he were found to bring us into dangers
out of which there was no escape ; that he
would arrest the profligate current of human
affairs; that he would say to the tide of temp-
tations, if it were pouring in too boldly upon us,
" Thus far shalt thou come, and no further."
But let us fully understand the meaning
and the nature of this glorious promise. We
may observe then, in the first place, it is not a
promise of grace which excuses us from resist-
SERMON XV. 445
ing temptation, but of grace, by which we are
enabled to overcome it. So that while, by the
blood of Christ, and by that alone, we are
saved, and while no human being shall be able
to say, he has earned salvation unto himself,
we are ten times, and ten times, more bound
to wage war with the world, the flesh, and the
devil, as the unworthy sinners whom Christ
has redeemed, than as the presumptuous Phari-
see, who proudly counts over his works and his
alms as the price of his salvation. For we are
endowed with new motives and new strength
to resist it, which he, " trusting in himself,''
never could experience. In fact, God does
every thing for us, short of what is inconsistent
with his own nature, which revolts at all im-
purity and sin. For our sakes, he sends his
Son on earth, to a life of sorrow and perse-
cution, and to a death of agony and shame, in
order to redeem us from the punishment of sin:
he sends his Holy Spirit, to purify us from its
corruption: he utters prophecy to warn us: he
works miracles to convince us: every thing, in
fact, that is not incompatible with the fixed
principle of his nature ; " Without holiness, no
" man shall see the Lord."
446 SERMON XV.
The second thing to be observed in this
promise, is the inseparable connexion of divine
grace with human exertion. He does not say
that he will not suffer us to be overcome, but
that " He will not suffer us to be tempted above
" that we are able." Here we see the genuine
operation of the grace of God. Human exer-
tion without it is hopeless, powerless, ineffec-
tual. Dependent upon our own exertion alone,
we should be tempted above that we are able.
On the other hand, the grace of God is given in
vain, unless we embrace it humbly, unless
we hold it fast in our hearts, unless we wield
it in our hands. It does not actually vanquish
the temptation ; but it clothes us for the battle
in the armour of righteousness. Therefore,
with watching and praying, and with fear and
trembling, let us await the approach of every
temptation that we see bearing down upon our
souls. Inspired by the animating assurance,
" That God is faithful, and will not suffer us to
" be tempted above that we are able;" and
with the awful sense that God is on our side,
and that we must not dare to desert his standard
when he promises us victory, let us advance to
fight the good fight of faith. But let us march
SERMON XV. 447
with slow and thoughtful steps, and an humble
and resigned confidence, to meet the attack of
sin and death, under the shadow of his holiness,
who would often have gathered us under his
protecting wing, and we would not. Thus will
this poor worm, who once crawled along the
earth, yielding, with a faint heart and trem-
bling conscience, to every sin that assailed him,
" become more than conqueror through him
" that loved him."
APPENDIX.
IT may be a matter of surprise to some readers that
Mr. W had not exercised his poetical talents upon
religious subjects : but the fact was, that he seemed to
shrink from such themes as too lofty for his genius
too pure and too awful for what he humbly thought his
insufficient powers. The standard of excellence which
his imagination had raised was so high, that no effort of
his own could give him satisfaction.
He had sometimes entertained the idea that reli-
gious subjects might be profitably introduced in songs
adapted to national music, which might thus be made
a vehicle of popular instruction : how much he felt the
delicacy and difficulty of such a task, will appear from
the judicious observations contained in a letter to a pious
friend who had sent him some verses written with that
view.
" MY DEAR ,
* " The poems upon which you desire
" my opinion seem to be the production of a truly spi-
" ritual mind a mind deeply exercised in experimental
" religion, which sees every object through a pure and
" holy medium, and turns every thing it contemplates
2 G
450 APPENDIX.
" into devotion. But their very excellence in this re-
" spect seems, in the present instance, to constitute
" their leading defect. Their object, if I understand it
(( aright, is to make popular music a channel by which
" religious feeling may be diffused through society ;
" and thus, at the same time, to redeem the national
" music from the profaneness and licentiousness to
" which it has been prostituted. As to the first ob-
" ject : the natural language of a spiritual man, which
" would remind one of the like spirit of much of his
" internal experience, would be not only uninteresting,
" but absolutely unintelligible to the generality of man-
" kind. He speaks of hopes and fears, of pleasures
" and pains, which they could only comprehend by
" having previously felt them.
" You remember that it is said of the ( new song
" that was sung before the throne,' that no man could
" learn that song, save those that were redeemed from
" the earth : and therefore it often happens, that those
" who best understand that music, are more intelligible
" to heavenly than earthly beings : they are often bet-
" ter understood by angels than by men. The high
" degree of spirituality which they have attained often
" renders it not only painful, but impossible, to accom-
" modate themselves to the ordinary feelings of man-
" kind. They cannot stoop, even though it be to
" conquer. To the world, their effusions are in an
" unknown language. In fact, they often take for
" granted the very work to be done ; they presuppose
APPENDIX. 451
" that communion of feeling and unity of spirit be-
" tween themselves and the world which it is their
" primary object to produce ; and when they do not
" produce this effect, they may even do mischief; for
" the spontaneous language of a religious mind is,
ts generally speaking, revolting to the great mass of
" society : they shrink from it as they do from the
" Bible.
u Just consider all the caution, the judgment, and the
" skill, requisite in order to introduce religion profitably
" into general conversation, and then you may conceive
" what will be the fate of a song to which a man has
" recourse for amusement, and which he expects will
" appeal to his feelings when he finds it employed on
" a subject to which he has not learnt to attach any
" idea of pleasure, and which speaks to feelings he
" never experienced. It is on this account I conceive
" that a song intended to make religion popular should
" not be entirely of a religious cast ; that it should take
" in as wide a range as any other song, should appeal
" to every passion and feeling of our nature not in
" itself sinful, should employ all the scenery, the
" imagery, and circumstance of the songs of this world,
" while religion should be indirectly introduced, or
" delicately insinuated. I think we shall come to the
" same conclusion if we consider the reformation of
" the national music as the primary object. The pre-
" dominant feelings excited and expressed by our
" national airs, however exquisitely delightful, are
2 G 2
452 APPENDIX.
*' manifestly human ; and it is evident that in order to
" do them justice we must follow the prevailing tone.
" The strain and ground-work of the words can hardly
" be spiritual ; but a gleam of religion might be every
" now and then tastefully admitted, with the happiest
" effect. But indeed it appears so difficult, that in the
" whole range of poetry there does not occur to me, at
" present, an instance in which it has been successfully
" executed. The only piece* which I now recollect as
" at all exemplifying my meaning is Cowper's ' Alex-
" ander Selkirk,' beginning, ' I am monarch of all I
" survey, 1 which I believe has neve r been set to music:
" It is not professedly religious ; nay, the situation, the
" sentiments, and the feelings, are such as the com-
" monest reader can at once conceive to be his own. It
" needs neither a spiritual man, nor a poet, nor a man
" of taste or of education, to enter into immediate sym-
" pathy with him: it is not until the fourth stanza (after
" he has taken possession of his reader) that he intro-
" duces a religious sentiment ; to which, however, he
(( had been gradually ascending; and even then ac-
" companies and recommends it with what may, per-
" haps, be called the romantic and picturesque of reli-
" gion, ' the sound of the church-going bell,' &c. He
" then appears to desert the subject altogether, and
* The author probably would have also instanced the
beautiful Scotch ballad " I 'm wearing awa', Jean," if it had
occurred to his memory. EDITOR.
APPENDIX. 453
" only returns to it (as it were) accidentally but with
" what beauty and effect ! in the last four lines.
" I am really struck with consternation at finding
" that I have been writing a review rather than giving
" an opinion, and must not dare to add another word,
* c but to beg you will believe me
" Yours, &c.
C. W."
It may not be uninteresting to give the following
specimens of his early poetical powers upon scriptural
subjects, which he displayed when a school-boy.
JESUS RAISING LAZARUS.
Silent and sad, deep gazing on the clay,
Where Lazarus breathless, cold, and lifeless lay,
The Saviour stood : he dropp'd a heavenly tear,
The dew of pity from a soul sincere :
He heaved a groan ! though large his cup of woe,
Yet still for others' grief his sorrows flow ;
He knew what pains must pierce a sister's heart,
When death had sped his sharpest, deadliest dart,
And seized a brother's life. Around they stand,
Sisters and friends, a weeping, mournful band:
His prayer he raises to the blest abode,
And mercy bears it to the throne of God :
" Lord ! thou hast always made thy Son thy care,
" Ne'er has my soul in vain preferr'd its prayer ;
454 APPENDIX.
" Hear now, O Father ! this thy flock relieve,
" Dry thou their tears, and teach them to believe
" Thy power the sinking wretch from death can save,
" And burst the iron fetters of the grave :
" Awake ! arise !" the healing words he spoke,
And death's deep slumbers in a moment broke :
Fate hears astonish 'd, trembles at the word,
And nature yields, overcome by nature's Lord.
Light peeps with glimmering rays into his eyes ;
With lingering paces misty darkness flies ;
The pulse slow vibrates through the languid frame,
The frozen blood renews the vital flame ;
His body soon its wonted strength regains,
And life returning rushes to his veins.
They look ! they start ! they look ! 'tis he, 'tis he !
They see him, and yet scarce believe they see !
On Him on Him they turn their thankful eyes,
From whom such wondrous benefits arise :
On him they look, who, God and Man combined,
Joined mortal feelings with a heavenly mind :
On Him their warm collected blessings pour'd ;
As Man, they loved him and as God, adored.
PRIZE POEM.
ON THE DEATH OF ABEL.
In youthful dignity and lovely grace,
With heaven itself reflected on his face,
APPENDIX. 455
In purity and innocence array'd,
The perfect work of God was Abel made.
To him the fleecy charge his sire consigned :
An angel's figure with an angel's mind,
In him his father every blessing view'd,
And thought the joys of Paradise renewed.
But stern and gloomy was the soul of Cain ;
A brother's virtue was the source of pain ;
Malice and hate their secret wounds impart,
And envy's vulture gnaws upon his heart :
With discontented hand he turn'd the soil,
And inly grieving, murmur'd o'er his toil.
Each with his offering to the Almighty came,
Their altars raised, and fed the sacred flame.
Scarce could the pitying Abel bear to bind
A lamb, the picture of his Master's mind ;
Which to the pile with tender hand he drew,
And wept, as he the bleating victim slew.
Around, with fond regard the zephyr play'd,
Nor dared disturb th' oblation Abel made.
The gracious flames accepted, upward flew,
The Lord received them, for his heart was true.
His first-reap'd fruits indignant Cain prepares,
But vain his sacrifice and vain his prayers,
For all were hollow : God and nature frown'd,
The wind dispersed them, and the Lord disown'd.
He looks behind what flames around him rise ?
" O hell ! 'tis Abel's, Abel's sacrifice !
456 APPENDIX.
" Curst, hated sight ! another look would tear
" My soul with rage, would plunge me in despair !
" Still must each wish that Abel breathes be heard ;
" Still must I see his suit to mine preferred !
" Still must this darling of creation share
" His parents' dearest love, his Maker's care ;
" But Cain is doom'd his sullen hate to vent
" Is doomed his woes in silence to lament :
" Why should the sound of Abel sound more dear,
" More sweet than Cain's unto my father's ear ?
" Each look, that once on me with pleasure glow'd,
" Each kiss, each smile, on Abel is bestow'd.
" He loves me, views me with sincere delight ;
" Yet, yet I hate him, yet I loathe his sight !
66 But why detest him ? why do I return
" Hate for his love, his warm affection spurn ?
" Ah ! vain each effort, vain persuasion's art,
" While rancour's sting is festering in my heart !"
At this ill-fated moment, when his rage
Nor love could bind, nor reason could assuage,
Young Abel came ; he mark'd his sullen woe,
Nor in the brother could discern the foe.
As down his cheeks the generous sorrow ran,
He gazed with fondness, and at length began :
" Why lowers that storm beneath thy clouded eye ?
" Why wouldst thou thus thy Abel's presence fly ?
" Turn thee, my brother ! view me laid thus low,
" And smooth the threatening terrors of thy brow.
APPENDIX. 457
" Have I offended ? is my fault so great,
" That truth and friendship cannot change thy hate?
" Then tell me, Cain, O tell me all thy care ;
" O cease thy grief, or let thy Abel share !"
No tears prevail : his passions stronger rise ;
Increasing fury flashes from his eyes ;
At once, each fiend around his heartstrings twines,
At once, all hell within his soul combines,
" Ah serpent !" At the word he fiercely sprung,
Caught th' accursed weapon, brandish 'd, swung,
And smote ! the stroke descended on his brow ;
The suppliant victim sunk beneath the blow :
The streaming blood distainM his locks with gore
Those beauteous tresses, that were gold before :
Nor could his lips a deep-drawn sigh restrain,
Not for himself he sigh'd he sigh'd for Cain :
His dying eyes a look of pity cast,
And beamed forgiveness, ere they closed their last.
The murderer view'd him with a vacant stare,
Each thought was anguish, and each look despair.
" Abel, awake ; arise !" he trembling cried ;
" Abel, my brother !" but no voice replied.
At every call more madly wild he grew,
Paler than he, whom late in rage he slew.
In frightful silence o'er the corse he stood,
And chain'd in terror, wonder'd at the blood.
" Awake ! yet oh ! no voice, no smile, no breath I
" O God, support me ! O, should this be death !
458 APPENDIX.
" O thought most dreadful ! how my blood congeals !
" How every vein increasing horror feels !
" How faint his visage, and how droops his head !
" O God, he 's gone ! and I have done the deed !"
Pierced with the thought, the fatal spot he flies,
And, plunged in darkness, seeks a vain disguise.
Eve, hapless Eve ! 'twas thine these woes to see,
To weep thy own, thy children's misery !
She, all unconscious, with her husband stray 'd
To meet her sons beneath their favourite shade :
To them the choicest fruits of all her store,
Delightful task ! a pleasing load she bore.
While with maternal love she look'd around
Lo ! Abel, breathless, weltering on the ground !
She shriek'd his name 'twas all that she could say,
Then sunk, and lifeless as her Abel lay.
Not long the trance could all her senses seal,
She woke too soon returning woe to feel.
Those lips, that once gave rapture to her breast,
Now cold in death, the afflicted mother press'd.
Fix'd in the silent agony of woe,
The father stood, nor comfort could bestow.
Weep, wretched father ! hopeless mother, weep !
A long, long slumber Abel 's doom'd to sleep !
Wrapt in the tangling horrors of the wood,
The murderer sought to fly himself and God.
Night closed her welcome shades around his head,
But angry conscience lash'd him as he fled.
APPENDIX. 459
" Here stretch thy limbs, thou wretch ! O may this blast
" Bear death, and may this moment be thy last !
" May blackest night eternal hold her reign ;
" And may the sun forget to light the plain !
" Ye shades, surround me ! darkness hide my sin !
" 'Tis dark without, but darker still within.
" O Abel ! O my brother ! could not all
" Thy love for me preserve thee from thy fall !
" Why did not Heaven avert that deadly blow,
" That dreadful, hated wound, that laid thee low !
66 O I'm in hell ! each breath, each blast alarms,
" And every maddening demon is in arms :
" The voice of God, the curse of Heaven I hear ;
" The name of murder'd Abel strikes my ear,
" Rolls in the thunder, rustles in the trees,
" And Abel ! Abel ! murmurs in the breeze.
" Still fancy scares me with his dying groan,
" And clothes each scene in horrors not its own.
" Curst be that day, the harbinger of woes,
" When first my mother felt a mother's throes ;
" When sweetly smiling on my infant face,
" She blest the firstling of a future race.
" O Death ! thou hidden, thou mysterious bane !
" Can all thy terrors equal living pain ?
" Yet still there lies a world beyond the grave,
" From whence no death, no subterfuge can save.
" Thou, God of Vengeance ! these my sufferings see,
" To all the God of Mercy, but to me !
460. APPENDIX.
u O soothe the tortures of my guilty state,
" Great is thy vengeance, but thy mercy great.
" My brother ! thou canst see how deep I grieve ;
" Look down, thou injured angel, and forgive !
" Far hence, a wretched fugitive, I roam,
" The earth my bed, the wilderness my home.
" Far hence I stray from these delightful seats,
" To solitary tracts, and drear retreats.
" Yet ah ! the very beasts will shun my sight,
" Will fly my bloody footsteps with affright.
" No brother they, no faithful friend have slain,
" Detested only for that crime is Cain.
" Had I but lulFd each fury of my soul,
" Had held each rebel passion in control,
" To nature and to God had faithful proved,
" And loved a brother as a brother loved,
" Then had I sunk into a grave of rest,
" And Cain had breathed his last on Abel's breast !"
The following juvenile exercises (composed amidst
the hurry of public examinations, and within the short
time allowed on such occasions) were thought to give
fair promise of future excellence in Latin versification.
Some of the best verses which he wrote have been lost ;
and he never applied himself afterwards to the cultiva-
tion of his talents in that way.
APPENDIX. 461
GILECIA CAPTA FERUM VICTOREM CEPIT.
Intenta bellis, et rudis artium,
Victrix juventus ingruit Atticae,
Sedesque doctrinae dicatas,
Imperio subigit superbo :
Sed non Camoenas ; hae placido domant,
Hae saeva cultu pectora molliunt,
Gratasque Romanum vaganti
Ingenio injiciunt habenas :
Victas Athenas en juvenum cohors,
Victas Athenas Ausonium petit
Examen ; in campos Pelasgos
Roma ferox Latiumque fluxit.
Hinc mutuatur gymnasio forum
Ton-ends aestus eloquii, et gravis
Demosthenis gustavit acer
Rhetoricum Cicero fluentum.
Rapta sonori Maeonidis tuba,
Dignos magistro dat numeros Maro ;
Audaxque clangorem strepentem
Increpat, attonitusque cantat.
Chordam in Latinas ^Eolicam lyras
Modumque Flaccus transtulit aureum, et
Mel dulce b'bavit, Poetae
Aonii labiiscaducum.
462 APPENDIX.
PRINCIPIIS OBSTA.
Surge! nee turpis teneat Voluptas;
Arma, quse Virtus dedit, atque Numen,
Indue, ad pugnam citus ; ecce praesens
Advenit hostis.
Advenit dirum Vitium, ille primo
Praelio tantiim superandus hostis ;
Conseras pugnam, cadat atque summo
Limine victus.
Viperae ssevam genitura prolem
Ova conculca ; nisi sic latentes
Comprimas pestes, breviter tremenda
Pullulat Hydra.
Ergo vincendum Vitium juventa est :
Herculis vivas memor, et tenella
Strangulet, cunis etiam, ingruentes
Dextra dracones.
IRA FUROR BREVIS EST.
Quare supremum dat gemitum Clytus?
Senexque cara miles obit manu ?
Quis pectus invadit fidele
Ni Furiis agitatus ipsis ?
APPENDIX. 463
Furore felix ! cui scelus et nefas
Postquam patrasset non Ratio redit !
Non mentis ultoris flagella
Sentiet, et rabie fruetur.
Ast Ira praeceps perfidior Furor,
Mentes ut aegras impulit in scelus,
Relinquit, accedunt querelae,
Conscia mens, lachrymaeque inanes.
MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS.
It is curious to observe what sources superstition
used to furnish to imagination, and what civilisation
has supplied for them. This may be aptly illustrated
by the circumstance of eclipses. These formerly excited
a real and present terror in barbarous minds, and gave
a wild and violent impulse to their imaginations. Civili-
sation has dried up this fountain for the fancy, but has
supplied the knowledge of that glorious system of the
universe, which, though it does not so imperiously
demand consideration, yet, when considered, displays
a much more magnificent and extensive field for ima-
gination, which thus seems to have even gained by its
alliance with truth.
Imagination seems almost necessary to truth and
reason, and often first suggests what reason afterwards
464 APPENDIX.
proves ; and afterwards seems necessary (at least with
such limited beings as we are) to admire its results.
Truth and reason, when rightly considered, by de-
veloping the works of the Deity, are, in other words,
developing the sublime and beautiful, which are also
the objects of imagination.
There is a degree of alliance between truth and
imagery. We look for a degree of probability in the
wildest fits of fancy ; and require, at least, apparent
harmony and coherence, and a consistency with human
nature.
Imagination it is which sustains hope, joy, &c.
Shall we then part with it in heaven ? It appears to
be a partial exertion of a more general faculty a love
of the sublime and beautiful ; so that this our lovely
earthly companion, with whom we have wandered over
mountain and wild, and by whose side we have reposed
in glen and valley, this our wayward and romantic
guardian may rise when we rise, and become glorified
with us in heaven.
Men who accustom themselves to take compre-
hensive views of practical subjects, often forget the
application to themselves as individuals, in considering
the effect upon the aggregate of mankind, or upon col-
lective bodies. Thus men, who with a view to raise the
APPENDIX. 465
character, and justly appreciate the good effects of
Christianity, employ themselves much in considering
its influence upon society, are sometimes ignorant of
its doctrines, and uninfluenced by its precepts. One
reason is, that in considering the aggregate of man-
kind the individual is kept out of view ; another, that
many of the effects upon society are merely temporal,
and all come short of those which it produces upon any
one individual upon whom it is practically influential ;
another, is the pride that naturally accompanies the mind
which is possessed of those comprehensive powers.
It might be at once one of the most certain and the
most agreeable methods of decomposing and developing
the ingredients of human nature, to take some of those
passages of undoubted and transcendent excellence
which are supplied oy poetry, oratory, and polite litera-
ture in general, and by altering one or two of the less
prominent words or expressions, perhaps a mere particle,
into one apparently synonymous, to observe the change of
feeling produced by change of phrase, and pursue it to its
source. This would be a species of metaphysical ana-
lysis, in which, from real though delicate and unobtru-
sive data, we might, by cautious reasoning, arrive at
abstract principles. For if a change of feeling is pro-
duced, if we feel a disappointment at any alteration,
however slight, the pleasure or pain is as real, though
not as intense, as the most extravagant joy or the most
violent agony. Thus we should detect many a pleasure
2H
466 APPENDIX.
(as we often do) only by its loss ; and, what is still
more important, would be guided, in the progress of
reasoning, to its principles, and prevented from indul-
ging in fanciful and extravagant speculation, by having
two feelings to compare or contrast the pleasure with
its disappointment. This might lead to a knowledge
of the principles of our nature ; to an acquaintance
with the delicacy of language and style; to a radical
improvement of taste, and to a perception of the more
retiring, but, perhaps, the more exalted beauties of
literature.
It was the greatest compliment ever passed upon
one of the greatest statesmen the world ever saw, " that
" he ruled the wilderness of free minds." Shall we
then deny to the Creator an excellence that we admire
in one of his creatures ?
The question between (I believe) Voltaire and
Rousseau, " Whether the savage or the civilised state
48 were preferable ?" is one of the greatest arguments
for the utter depravation of our species. The mere
naked fact, that such a question had arisen among
rational beings Whether they should continue in a
state allied to the brute, or exert the very faculties
which constituted them a species ? is enough ; we need
go no farther.
APPENDIX. 46?
THE FOLLOWING WERE FOUND AMONGST SOME
OF HIS JUVENILE PAPERS.
Successful ambition is like the rainbow which spans
the sky, and is gazed at by all who behold it, with
admiration : it is composed of the rays of the sun,
together with the approaching rain and the advancing
cloud. Alas ! and does not ambition span the earth
with a momentary grasp, and is it not composed of the
beams of glory, which are transient, and the deluge of
rain and devastation, and the cloud of misfortunes,
which are permanent ? For the rainbow fades and
dies away in an instant, and the rays of its glory depart
with it ; but the rain and cloud existed while it existed,
and survived when the rainbow and its beams had
vanished. Thus does the man of ambition derive his
glory from causing ruin : the ruin is contemporary with
the glory, and outlives it. His dear beam fades as he
sinks into the grave, but he bequeaths the storm to his
fellow-creatures.
Irish music often gives us, the idea of a mournful
retrospect upon past gaiety, which cannot help catch-
ing a little of the spirit of that very gaiety which it is
lamenting.
There appear to be two species of eloquence ; one
arising from a clear and intense perception of truth, the
other from a rich and powerful imagination.
2 H 2
468 APPENDIX.
The sentiment comes at once from the lips of the
orator, with language at the moment of its birth, like
Minerva in panoply from the brow of Jove.
The milk of human nature appears under as many
different modifications in the dispositions of men, as
the substance, to which it is compared, undergoes in
the dairy. In some men of a perpetual and impreg-
nable good humour it has all the oiliness and- consistency
of butter ; in those of a liberal and generous disposition,
it has all the richness of cream ; in men of a sickly
habit of mind, it has all the mawkish insipidity of whey ;
and in a large portion of the community, it possesses
all the sourness of buttermilk.
Solitude and Society may be illustrated by a lake
and river. In the one, indeed, we can view the heavens
more calmly and distinctly ; but we can also see our own
image more clearly, and are in danger of the sin of
Narcissus : while, in the river, the view both of the
heavens and of ourselves is more broken and disturbed ;
but health and fertility are scattered around.
The imperfect progress of Christianity is only ana-
logous to that first state of which it is the restitution
the state of Adam in Eden. There Adam was liable to
fall ; and the blessings of Christianity which is declared
to be the restoration of that state are of course as
much subject to rejection as the blessings of paradise :
" Flowers of Eden that we may cast away."
APPENDIX. 469
Those who cavil at the apparent clashing of the
attributes of the Deity, and at the control which they
appear to exercise mutually upon each other, involun-
tarily fall into a species of paganism. They distribute
the Deity into so many different essences : they, in
fact, deify his attributes, and make so many inde-
pendent gods. Whereas, the division of the Deity into
attributes is only an accommodation to the weakness of
human faculties. He is the simple, perfect Deity ; of
single and uncompounded energy ; like the solar ray,
appearing more pure and simple than its ingredients.
One difficulty of a preacher is, to balance the terrors
and comforts of religion ; a difficulty in style rather
than in matter. Those who speak upon other subjects
have generally to give the mind a strong impulse in
one direction, because their object is generally to pro-
duce one certain specific act, t. e. a vote on a certain
side ; but the preacher has to induce a habit of acting,
to regulate a man's hopes and fears. This perhaps is
one argument against extemporaneous preaching.
Shall the word of a physician alter our regimen ?
Shall a few hundreds added to, or subtracted from our
fortune, alter our style of living ? And yet shall a visit
from God produce no change ? Shall heaven have de-
scended upon earth, and earth remain what it was ?
Shall the Spirit of God have communed with me, and
shall my soul return unpurified from the conversation ?
470 APPENDIX.
Christ is " God manifest :" He is the Word God
heard : the Light God seen : the Life God felt.
The difference between our Lord's style of prophecy
and that of all other prophets, is this : He seems to
speak with a clear steady perception of futurity, as if
his eye was just as calmly fixed upon future events as
if the whole were a present occurrence : the prophets
appear only to have a picture, or a strong delineation of
their prominent features, and their imaginations became
heated and turbid, and agitated and confused.
The story of St. Paul's conversion is told in three
different ways by the same author; and when com-
pared, the differences appear so natural, from the dif-
ferent situations and circumstances in which they are
related, that, first, they bear invincible testimony to the
authenticity and genuineness of the book itself; and,
secondly, are a standing instance how natural are the
variations between the different Gospels; and prove
that, instead of furnishing an objection, they are an
additional evidence of their truth. The account of the
baptism of Cornelius is told twice, and is another
instance of the same kind.
One of the uses of obscurity in the Bible is to excite
curiosity, and to make an exercise for the faculties as
well as for the affections and dispositions, in order that
the whole man may be employed in religion ; that there
APPENDIX. 471
may be a mode of religious exercise which may serve
both to relieve the exercise of mere feeling, and serve as
a kind of substratum and arena, on which those feelings
may find matter, range, and variety.
However the world may affect to despise the ge-
nuine Christian, it is beyond their power ; they feel too
sensibly the difficulty of attaining that very state of feel-
ing and disposition which is displayed in such a cha-
racter, to entertain in their heart any mean or degrad-
ing opinion of the character which they apparently
undervalue. Every thought which is wrung from their
conscience by its unwelcome obtrusion upon their con-
templation, rises in judgment against their indifference.
God has not permitted them to despise a true Chris-
tian : they may pass him by with a haughty and su-
percilious coldness : they may deride him with a taunt*
ing and sarcastic irony ; but the spirit of the proudest
man that ever lived will bend before the grandeur of
a Christian's humility. You are at once awed, and
you recoil upon your own conscience when you meet
with one whose feelings are purified by the Gospel.
The light of a Christian's soul, when it shines into
the dark den of a worldly heart, startles and alarms
the gloomy passions that are brooding within. Is this
contempt ? No : but all the virulence which is excited
by the Christian graces can be resolved into envy the
feelings of devils when they think on the pure happiness
of angels : and to complete their confusion, what is at
472 APPENDIX.
that moment the feeling in the Christian's heart ? Pity,
most unfeigned pity.
The ancients either let their passions run wild, or
confined them like wild beasts in their cages, where
they were kept muttering in their cells : but Christ has
taught them their legitimate exercise.
The question, Whether the passions are to be ad-
mitted into religion? divides itself into two: First,
Whether the passions are unreasonable in themselves ?
Secondly, Whether they are misplaced in religion ? The
first is a piece of stoicism, that is too absurd and ridi-
culous to be maintained.
The second divides itself also into two : First,
Whether the affections are misplaced in religion, gene-
rally ? Secondly, Whether our Saviour is the proper
object of them ?
First, generally : it is a great presumption against
it, that it proposes at once to exclude from religion so
grand a part of the composition of man. It is to be
supposed, that as the organs of the body, so the original
passions of the mind, were given for some valuable pur-
poses by the Creator. They are now in perpetual rebel-
lion ; and reason alone would presume that it would be
the effect of revelation completely to repair the conse-
quences of this corruption. This indeed had been tried
by human systems in vain. Epicurus confirmed the
usurpation of the passions ; the Stoics attempted to
APPENDIX. 473
extinguish them ; but it is the peculiar office of Chris-
tianity to bring all the faculties of our nature into their
due subordination ; ( that so the whole man, complete
' in all his functions, may be restored to the true end
6 of his being, and devoted, entire and harmonious, to
' the service and glory of God.'
THE END.
LONDON
PRINTED B\ S. ANP R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET,
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