_^„ 
 
 / / /^^'X^/*-/^/^A/
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 \ 
 


 
 ©miEiig'if'ii^sj'^ mnwT 
 
 CHRISTIAN FRIEND: 
 
 ^ ^clrrtt0n of 
 
 RELIGIOUS AND PRECEPTIVE EXTRACTS, 
 
 IN PROSE AXD VERSE. 
 
 CAULISLE: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HUDSON SCOTT : 
 
 LONGMAN AND CO., LONDON ; RODGERSON AND M'GAA, 
 
 LIVERPOOL. 
 
 1833.
 
 H. SCOTT, PRINTER.
 
 PR 
 nil ^ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Ix introduciag this little work to the notice of the 
 public, the Editor is aware that many productions 
 have lately issued from the press similar in design, 
 but he considers the varied field of literature so 
 extensive, that were they even much more numer- 
 ous, there would still be room to cull a gailand, 
 fresh and varied, for the presentation of friendship, 
 or the memorial of affection. 
 
 The selection is principally of a religious nature, 
 containing sentiments and extracts from the n:ost 
 eminent Christian authors; and the editorial part 
 of tlie work has been, to collect together a few 
 boautil'ul and impressive frago^euts, (such as v,&
 
 IV 
 
 cull for our album or scrap-book), and by pre- j 
 
 senting them in a new and neat style of typography, 
 
 to form an elegant and acceptable annual offering. | 
 
 An examination of the Vv'ork will determine | 
 
 whether the Editor has succeeded in his object, of i 
 
 presenting to the Public a volume selected with , 
 
 judgment and taste, and calculated to lure us to the | 
 love and practice of virtue.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 Man designed for a future state of 
 
 
 Page 
 
 existence . . • . 
 
 Bates. 
 
 1 
 
 God 
 
 
 4 
 
 Deism 
 
 JOIIXSO>f. 
 
 7 
 
 Ou Happiness . 
 
 BOWDLER. 
 
 8 
 
 Ou Christian Perfection 
 
 BOWDLER. 
 
 10 
 
 The Towers of Intellect . 
 
 E. Warixg. 
 
 1-Z 
 
 My Father's at the Helm . 
 
 
 14 
 
 Anecdote of Archbishop Usher . 
 
 
 15 
 
 Paul in a Strait 
 
 Sternhold. 
 
 17 
 
 Definition of Religion by an Ame- 
 
 
 
 rican Minister . . 
 
 J. Scott. 
 
 18 
 22 
 22 
 
 Benevolence . , 
 On Resignation 
 
 
 Ou Candour 
 
 BoWDLER. 
 
 25 
 
 The Sabbath Bell 
 
 
 26 
 
 Man formed for Eternity . 
 
 R. Hall. 
 
 28 
 
 The Sundew 
 
 
 30 
 
 Exalted Society, and the Rencwa 
 
 
 
 of Virtuous Connexions, ice. 
 
 Blaib. 
 
 31 
 
 Compassion 
 
 
 32
 
 VI 
 
 The Triumpli of Doi-ni 
 On the Mjsteries oi" Eevel:;tioii . 
 Reficctiou . . . . 
 
 On the Bible . . . . 
 The Beauty and Wisdom of the 
 
 Creation . . . . 
 
 Sal^bath Morning 
 To an Infant .... 
 Fixed Principles Indispensable . 
 The Mail of Integrity 
 Temperance .... 
 Philosophy unable to teach us 
 
 Truth 
 
 Precepts for Youth 
 
 Elijah 
 
 On Conversation 
 A Summer Morning's Meditation 
 Archbishop Lei^'hton on Prayer 
 Thraldom .... 
 Freedom .... 
 Dress .... 
 
 Character of the gi-eat Founder of 
 
 Christianity ... 
 On the Beauties of the Psalms 
 On the true Honour of ]Mau 
 Thoughts on ^lortality 
 Behold my IMothcr and my Bre 
 
 threu .... 
 Innocence 
 
 Pat-s 
 A. Rei;d. 33 
 
 W. OiJ.MK. 35 
 
 Cr.vbue. 35 
 
 W. B. COLLYER. 39 
 
 Blaie. 
 
 41 
 
 
 46 
 
 
 47 
 
 Blvir. 
 
 47 
 
 Plair. 
 
 50 
 
 W. Pexx. 
 
 51 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 52 
 
 Blair. 
 
 54 
 
 
 58 
 
 A. II. 
 
 Gl 
 
 
 GG 
 
 
 67 
 
 
 73 
 
 Cow PER. 
 
 73 
 
 IIervey. 
 
 80 
 
 Ds. Beattie, 81 
 
 IIoilNE. 8 -J 
 
 Blair. 84 
 
 Knox. hi 
 
 S3 
 8S
 
 ■VII 
 
 Paoh 
 
 Time Kirke White. 89 
 
 Majesty of God in his Works . Stlkm. 94 
 
 The Nominal Christian defective 
 
 in Love to God . . . Wilberfokce. 95 
 Pleasures of Science . . Brocgham. 07 
 
 The Delusions of Life . . Kirke White. 99 
 
 Vanity inscribed on all Thin;5^s . "SVatts. 103 
 
 Praise waiteth for Thee, () God, 
 
 in Sion .... Watts. 108 
 
 Piefleetions suggested in Silent 
 
 Vv'orship .... 
 
 On Divine Worship . 
 Jehovah Sharamah 
 Testimonials of the Heathen to the 
 
 Influence of the Holy Spirit . 
 The Rainbow .... 
 On the Vastness of the Universe 
 Omnipotence .... 
 The Divine Mission of Jesus, Sec. 
 I'biquity .... 
 
 The Flood .... 
 
 Reflections— On Prayer . . Kirke White. 138 
 
 Stanzas Mooke. 147 
 
 The Creator of the Physical is the 
 
 Governor of the jMoral World Whewell. 118 
 
 The Altar's Simplicity . . Barto:^'. 159 
 
 Di-"cussion on the Punishment of 
 
 Death, for Murder, &c. Tvebmak and Ehnnet. 100 
 Sonnet Kir.KE White. 16G 
 
 A^IELIA OriE. 
 
 113 
 
 Bates. 
 
 lU 
 
 
 115 
 
 Bates. 
 
 117 
 
 J. Holland. 
 
 118 
 
 Whew ELL. 
 
 120 
 
 Knox. 
 
 129 
 
 Palev. 
 
 131 
 
 Kkox. 
 
 135 
 
 Knox. 
 
 136
 
 TIU 
 
 Page 
 
 The Christian Virgin's Address to 
 
 her Apostate Lover 
 Authority of the Conscience 
 The Surrender of the Heart 
 Conviction and Pardon 
 On Religious Convictions . 
 The Infant's Dream . 
 *' It is good to he here " 
 Natural Reli;^ion and Christianity 
 The World in the Heart 
 
 War 
 
 Rachel— A True Story 
 
 The Imapje of his Creator in ]Man 
 
 On Sceptical Levity in matters of 
 
 Religion .... 
 
 WMsdorn, Divine and Human 
 Bridal Greetings 
 A Thought on the Sea Shore 
 Fragment ..... 
 Hymn of Thanksgiving for the 
 
 Close of the Year . 
 
 Dale, 
 
 166 
 
 Dymond, 
 
 168 
 
 M. Browne. " 
 
 172 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 173 
 
 Jev^sbury. 
 
 175 
 
 
 179 
 
 H. Knowles. 
 
 183 
 
 Chalmers. 
 
 185 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 19J 
 
 SOAME Jenyns, 
 
 . 195 
 
 M. Bridges. 
 
 198 
 
 Wolfe. 
 
 203 
 
 Dr. R. Burns. 
 
 208 
 
 T. Hancock. 
 
 211 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 220 
 
 Conder. 
 
 221 
 
 H. R. 
 
 222 
 
 Stcrm. 
 
 223
 
 A CHEISTIAN'S GIFT. 
 
 MAN DESIGNED FOR A FUTURE STATE OF 
 
 EXISTENCE. 
 Thocgii human reason could never lead the mind up 
 to an acquaintance with God, his attributes, and his will 
 Concerning us ; vrith tlie means which he has provided 
 for our redemption, or the existence of the soul after 
 death ; yet, these things being revealed or brought to 
 light by the Gospel, are supiwrted by the testimony of 
 unperverted reason. 
 
 But to my mind, one of the most conclusive arguments 
 in favour of Divine Revelation, is, that it goes beyond 
 the evidences of the senses, or the discoveries of human 
 reason. It is an important argument in favour of 
 Reason, tlvat it opens to us a wide field of knowledge, of 
 action, and of enjoyment, which lies beyond the reach 
 of the senses. For this is one of the striking advantages 
 that we enjoy above the brute creation. The same 
 mode of rea^ouiug will apply to Divine Revelation, as
 
 rxalting our condition above wLat it could po«;sibly be, 
 if ue possessed no higher principle than reason. For 
 though reason enlarges our sphere of action, of useful- 
 ness, and of enjoyment; yet it also unfolds tons the 
 miseries to which we are heirs, more fully than the brute 
 creation can be made sensible of. The ox is led uncon- 
 scious to the slaughter, and feels nothing of the terrors 
 of anticipation, Wc see the powerful causes of change, 
 disappoin'mant, mid ajjllciion, that surround us. Were 
 there nothing for the mind to rest upon, but such obiccts 
 as come within the reach of the senses, and the calcu-a- 
 tions of human reason, we should be miserable indeed. 
 It is, therefore, a source of peculiar gratitude, that "life 
 and immortality are brought to light by the Gospel." 
 The beasts possess the faculties of sense. Man, though 
 he possesses these faculties in an inferior degree, still 
 rises above the brute creation, by the exercise of reason. 
 This gives him a commanding advantage over the rest 
 of animated nature ; but it is only a partial advantage. 
 Though it enlarges his knowledge, his powers, and his 
 enjoyments, it also abundantly enlarges his sphere of 
 sufferings and distress. It therefore still remains for 
 Divine Revelation to direct his views, to regulate his 
 affections and pursuits; and to give animation to his 
 hopes, and support to his mind, through all the vicissi- 
 tudes that can attend him. For, as Reason leads to 
 discoveries which never could be made by the senses, 
 so Revelation unfolds to the believing mind, truths of 
 infinite importance, which must have remained for ever 
 hid from m.ere human reason. Without this source of 
 intelligence, we arc shut up in darkness. The philoso- 
 pher may be as ignorant as the barbarian. With tlie 
 refinements of civilized life, with the discoveries of 
 science open to his view, he maybe even more destitute
 
 bf knowlodge in Divine things, than the Indian, the 
 Hottentot, or the Iliauoo. In all nations, and in all 
 a.'es. " there is" and has been " a Si^irit in man, and 
 the Inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understand- 
 ing." Job xxxii. 8. As thus the capacity and the 
 intelligence are received, we cannot contemplate the 
 stupendous works of nature, or consider the order and 
 harmony displayed in the visible creation, without feel- 
 ing the concurrent testimony of nature and of reason, 
 to the being of a God — his wisdom, goodness, power, 
 and providence. Thus the apostle, speaking with refer- 
 ence to the Gentiles, says ; " For the invisible things of 
 him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, 
 boiag understood by the things that are made, even hi* 
 Eternal Power and Godhead ; so that they are without 
 excuse." Horn. i. 20. 
 
 Finding ourselves placed in the vast repository of Ilia 
 works, made subservient to our wants, and promotive 
 of our comfort; conscious too of sl mind, rising above 
 tiie material world, to its invisible and incompreheni-ible 
 Author, we see much to impress the obligations of gra- 
 iituds, love, and adoration, which are his due from us. 
 Feeling these obligations, and, on looking around in the 
 world, being able to find, not Him, but only the evi- 
 dencses that He is, we see the necossity of that commu- 
 nion with Kim, by which we can become acquainted 
 with his will, be enabled to perform it, and receive the 
 consolation of his immediate approbation. Nor can ws 
 question the po3iibi;ity of such a communiou, betweea 
 God, who is a Spirit, and the soul of man, that is a 
 spirit also. 
 
 Beings, capable of such communion with the Deity, 
 brought up into converse with Him, and leavened into 
 hLi Diviae nature, must be designed for move thaa
 
 momentary existence. It cannot be supposed, that the 
 soul -which has been raised to this participation of the 
 Divine nature, and which still, in humble hope and 
 animating love, clings to its Father and its God, -will, 
 after a few fleeting moments, be cast out into utter anni- 
 hilation. No principle of reason would lead to such a 
 conclusion. And here, in the reflection on the weight 
 of obligation we are under, the blessings we have 
 received, and the high privileges conferred upon us, we 
 must acknowledge " the exceeding sinfulness of sin." 
 And while the mind looks, with a joyful assent, to an 
 eternity of happiness, it cannot deny, however awful 
 the idea, the possibility of an eternity, in a state of 
 separation from the Divine presence. 
 
 Bates. 
 
 GOD. 
 O THOU eternal One ! whose presence bright 
 All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
 Unchanged through time's all devastating flight ; 
 Thou only God ! there is no God beside I 
 Being above all beings ! Mighty One ! 
 "Whom none can comprehend and none explore; 
 Who fiU'st existence with thyself alone 
 Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — 
 Being whom we call God — and know no more ! 
 
 In its sublime research, philosophy 
 May measure out the ocean deep — ma3- count 
 The sands or the sun's rays — but God ! for Thee 
 There is no weight nor measure : — none can mount 
 Up to Thy mysteries ; Reason's brightest spark.
 
 Thou'^h kindled by Thy li^ht, in vain TTould try 
 To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark : 
 And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high. 
 Even like past moments in eternity. 
 
 Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 
 First chaos, then existence ; — Lord ! on Thee 
 Eternity had its foundation ; — all 
 Sprung forth from Thee : — of light, joy, harmony. 
 Sole origin, — all life, all beauty Thine. 
 Thy word created all, and doth create ; 
 Thy splendour fills all space vith rays divine ; 
 Thou art, and -srert, and shalt be ! Glorious I Great, 
 Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate ! 
 
 Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround; 
 
 Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath ! 
 
 Thou the beginning with the end hast bound. 
 
 And beautifully mingled life and death ! 
 
 As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, 
 
 So suns are bom, so worlds spring forth from Thee; 
 
 And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
 
 Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
 
 Of heaven's bright army glitter in Thy praise. 
 
 A million torches lighted by Thy hand ' 
 
 Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; 
 They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command. 
 All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
 What shall we call them 1 Piles of crystal light — 
 A glorious company of golden streams — 
 Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 
 Suns lighting systems with their joyous bcRms ; 
 But Thou to these art as the moon to uight.
 
 Yes ! a? a drop of water in the sea. 
 
 All this ma,,'iiificeuce in Thee is lost : — 
 
 WJiat are tea thousand worlds compared to Thee ? 
 
 And what am I then ? Heaven's unnumber'd hoit. 
 
 Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd 
 
 In all the glory of sublimest thought. 
 
 Is but an atom in the balance weighed 
 
 Against Thy greatness, is a cypher brouglit 
 
 Against inliuity ! What am I then ? Nought! 
 
 Nought! But the effluence of thy light divine. 
 Pervading worlds, hach reach'd my bosom too ; 
 Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine 
 As shines the sunbeam iu a drop of dew. 
 Nought, — but I live, and on Hope's pinions fly- 
 Eager towards Thy T)resence ; for in Thee 
 I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high. 
 Even to the t'nroue of thy divinity. 
 1 am, O God ! and surely lliou must be ! 
 
 Thou art', directing, guiding all, Thou art! 
 
 Direct my understanding then to Thee ; 
 
 Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart; 
 
 Though but an atom midst intensity, 
 
 Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand ! 
 
 1 hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth. 
 
 On the last verge of mortal being stand, 
 
 Close to the realms where angels have their birth, 
 
 Just on the boundaries of the spirit laud ! 
 
 The chain of being is complete in rac; 
 In me is matter's last gradation lost, 
 Aud the next step is Spirit — Deity ! 
 I can commaad the lightalng and am dust I
 
 A monarch and a <>]avo : a worm, a ^od ! 
 "U'hencc came 1 here and how ? so marvellously 
 Construcied and conceived ? unknown ! this clod 
 Lives surely through some higher energy. 
 For from itself alone it could not be ! 
 
 Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word 
 Created me ! Thou source of life and good I 
 Thou spirit of ray spirit, and my Lord 1 
 Thy light. Thy love, in their bright plenitude. 
 Filled me with an immortal soul — to spring 
 Over the abyss of death, and bat!e it wear 
 The garments of eternal day, and wing 
 lis heavenly flight beyond this little sphere. 
 Even to its source — to Thee — its Author there. 
 
 O thonghts inefiable ! O vision bless'd! 
 Though worthless cur conceptions ail of Thee, 
 Yet shall thy shadow'd unage fill our breast. 
 And waft its homage to Thy Deity. 
 God ! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; 
 Thus seek Thy Fresence — Being wise and good! 
 Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore . 
 And when the tongue is eloquent no more. 
 The soul shad speak in tears of gratitude. 
 
 DEISM. 
 No honest man can be a Deist ; for ro man could be 
 so after a fair examination of Christianity, ilume 
 owned that he had never read the New Tcstanient wilh 
 attention. Ci.ristiaaily is the highest ptrfcction of 
 Lumar.il/. JouNso."*.
 
 ON IIArPINESS. 
 
 pEnFF.CT happiness is not the lot of this life. To be 
 constantly advancing towards it, continually aiming at 
 it, and continually successful in that aim, is the utmost 
 ive can hope for here ; and this -sve may enjoy in every 
 situation of life, -nhere our affections are placed on the 
 highest object : but we can never enjoy it constantly or 
 securely, while they are fixed on any other. Are we 
 afflicted J Our greatest joy remains. Are we disap- 
 I^ointed ? Our dearest hope cannot be taken away. 
 Are we wounded by unkindness ? Our best Friend will 
 comfort us. Are we oppressed by pain and difficulties ? 
 Our Almighty Helper will support us. Are our good 
 iutenticns misrepresented, and our best actions misin- 
 terpreted? He who sees the heart will do us justice. 
 Are we neglected and forsaken by the world ? He who 
 made and rules the world is ready to receive us, and 
 never will forsake us. Is every sorrow heaped upon us, 
 and every earthly comfort snatched away ? The best of 
 comforts yet remains, and an eternity of happiness 
 awaits us. 
 
 How happy must be the situation of a rational crea- 
 ture, exerting all his powers for the best and noblest 
 purposes, performing all the duties of his station, and 
 making continual advances towards the perfection of his 
 nature ; depending with humble confidence on the 
 Divine assistance to support his weakness, and con- 
 stantly and sincerely endeavouring to dp the will of his 
 Heavenly Father, who watches over him with far more 
 thau fatheriy affection — who orders all events as shall 
 be really best for him ; accepts his endeavours, forgives 
 Ms imperrections, and leads him through all the various 
 paLlis of life to everlasting happiness. How ueliglilful
 
 is the thought, that we are indeed the objects of his love 
 and favour; that all events which can befal us, may be 
 made the means of good ; that we may flee to him aa to 
 a tender and faithful friend, in all our sorrows, in all 
 our trials, aud be certain of that comfort and assistance 
 of which we stand in need ! 
 
 This surely is happiness : and this may be enjoyed in 
 every situation in which we can be placed in this world, 
 for it is totally independent on outward oircumstancef?. 
 All that the world most values can never bestow it, nor 
 afford true and lasting satisfaction without it ; nor can 
 the greatest afflictions ever take it away. If then, in 
 the time of pleasure and success, we feel that something 
 still is wanting to complete our happiness, and find our 
 enjoyments disturlied by the dread of losing them ; or, 
 if in the time of alHiction we are ready to sink beneath 
 our burthen ; when we are inclined to be dissatisfied or 
 dejected, instead of giving way to such dispositions, let 
 us think of the happiness of the state we have been 
 describing, and ask ourselves, if such be really the pic- 
 ture of our situation ? If it be, our pleasures may be 
 enjoyed without anxiety ; and, in the midst of every 
 trial, we may say with confidence, " Yet will I rejoice 
 in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation ;" and 
 such joy "no man taketh from you." Affliction may 
 be felt, human weakness may overcloud our joy for a 
 time ; but they cannot destroy it : superior to them all, 
 it will constantly overbalance, and in the end entirely 
 coaquer them. 
 
 Bowdleb's Essats.
 
 10 
 
 ON CimiSTIAN PERFECTION. 
 Some good -sve can all do ; and if we do all that is in 
 our power, however little that power may be, we have 
 performed our part, and may be as near perfection as 
 those whose influence extends over kingdoms, and whose 
 good actions are felt and applauded by thousands. But 
 then we must be sure that we do all we can, and exert 
 to the utmost all those powers which God has given us ; 
 and this is a point in which we are very ai)t to deceive 
 ourselves, and to shelter our indolence under the i)Te- 
 tence of inability. 
 
 Let us, then, in whatever situation in life we may be 
 placed, consider attentively how we may improve it to 
 the best advantage ; let us never be discouraged by any 
 difficulty which may attend what we know to be our 
 duty ; for if we do our best, we are secure of an All- 
 powerful assistance ; nor let us ever think any occasion 
 too trifling for the exertion of our best endeavours, for 
 it is by constantly aiming at perfection, in every instance, 
 •that we may at length attain to as great a degree of it as 
 our present state will admit of. 
 
 It may have happened to many, whose intentions 
 were yet sincerely good, to be discouraged by the little 
 apparent good that is in their power, and by the disap- 
 pointments they may have met with in their endeavours 
 to do even that little. But let such remember, that it is 
 the intention, not the success, which constitutes the 
 merit of an^ action ; and, whatever present pleasure 
 they may lose by the disappointment of their honest 
 endeavours, will, with infinite advantage, be made up to 
 them hereafter. 
 
 They should also consider, that the applause of men, 
 and even the secret self-approbation which attends a
 
 11 
 
 successful good action, is not without its danger. Vanity 
 is ever apt to steal in, and taint even our beat perform- 
 ances, and that not only in such actions as are seen by 
 the world, for there may be a vanity even in our own 
 applause ; and, when they find their best endeavours 
 disappointed, and their greatest kindnesses received with 
 indifference, and repaid with ingratitude, let them not 
 be discouraged, but still go on in the blessed course in 
 which they are engaged, censtantly endeavouring to 
 discover and improve every opportunity of doing good, 
 however little it luay appear, though no eye see them, 
 and though no voi^e applaud them. 
 
 He who is higher than the highest, will mark their 
 diligence, and crown hereafter their sincere endeavours, 
 though he may see fit to humble them with disappoint- 
 ments here, and deprive them of the catisfaction of 
 enjoying the good they do. 
 
 In whatever situation we may be placed, let us not 
 enquire what allowances may be made for us, not how 
 much we must do that we may hope for acceptance. 
 But let us consider, what is the best that we can do, for 
 we certainly have not performed our duty, when we are 
 conscious that we might have done better. 
 
 By resigning our own will, upon every little occasion, 
 when it opposes that of our Maker, we shall learn to do 
 it in the greatest ; and by constantly aiming at perfec- 
 tion, even in the smallest instances, we shall make daily 
 advances towards it, till at last we arrive at that blessed 
 state, where all our imperfections shall Jje done away, 
 and perfect goodness, and perfect happiness, shall reign 
 for ever. 
 
 BowDLEu's Essays.
 
 12 
 
 THE TOWERS OF INTELLECT. 
 The sun was just gone to his valley of ni^ht. 
 
 And evening arose in her sombre hued vest, 
 Her zone with the rubies of ether was bright, 
 Her hair shone with gold, and on zephyrs so light 
 
 Wav'd lovely and fair in the west. 
 
 As musing I saunter'd the sea beach along. 
 
 Where the cool balmy breezes give health as they pass ; 
 The surge scarcely murmur'd the pebbles among. 
 So stilly that 1 heard the small grasshopper's song 
 On the clifTs, 'mid the scanty grown grass. 
 
 A calm, like the waves hushed to silence, there fell 
 
 On the wild stream of fancy's tumultuous thought; 
 What stay'd their wild current, that spirit can tell, 
 W^hose magic divine gave its birth to the spell. 
 Which so sweetly, yet mightily wrought. 
 
 I bethought on that secret Power which plann'd 
 
 And reared all this wonderful structure of soul. 
 Where Reflection's clear skies o'er xhe prospect expand. 
 Where " Intellect's Towers" impregnable stand, 
 The glory and strength of the whole. 
 
 How mighty this bulwark, exulting I cried, 
 
 Lo, its turrets so lofty, all fearless I climb ; 
 Hence I gaze all around with superior pride. 
 Hence abroad on the wings of Invention I ride, 
 And scale all the ramparts of Time. 
 
 As I spake, a poor maniac wandered that way, 
 Oa the steep he was led by a liveried groom ;
 
 13 
 
 In hU eye a dim spark of mild phrenzy there lay. 
 But passion was dead, and had yielded her sway 
 To apathy's sovereign gloom. 
 
 All vacantly silent, one while he would gaze 
 
 On the waters of ocean unmoved by a wind. 
 Seemed pleased with the moon as she rose in a blaze. 
 Then again appeared lost iu the dreariest maze 
 Of tlie wilderness waste in his mind. 
 
 This sigjit checked the pinions that pride had just spread. 
 
 In a moment they sunk into earth and were still ; 
 In the ruins of Reason before me I read. 
 That He who had buQt this munition so dread, 
 Might cast down its walls at His will. 
 
 And within me this oracle sprung to my ear, 
 
 {'Twas the calm voice of truth by its wisdom confess'd) 
 " Cease, mortal, to boast of security here, 
 " Human pride must be banished this dignified sphere, 
 " I will bring thee a worthier guest. 
 
 *' Thou hast seen how in ruins yon citadel lies, 
 
 " Guard thine own, while it yet has no breach to repair ; 
 " Then lift, where the Towers of Intellect rise, 
 •• Religion's broad standard unfurled to the skies, 
 " And plant it immoveably there. 
 
 " So from hence by thine eye shall that path be descried, 
 " Which no vulture hath seen, where no lion hath trod, 
 *' Thou aloft on the wings of devotion shall ride, 
 
 •• And spurning the trappings and trammels of pride, 
 " bhiiU triumph aloiie iu thy God." 
 
 E. VVAaiNG.
 
 14 
 
 MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM. 
 The curling waves -svith awful roar 
 
 A little bark assail'd, 
 And pallid fear, di-jtracting power. 
 
 O'er all Qur board prevail'd — 
 
 Save one, the Captain's darling child, 
 "Who steadfast view'd the storm. 
 
 And cheerful, with composure smiled 
 At danger's threat'niag form. 
 
 " And sports thou thus," a seaman cried, 
 " While terrors overwhelm ;" 
 
 •• VvTiy should 1 fear," the boy replied, 
 •• My Father's at the Helm." 
 
 So when our worldly all is reft. 
 
 Our earthly helpers gone, 
 We still have one sure anchor left, 
 
 God's help, and He alone. 
 
 He to our prayers will lend his car, 
 
 He gives our pangs relief. 
 He'll turn to smiles each trembling tear, 
 
 To joy each tort' ring grief. 
 
 Then turn to Him, 'raid sorrows wild. 
 When wants and woes o'erwhelm. 
 
 Remembering, like the fearless child. 
 Our Father's at the Helm.
 
 15 
 
 ANECDOTE OF ARCIIBISnOP USHER. 
 James Usher, Archljishop of Armagh, and Primate 
 of all Ireland, landed in some port of "Wales, and tra- 
 velled on foot to Worcester, vrhere he desired permission 
 of one of the Curates to preach in one of the Churches 
 of that City ; the Curate could not give him leave, with- 
 out previously consulting the Bishop of that Diocese. 
 Usher accompanied him, and was introduced into the 
 presence of the great man, who, without askin:^ him to 
 Bit down, gave him permission in a very contemptuous 
 manner, after censuring him as an itinerant. Usher 
 preached extempore that morning to a very large audi- 
 tory, who were so much affected, that there was scarcely 
 a dry eye in the place; in the evening, such fresh 
 matter opened to him, that his discourse had the same 
 cfiect on his hearers. The Bishop had hut few hearers, 
 which enraged him to such a degree, hearing also what 
 effect Usher's preaching had, that he sent for him, and 
 after much ungentecl language, ordered him to his own 
 parish, and then asked him his name, *' I am," said 
 the Archbishop, "James," "What!" cries the Bishop — 
 " James Usher, my lord, and from Ireland." " Wnat, 
 have I the Archbishop of Armagh, and Primate of all 
 Ireland, under my roof? Pray, sir, sit down my lord, do 
 my lord, I insist upon your lordship taking a bed with 
 me, and beg you will take a glass of wine." " J\'o — 
 when I appeared as a meek humble follower of the 
 blessed Jesus, you despised me, but now when you find 
 me to be Archbishop of Armagh, you treat me with 
 respect — No — I will neither break bread, nor drink 
 water with you, but I will shake off the dust of my feet 
 as a testimony against you." The Bishop was then 
 alarmed, and joined the other Bishops in laying before
 
 16 
 
 Kin» James the impropripty of Archbishop Usher's 
 travellin<}; in the manner he did, and to request his being 
 sent home. The King, who had a great opinion of 
 Usher's abilities, refused compliance, and declared he 
 would not. The Bishop, thinking to confound him, got 
 permission for him to preach in the Chapel Royal, and 
 for the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix upon a text 
 immediately upon his entrance into it, on purpose to 
 try whether he received his authority from inspiration. 
 They accordingly gave him the follo-vving text, from 2d 
 Timothy, chap. 4th, verse 13th—" The cloak that I left 
 at Troas with Carpus, when thou comest, bring with 
 thee, and the books, but especially the parchments." 
 This was an order from a teat maker to the Bishop of 
 Ephesus, the capital of Asia. Usher handled the subject 
 in a most extraordinary manner, and drevr, in striking 
 colours, the difference between tlie aiicient and modern 
 Bishops ; the former so humble and exemplar j"^ ; the 
 latter so proud and imperious. The comments which 
 he made, set him in a most amiable point of view to his 
 hearers, whilst the Bishop of Worcester and his adhe- 
 rents were very justly confounded. 
 
 Though the change from day to night is by a motioa 
 so gradual scarcely to be perceived, 3'et when night is 
 come, we behold it very different from the daj- ; and 
 thus as people become wise in their own eyes, and 
 prudent in their own sight, customs rise up from the 
 spirit of the world and spread by little and little, till a 
 departure from the simplicity that there is in Christ, 
 becomes as distinguishable as liglit from ciarhnesa to 
 such as arc crucitic'd to the world.
 
 17 
 
 PAUL IN A STRAIT. 
 
 " For Jam in a great strait betwixt two, hating n desire to de. 
 part and to be with Christ, which is far better." — Phil, i, 2, 3. 
 
 To die, to enter into rest ; 
 To die, to mingle with the blest ; 
 To die, to go to Abram's breast. 
 Is better far for me. 
 
 To die — at once the victory win ; 
 To die, and never, never sin ; 
 To die, to be with Christ shut in. 
 Is gain immense and free. 
 
 To live, to labour, watch, and pray ; 
 To live — in perils night and day ; 
 To live, exposed to scorn alway, 
 Is woeful misery. 
 
 To live — to preach, exhort, advise ; 
 To live, to teach men to be wise — 
 To run the race, and gain the prize. 
 Is greater charity. 
 
 I'm in a strait — to live — to die — 
 This leads to peaceful realms on high; 
 That dooms to roam beneath the sky 
 In sad anxiety. 
 
 But wherefore reason thus in vain, 
 'Bout death or life, or bliss, or pain ; 
 To live is Christ — to die is gain — 
 Throughout eternity. 
 
 Sterniiold, 
 
 D
 
 18^ 
 
 DEFINITION OF RELIGION, 
 
 BY AN AMERICAN MINISTER. 
 
 In the course of his ministerial labours, he obsen'es : 
 " I am, on this occasion, confirmed in a sentiment 
 I have long been settled in : that is, that there never 
 •was, and never will be, but one true religion in the 
 ■world; to wit, "the work of the Spirit of God in the 
 souls of mankind ; and that no man has any real reli- 
 gion, but what he comes to the knowledge and experi- 
 ence of through the alone influence of this Holy Spirit 
 of God. This it is that begins and can-ies on the work ; 
 this it is that by its own divine influence operating in 
 the minds of mankind, reveals Christ in them the hope oj 
 glory ;* or so operates from time to time, on reading the 
 Scriptures or other good books, on hearing the gospel 
 preached, on meditating on the works of Creation and 
 Providence, on God's judgments in the earth, or his 
 dealings with themselves as individuals ; or whatever 
 other occasion, circumstance, or thing, is ever made a 
 mean of conviction or conversion ; the Holy Spirit so 
 operates, I say, in all these cases, as to produce the 
 happy effect; and without the inward operation thereof, 
 all. these other opportunities and things would be utterly 
 in vain, as to salvation, and never able to produce the 
 least degree of true religion, or sanctification inthesoul. 
 So that, though there are many opinions, many creeds, 
 professions, and denominations, and some truly religious 
 persons in them all ; yet there is, and can be but one 
 true religion ; all true religion is of one kind ; all springs 
 from one source. And blessed and adored for ever be 
 the Lord, in order that all men may, if they will, be 
 
 - Col. i. 27.
 
 ]9 
 
 betverittcd experimentally by this one true religion, tJie 
 vianij'estalion of the Spirit is given to every man to profit 
 withal.' He that rightly profits thereby, and coutinues 
 so to do, will live iu the exercise of the one\ trao faith, 
 Avill witnes3 the one true Christian baptism, -svill know 
 and obey one living Lord, will by the Holy Ghost, in. 
 word and deed, acknowledge and call him Lord, and so 
 w ill be saved with an everlasting salvation. And on the 
 other hand, seeing a measure of the Holy Spirit is given 
 to every man ; seeing the grace of God that brings sal- 
 vation hath appeared unto all men ; seeing the light and 
 the life of the holy Word, which in the beginning was 
 with God, and was God, hath enlightened every man 
 that cometh into the world; and seeing, moreover, 
 Christ Jesus has tasted death for every man, How shall 
 wp escape if we neglect and reject so great salvation .' 
 How great must be the condemnation of every soul, 
 thus highly favoured, which yet stands out and rejects 
 the strivings of the Spirit, the teachings of grace, the 
 shinings and convictions of this divine light ! Now this 
 light, grace, and spirit of God, is all one thing under 
 dilTtrent appellations. It is called spirit because it is 
 t;uick, lively, and operative, and quickens the soul to a 
 sensibility of its state and condition ; it is called grace, 
 because it is the free, unmerited gift of God; and is 
 called light, because it makes manifest ; as whatsoerer 
 doth make manifest is light,x say the Scriptures. And 
 as this grace or light is attended to, it will bring the soul 
 into a state of grace and favour with G>;d. Well, there- 
 fure, might the Apostle, with holy reverence, break 
 furth iu these expressions. Thanks be unto God for his 
 unspeakable gijt.'W And all who obey the light will be 
 
 • 1 Cor. xil 7. tEi.h. iv. 5. * Eph. v, 13. U 2 Cor. ix. 15.
 
 20 
 
 brought out of darkness into God's marvellous light; 
 for though the hearts of fallen men are grossly darkened, 
 yet the light shineth in their dark hearts ; and though 
 the darkness comprehend it not, if it is taken heed to, 
 ■will shine more and more unto the perfect day ; even 
 until the whoie body be full of light. But those who 
 xebel against the light, will grow darker and darker, 
 until they know not the way thereof, nor understand the 
 paths thereof; and become vain in their imaginations, 
 and their foolish hearts become wholly darkened ; having 
 loved darkness rather ihan light, because their deeds icere 
 evil." 
 
 After describing how he was first awakened to religi- 
 ous thoughtfulncss, he expresses himself to the following 
 import ; — 
 
 " I now began to take notice of what I heard read 
 and conversed of, respecting religion ; and among other 
 things, of the Spirit of God, and that good people in 
 former times had it in them, and by it learned his will, 
 and were enabled to perform it. I perceived it was 
 often spoken of in both the Old and New Testament, 
 and. many other writings. I understood that true con- 
 verts in these days also have it. But, like many others, 
 I overlooked its lively checks and calls in myself ; had 
 no idea that I had ever known any thing of it ; longed 
 to be favoured with it ; but supposed it was some extra- 
 ordinary appearance, different far from any thing 1 ever 
 yet had been acquainted v/ilh. 
 
 " Thus the Jews, even while they were expecting 
 Christ's coming, knew him not when he came. They 
 overlooked and despised his mean and ordinary appear- 
 ance ; thought he was Joseph's son, and born among 
 them, and so rejected, abused, and finally put him to 
 death. But they were mistaken in his pedigree : his
 
 21 
 
 descent vas from heaven, and God, not Joseph, was his" 
 father. Just so, are thousands now mistaken, as to the 
 dignity and origin of God's Spirit in them ; they think 
 it is of man, a part of his nature and being ; whereas it 
 is of the very lire, power, and substance of God. Its 
 descent is as truly from heaven as was that of the Lord 
 Jesus. He came in that low, mean, and ordinary 
 appearance, as to outward show and accommodations, 
 teaching us thereby not io despise the day of small things^ 
 nor overlook the littleness of the motions of divine life 
 in our own souls. 
 
 " ! that children, and all people, would be care- 
 ful in their very early years; and as they giow up and 
 advance in life, to mind the reproofs of instruction iu 
 their own breasts ; they are known to be the way of life. 
 This something', though they know not what it is, that 
 checks them in secret for evil, both before and after 
 they yield to the lemptaLiou, warning them beforehand 
 not to touch or taste, and afterwards condemning them 
 if they do so, and inwardly inclining them to a life of 
 religion and virtue ; — this is the very thing, dear young 
 people, whereby God worketh in you, to will and to do ; 
 and by which he wUl, if you cleave to it, and work with 
 it, enable j^ou to work out your ov.n salvation with fear 
 and trembling before him. Despise it not, do no vio- 
 lence to its motions ; love it, cherish it, reverence it ; 
 hearken to its pleadings with you ; give up, without 
 delay, to its lequirings, and obey its teachings. It is 
 God's messenger for good to thy immortal soul : its 
 voice is truly the voice of the living God ; its call is a 
 kind invitation to thee from the throne of grace. Hear 
 it, and it will lead thee ; obey It, and it will save thee : 
 it will save thee from the power of sin and Satan ; it
 
 "will finally lead thee to an iuheritanco incorruptible, iu 
 the mansions of rest, the house not made with hatids^ 
 eternal in the heavens.'" 
 
 J. Scott. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 On, never let us lightly fling 
 
 A barb of woe to wound another ; 
 Oh, never let us haste to bring 
 
 The cup of sorrow to a brother. 
 Each has the power to wound — but he 
 
 Who wounds that he may witness pain. 
 Has learnt no law of Charity, 
 
 Which ne'er inflicts a paug in vain. 
 
 'Tis godlike to awaken ioj. 
 
 Or sorrow's influence to subdue. 
 But not to wound or to annoy 
 
 Is part of Virtue's lesson too : 
 Peace, winged in fairer worlds above. 
 
 Shall lead her dawn and brighten this ; 
 W^hcn all man's labour shall be love. 
 
 And all his thoughts — a brother's bliss. 
 
 ON RESIGNATION. 
 OuK business in tliis world is not to perform certain 
 particular good actions, but to tend constantly to the 
 utmost perfection of cur nature ; to cultivate in our 
 minds such a disposition as may fit us to obtain, and 
 qualify us to enjoy, the eteriia] happiness of heaven:
 
 23 
 
 and this may be done in every situation of life ; for how- 
 ever various the duties may be which we are called to 
 perform, yet, while we act upon the same principle, 
 they will all conduce to the same end. This principle 
 should be a sincere love of God, — not according to the 
 wild fancies of enthusiasm, but such a love as makes us 
 ardently endeavour to please him, and conform ourselves 
 to his will in everj* instance ; a love which extends to 
 all our fellow creatures, and is the source of every hea- 
 venly disposition, of every good and benevolent action. 
 Be it then our study to implant and cultivate this in our 
 hearts, and then our enjoyments, or our sufiFerings in 
 this world, will only serve to vary the actions in which 
 it will exert itself; since every state has its peculiar 
 duties, by the performance of which, we may express 
 our love and gratitude to our Maker, and secure his 
 favour, and our own happiness. 
 
 Little do we know, in this frail and imperfect state, 
 what tends most to our improvement ; and a situation, 
 which appears to us most unfavourable to it, may be 
 such as is really best for us. Such, indeed, we may be 
 sure it is, when Infinite Wisdom and Goodness has 
 decreed it for us. 
 
 The mind of man is naturally active, and the active 
 duties are always the most pleasing. Life, deprived of 
 these, presents a blank, more difficult to support than 
 even powerful exertions, which are attended with suc- 
 cess and self-approbation. Virtue is then no longer its 
 own reward ; for silent suffering, when nothing else is 
 in our power, afibrds no matter of exultation, but rather 
 for the contrary, from the thought of the useltssness of 
 such a life, which necessity itsell" seems hardly sufficient 
 to justify. 
 
 Here, then, the importance of that true rcsi^atioa
 
 24 
 
 which religion inspires, appears in the strongest light, 
 as well as the happiness attending on it. That life 
 vhich once appeared a blank, is such no longer, for our 
 time is still spent in the way most acceptable to our 
 Creator. Had he required of us some great thing, some 
 painful or difBcult exertion, it would certainly have 
 been our duty to have performed it ; perhaps we fancy 
 we could have performed it with satisfaction, but are we 
 sure that there would have been no mixture of self-com- 
 placence, or even of vanity, in this satisfaction. 
 
 To feel and to enjoy the innocent pleasures, which 
 our situation in this world affords, is not only natural, 
 but laudable. The pleasing, as well as the painful cir- 
 cumstances in life, are intended for our real advantage ; 
 and the same disposition of mind, which resigns them 
 readily when the will of God requires it, will also enjoy 
 them while he bestows them, and enjoy them with a 
 security which others can never feel, since the thought 
 of their uncertainty (that constant alloy to every earthly 
 pleasure) is always attended with a full conviction, that 
 they will be enjoyed as long as is really best for us, and 
 that an all-powerful assistance will enable us to support 
 their loss. This, then, is the distinguishing character 
 of true resignation. 
 
 It does not concist in giving up any particular thing 
 which we loved and valued ; it is not a virtue which is 
 only to be called forth to action on extraordinary occa- 
 sions ; — but it is a constant and settled disposition of 
 the mind, ever ready to conform to the will of God in 
 every instance : to enjoy the pleasures, or submit to the 
 afflictions which he sends, and to act or suffer, as the 
 duties of every different situation may require. 
 
 It is the only sure foundation of patience, fortitude, 
 self-denial, generosity, and all those virtues by which a
 
 25 
 
 victory is gained over our own inclinations. Other 
 motives may inspire them in particular instances, but 
 they can never be practised constantly and universally, 
 but by those whose wUl is sincerely resigned to the will 
 of their Creator. 
 
 It is by true devotion, constantly felt and exercised, 
 that true resignation can be fully attained. This fur- 
 nishes a resource in every sorrow — a support in every 
 trial ; and, when this is truly felt, the heart may indeed 
 be resigned in regard to the events of this world, since 
 its best affections, its most ardent wishes, are fixed ou 
 another. 
 
 ON CANDOUR. 
 
 The vanity of displaying superior talents is very preva- 
 lent, and it is often much more from this principle, than 
 from real ill-nature, that the faults and imperfections of 
 the absent are exposed. To gain admiration is the 
 object of pursuit ; any other way by which it might be 
 attained, would answer the purpose just as well, but all 
 others are more difficult, while this is within the reach 
 of all ; for the weakest have penetration enough to dis- 
 cover imperfections in those v,-hose excellencies are fax 
 above their reach. 
 
 It is wonderful to observe, how many unfavourable 
 and unjust opinions are formed, merely by not suffi- 
 ciently considering the very different lights in which the 
 same action will appear to different persons on different 
 occasions. How many things are said in general con- 
 versation, from thoughtlessness and inr.ttention, from a 
 flow of spirits, a desire to say something; which will not 
 Btand the testuf ascvcre censure ; and, which considered 
 E
 
 36 
 
 separately, may appear in such a light as the speaker 
 never thought of! Not only the ill-natured, but the 
 superficial observer may often be misled by such appear- 
 ances, and shocked at things which want only to be 
 understood, in order to secure them a more favourable 
 judgment. 
 
 It should always be carefully observed, as a great and 
 discriminating character of true candour, by which it 
 may be distinguished from all false pretences, that the 
 motives by which it teaches us to be indulgent towards 
 others are such as cannot have that effect when applied 
 to ourselves, if we should ever indulge ourselves in 
 those faults which we condemn in others, ' 
 
 AVe cannot see their hearts, and know their motives; 
 and it is very possible that many an action, which is 
 generally condemned, might, if all the circumstances 
 were known, appear to be really deserving of commend- 
 ation. Perhaps they could explain it, and clear them- 
 selves from the blame throAvn on them, but are restrained 
 from doing it by consideration for others, or some other 
 good and charitable motive, which makes them willingly 
 submit to the censure they might avoid, and dare to do 
 right, not only without the support of that approbation 
 which should be the consequence of it, but even when 
 they know it will expose them to the contrary. 
 
 BowDLEu's Essays. 
 
 THE SABBATH BELL, 
 Pilgrim, thou hast meekly born, 
 AH the cold world's bitter scorn, 
 Journeying through this vale of tears, 
 Till the promised land appears, 
 Where the pure in heart shall dwell — 
 Thou dost bless the Sabbath Bell !
 
 27 
 
 Idler, following Fashion's toys — 
 Seeking, midst its empty joys. 
 Pleasure that must end in pain ; 
 Sunshine that will turn to rain ; 
 What does whisp'ring conscience tell, 
 When thou hear'st the Sabbath Bell I 
 
 Poet, dreaming o'er thy lyre. 
 Wasting health and youthful fire 
 Wooing still the phantom fame, 
 For, at best, a fleeting name ; 
 Burst the chains of Fancy's spell, 
 Listen— 'tis the Sabbath Bell! 
 
 Monarch, on thy regal throne, 
 Ruler, whom the nations own ; 
 Captive, at thy prison grate. 
 Sad in heart and desT)late ; 
 Bid earth's minor cares farewell — 
 Hark— it is the Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 Statesman, toiling in the mart, 
 Where Ambition plays his part ; 
 Peasant, bronzing 'neath the sun. 
 Till thy sLx days' work is done ; 
 Every thought of bus'ness quell. 
 When ye hear the Sabbath EeU ! 
 
 Maiden, with thy brow so fair, 
 Blushing cheek and shining hair ; 
 Child, with bright and laughing eye, 
 Chasing the wing'd butterfly : 
 Hasten, when o'er vale and dell, 
 Souurls the gathering Sabl)ath Bell !
 
 28 
 
 TraT'ller, thou whom gain or taste, 
 Speedeth through earth'3 weary waste ; 
 Wancl'rer, from thy native land, 
 ■Rest thy steed, and slack thy hand ; 
 When the seventh daj-'s sun-beams tell. 
 There they wake the Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 Soldier, who, on battle plain, 
 Soon may'st mingle with the slain ; 
 Sailor, on the dark blue sea. 
 As thj' bark rides gallantly ; 
 Prayer and praise become ye well. 
 Though ye hear no Sabbath Bell ! 
 
 Mother, that with tearful eye. 
 Stand' st to watch thy first-born die ; 
 Bending o'er his cradle bed, 
 Till the last pure breath has fled ; 
 What to thee of hope can tell. 
 Like the solemn Sabbath Bell ? 
 
 •* Mourner," thus it seems to say, 
 *• Weeping o'er the fragile clay ; 
 *' Lift from earth thy streaming eyes, 
 ** Seek thy treasure in the skies, 
 *• Where the strains of angels swell 
 *' One eternal Sabbath Bell l" 
 
 MAN FORMED FOR ETERNITY. 
 Man -was created for the enjojrment of eternal blessed- 
 ness. It is our high calling and destination ; and not 
 to pursue it lyith diligence, is to be guilty of the blackest
 
 29 
 
 ingratitude to the author of our being, as well as the 
 greatest cruelty to ourselves. To fail of such an object, 
 to defeat the end of our existence, and, in conseciuence 
 of neglecting the great salvation, to sink at last under 
 the frown of the Almighty, is a calamity which words 
 ^yere not invented to express, nor finite minds formed 
 to grasp. Eternity, it is surely not necessary to remind 
 you, invests every state, whether of bliss or of suffering, 
 with a mysterious and awful importance entirely its 
 own, and is the only property in the creation which 
 gives that weight and moment to whatever it attaches, 
 compared to which all sublunary joys and sorrows, all 
 interests which know a period, fade into the most con- 
 temptible insignificance. In appreciating every other 
 object, it is easy to exceed the proper estimate. But 
 what, if it be lawful to indulge such a thought, what 
 vould be the funeral obsequies of a lost soul ? where 
 shall we find the tears fit to be wept at such a spectacle 1 
 or, could we realize the calamity in all its extent, what 
 tokens of commisse ration and concern would be deemed 
 equal to the occasion ? Would it suffice for the sun to 
 veil his light, and the moon her brightness ; to cover the 
 ocean with mourning, and the heavens with sackcloth ? 
 or, were the whole fabric of nature to become animated 
 and vocal, would it be possible for her to utter a groan 
 too deep, or a cry too piercing, to express the magnitude 
 and extent of such a catastrophe .' 
 
 " What manner of persons," then, '• ought we to be," 
 who are walking on the brink of such an eternity, and 
 jjossess no assurance, but that the next moment will 
 convey us to the regions of happiness, or of despair ! 
 
 K. II.VLL.
 
 30 
 
 THE SUNDEW. 
 By the lone fountain's secret bed. 
 Where human footsteps rarely tread — ■ 
 'Mid the wild moor and silent glen. 
 The Sundew blooms unseen of men. 
 
 Spreads there her leaf of rosy hue, 
 A chalice for the morning dew ; 
 And, ere the summer sun can rise. 
 Drinks the pure water of the skies. 
 
 Oh \ would that to my lot were given. 
 Thus to receive the dews of heaven ; 
 If, waiting like the lowly flower, 
 My spirit hailed the dawning hour. 
 
 Then would a blessing from on high. 
 Pure as the rain of Summer's sky, 
 Unsullied as the morning dew, 
 Descend, and all my strength imbue. 
 
 Then to that fountain's sacred spring. 
 My chalice let me humbly bring; 
 And prostrate seek, in earnest prayer. 
 The stream:i of heavenly grace to share. 
 
 Then would my soul no more complain, 
 The former and the latter rain. 
 The morning and the evening dew. 
 Will still my failuig strength renew.
 
 31 
 
 EX^MTED SOCIETi', AND THE RENEWAL OP 
 VIRTUOUS CONNEXIONS, TWO SOURCES 
 OF FUTURE FELICITY. 
 Besides the felicity which springs from perfect love, 
 there are two circumstances which particularly enhance 
 the blessedness of that multitude who stand before the 
 Throne ; those are, access to the most exalted society, 
 and renewal of the most tender connexions. The for- 
 mer is pointed out in the Scripture, by "joining the 
 innumerable company of Angels, and the general 
 assembly and Church of the first-bom, by sittiug down 
 with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of 
 heaven :" a promise which opens the sublimest prospects 
 to the human mind. It allows good men to entertain 
 the hope, that, separated from all the dregs of the human 
 mass, from that mixed and polluted crowd in the midst 
 of which they now dwell, they shall be permitted to 
 mingle with the prophets, patriarchs, and apostles, with 
 all those great and illustrious spirits who have shone in 
 former ages as the servants of God, or the benefactors 
 of men : whose deeds v.e are accustomed to celebrate ; 
 whose steps we now follow at a distance ; and whose 
 names we pronounce with veneration. United to this 
 lugh assembly, the blessed, at the same time, renew 
 those ancient connexions with virtuous friends, which 
 had been dissolved by death. The prospect of this 
 awakens in the heart the most phasing and tender sen- 
 timent that, perhaps, can fill it in this mortal state. 
 For of all the sorrows which we are here doomed to 
 endure, none is so bitter as that occasioned by the fatal 
 stroke which separates us in appearance for ever, from 
 those to whom either nature or friendship had intimately 
 joined our hearts. Memory, from time to time, renews
 
 32 
 
 the anguish, opens the wound which seemed once to 
 have been closed, and, by recalling joys that are past 
 and gone, touches every spring of painful sensibility. 
 In these agonizing moments, how relieving the thought, 
 that the separation is only temporary, not eternal ; that 
 there is a time to come of re-union with those with 
 whom our happiest days were spent ; whose joys and 
 sorrows once were ours ; whose piety and virtue cheered 
 and encouraged us; and from whom, after we shall 
 have landed on the peaceful shore where they dwell, no 
 revolutions of nature shall ever be able to part us more ! 
 Such is the society of the blessed above. Of such are 
 the multitude composed who " stand before the Throne." 
 
 Blair, 
 
 COMPASSION. 
 CoMrASSiON is a debt which one human being owes to 
 another : a debt which no distinction of sect or party, 
 no imperfection of character, no degree of ingratitude, 
 unhindness, or cruelty, will cancel. When we see that 
 a fellow-creature hath need of our assistance, to enquire 
 to what country he belongs, what religious tenets he 
 professes, or what party name he wears, betrays the 
 most contemptible bigotry and weakness ; but to deny 
 him our charitable aid, or to hear with the least degree 
 of indifference or neglect, because he happens to profess 
 a religion, or belong to a society different from cur own, 
 is unpardonable inhumanity. He who can withold the 
 tear of compassion, or delay the offices of kindness and 
 charity, till he hath satisfied himself concerning such 
 trifles as these, hathli narrow, contracted spirit — a cold, 
 unfeeling heart — which can never do honour to any
 
 33 
 
 roligion or any sect. The object who solicits my notice, 
 may be a Mahomedan, a Pagan, or a Jew, or a wild 
 Barbarian ; but what have I to do with his religion, or 
 his country ! It is enough for me, that I am assured he 
 deserves my pity, and needs my assistance. He may 
 have been a person of a vile and abandoned character ; 
 he may even have greatly injured or offended me ; but 
 is he on that account the less my brother, or the less in 
 need of my kindness ? If I see him in distress, it is not 
 now a time to call in mind his faults, or to upbraid him 
 with his conduct : the more unworthy he is of my 
 friendship — the greater affronts he hath offered me — the 
 better opportunity I have of manifesting my disinter- 
 ested benevolence, and my forgiving temper. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF DEISM. 
 fFrom A. Reed's Lectures on the Evidences of Christianity. J 
 Bit where all this time are the triumphs of Deism? 
 "Why has this shrewd objector (Gibbon) sought to neu- 
 tralize the success of the Gospel by a train of secondary 
 causes, and by opposing to the triumphs of the Cross 
 those of the Crescent, when it was so much more appro- 
 priate to have adduced the conquests of Infidelity and 
 Deism ? Deism ! which we are told is as old as the 
 Creation, whose creed is written in the firmament, 
 -whose law is printed on every man's conscience, and 
 whose lights are sufiicient without revelation to teach us 
 whatever we ought to know or to perform : Deism ! 
 encumbered by no priestcraft, shrouded by no mysteries, 
 subject to none of the imperfections attending on oral 
 and traditional communications : Deism ! so flattering 
 to human reason, so accommodated to human desire, so 
 
 F
 
 34 
 
 boastful of her beneficence and philanthrophy ; and 
 iv'hose voice, like that of the spheres, is distinctly heard 
 through all speech and all language : surely this is the 
 system, if any, which shall find at once, and without 
 difficulty, universal awjeptance fand dominion. But 
 where are the triumphs of ©eism 7 Where her Apostles ? 
 Where her altars ? W^her^ her worshippers ? What 
 nation has she illuminated ? What superstition has she 
 subdued ? Her creed is writ&pn legibly in the heavens — 
 who has been edified by^ij ? She possesses the antidote 
 of human misery. To whom has it been effectually 
 dispensed ? If we listen to her advocates, she is suflicient 
 of herself to bless mankind ; if we consult her history, 
 none has she blessed, — no where has she triumphed ! 
 
 Yes — I stand correcte<l — Deism has triumphed. Once, 
 and in our own day, she has triumphed. Availing her- 
 self of the wretchedness of a people galled by the fetters 
 of superstition and slavery, she spoke of illumination, 
 liberty, renovation, andigccial good. Her voice passed 
 over their chafed spirits-liive the ireath of heaven. In 
 evil hour they threw tliejq[isebv^"i;ecklessly into her 
 hands, and infidelity was enthroned in the very heart of 
 the civilized world. All existing institutions were 
 destroyed — all existing ties were broken. The ordi- 
 nary princijiles of action were despised ; man was made 
 a law to himself ; and the obligations which arise from 
 social compact and Divine authority were cancelled. 
 Earth was separated from Heaven. A gross and all- 
 consuming selfishness sprang up. Virtue was stunned 
 and stultified. Vice became monstrous and gigantic 
 All things became ominous, dark, and dreadful. Men's 
 hearts failed them for fear. They would have retraced 
 their steps ; but there was no return ! 
 
 The crisis came — the storm burst — Hell from beneath
 
 35 
 
 was moved in that hour. Man became a fiend, and 
 woman too ! Thrones, altars, temples, palaces — all — 
 Avere born down in the sweeping tides of blood and 
 desolation. Nothing remained to man of hope on 
 earth; and, beyond it, nothing but the wide, deep, 
 dark, yawning gulf of horrible, horrible annihilation ! 
 Yes, Infidelity, thou Ixist triumphed ! 
 
 ON THE MYSTERIES OF REVELATION. 
 The acknowledgment of the truth of the Scriptures, 
 when made in sincerity, and the adtQissitan that we are 
 bound to receive and obey whatever they contain, will 
 necessarily produce a desire to know what are the lead- 
 ing and most important subjects which they bring into 
 view. That they will contain or imply many things 
 not easily to be understood, far less fully comprehended 
 in the present state, might be expected, if there exists 
 any analogy between the natural rmd moral administra- 
 tion of Jehovah. If there aie mysteries in a blade of 
 grass, a drop of water, or a grain of sand, — not to speak 
 of the arcana of the universe, the number or magnitude 
 of the hosts of heaven, — we must expect inscrutable 
 tilings in that mighty scheme into which " Angels 
 desire to look," and which embraces the salvation and 
 everlasting destiny of countless millions of fallen crea- 
 tures. Blessed be God ! the most important truths are 
 revealed with the brightest lustre ; the grand discoveries 
 of the mysteries of redemption are " -without contro- 
 versy " among all genuine believers ; so that, while we 
 say with profound reverence, " The secret thiags belong 
 to the Lord our God:" we can add, with high satisfac- 
 tion and gratitude, "The things that arc revealed belong 
 to us, and our children, for ever." \S'. Qbme.
 
 36 
 
 REFLECTION. 
 When all the fiercer passions cease 
 
 (The glory and disgrace of youth,) 
 When the deluded soul in peace 
 
 Can listen to the voice of truth ; 
 When we are taught in Avhom to trust. 
 
 And how to spare, to spend, to give, 
 (Our prudence kind, our pity just,) 
 
 'Tis thus we rightly learn to live. 
 
 Its weakness when the body feels. 
 
 Nor danger in contempt defies ; 
 To reason when desire appeals, 
 
 WTien on experience hope relies ; 
 When every passing hour we prize. 
 
 Nor rashly on our follies spend ; 
 But use it as it quickly flies, 
 
 With sober aim to serious end : 
 When prudence bounds our utmost views. 
 
 And bids us wrath and wrong forgive ; 
 When we can calmly gain or lose, 
 
 'Tis then we rightly learn to live. 
 
 Yet thus when we our way discern. 
 
 And can upon our care depend ; 
 To travel safely when we learn, 
 
 Behold ! we're near our journey's end. 
 We've trod the maze of error round, 
 
 Long wandering in the winding glade ; 
 And now the torch of truth is found. 
 
 It only showed us where we stray'd : 
 Light, for ourselves, what is it worth 
 
 When we no more our way can choose 1
 
 37 
 
 For others when we hold it forth, 
 They, in their pride, the boon refuse. 
 
 By long experience taught, we now 
 
 Can rightly judge of friends and foes ; 
 Can all the worth of these allow. 
 
 And all their faults discern in those ; 
 Kelentless hatred, envying love. 
 
 We can for sacred truth forego ; 
 We can the warmest friend reprove. 
 
 And bear to praise the fiercest foe ; 
 To what effect ] Our friends arc gone. 
 
 Beyond reproof, regard, or care ; 
 And of our foes, remains there one, 
 
 The mild relenting thoughts to share ? 
 
 Now 'tis our boast that we can quell 
 
 The wildest passions in their rage ; 
 Can their destructive force repel. 
 
 And their impetuous wrath assuage : 
 Ah ! Virtue, dost thou boast, when now 
 
 This bold rebellious race are fled ; 
 When all these tyrants rest, and thou 
 
 Art warring with the mighty dead J 
 Revenge, ambition, scorn, and pride. 
 
 And strong desire, and fierce disdain. 
 The giant brood by thee defied, 
 
 Lo ! time's resistless strokes have slain. 
 
 Yet time, who could that race subdue 
 
 (O'erpowering strength, appeasing rage,) 
 
 Leaves yet a persevering crew 
 To try the failing powers of age; 
 
 Vex'd by the constant call of these. 
 Virtue awhile for conquest tries,
 
 But M eary groun and fioecl of ca?e. 
 She makes with them a compromise ; 
 
 Avarice himself she gives to rest, 
 
 But rules him -with her strict commands ; 
 
 Bids Pity touch his torpid breast, 
 And Justice hold his eager hands. 
 
 Yet, is there nothiag man can do. 
 
 When chilling age comes creeping on 1 
 Can -we not yet some good pursue ? 
 
 Are talents buried 1 genius gone ? 
 If passions slumber in the breast. 
 
 If follies from the heart be fled ; 
 Of laurels let us go in quest, 
 
 And place them on the Poet's head. 
 
 Yes, -we'll redeem the wasted time, 
 
 And to neglected studies flee ; 
 We'll build again the lofty rhyme. 
 
 Or live. Philosophy, with thee ; 
 For reasoning clear, for flight sublime. 
 
 Eternal fame reward shall be ; 
 And to what glorious heights we'll climb. 
 
 The admiring crowd shall envj'ing see 
 
 Begin the song ! begin the theme ! — 
 
 Alas ! and is invention dead? 
 Dream we no more the golden dream ? 
 
 Is memory with her treasures fled ? 
 Yes ! 'tis too late, — now reason guides 
 
 The mind, sole judge in all debate ; 
 And thus th' important jioint decides : 
 
 For laurels 'tis, alas, too late, 
 What is possess'd we may retain. 
 But for our conquests strive in vain.
 
 Beware then, age, that vhat was won 
 In life's past labours, studies, views. 
 
 Be lost not now the labour's done, 
 "When all thy part is, — not to lose : 
 
 When thou can'st toil or gain no more. 
 Destroy not what was gain'd before. 
 
 For all that's gain'd of all that's good. 
 
 When time shall his weak frame destroy, 
 (Their use then rightly understood,) 
 
 Shall man in happier state enjoy. 
 Oh ! argument for truth divine. 
 
 For study's cares, for virtue's strife ; 
 To know the enjoyment will be thine 
 
 In that reserv'd, that endless life! 
 
 Cradee. 
 
 ON THE BIBLE. 
 Among various pretensions, which is the Divine Reve- 
 lation ? We have called the Bible " The Book," by 
 way of distinction and pre-eminence ; but other reli- 
 gions, besides Christianity, have their Book — their pre- 
 judices in its favour, their arguments in its support, 
 their proselytes, adherents, and martyrs. How shall 
 this question be decided ? By a fair comparison, and 
 faithful testimony. If in these there shall be found 
 nothing out of the reach of reason, which is not evidently 
 borrowed from the inspired writers; if in these there 
 shall be found, commmglcd with so much of truth as 
 they contain, concessions to human prejudices and 
 passions — the pretended revelation becoming a pander 
 to the lui;ls and corruptions of the depraved heart oi
 
 40 
 
 man ; if power, ambition, vice, cruelty, shall be saog- 
 tioned, flattered, indulged, excited — and -what false 
 religion, from Indus to the Pole — what pretended reve- 
 lation, in any age, has not done all this ? If the Chris- 
 tian volume stands alone in unappeasable hostility 
 against vice, in principle and in detail, whether pros- 
 perous in high places, or shrinking into the sordid 
 retreats of poverty ; whether openly avowed or secretly 
 practised; therefore, encountering predominant preju- 
 dices, and fearlessly scattering rebukes, always consist- 
 ent and always unsparing ; if to this superhuman firm- 
 ness it add the sanction of new motives, the develope- 
 ment of undiscovered principles, the establishment of 
 perfect and inflexible laws ; if it display the dawn of an 
 eternal morning breaking even upon the sepulchre — not 
 the flazzling corrascations of fancy playing over the 
 darkness of nature, but the shining light which distinctly 
 defines whatever falls within the present horizon of mor- 
 tal vision, and clearly demonstrates infinity beyond, in 
 the deptlis of unexplored futurity : the comparison is at 
 an end, and nothing remains but contrast. Zoroaster, 
 Confucius, Menu, Mohammed, every name yields to 
 Jesus ; every pretence to his claims — every efi'ort of 
 human wisdom and ijhilosophy — vanishes away, and the 
 Book remains unrivalled and triumphant. 
 
 The confluent tides of time and providence — some- 
 times flowing a deepf silent, fathomless river — some- 
 times pouring their congregated torrents in the thunder 
 of mighty cataracts — whether sleeping in the meadow, 
 or bursting over the rock — set in with undeviating cur- 
 rent, and undiminished fulnesS; upon the infinite ocean 
 of Redemption. 
 
 W. B. COLLYER.
 
 41 
 
 THE BEAUTY AND WISDOM OF THE CREATION. 
 Malignant must be the mind of tliat person, with a 
 distorted eye he must have contemijlatcd creation, who 
 can suspect, that it is not the production of infinite 
 benignity and goodness. How many clear marks of 
 beneyolent attention appear every where around us ! 
 "WTiat a profusion of beauty and ornament is poured 
 forth on the face of nature ! WTiat a magnificent spec- 
 tacle presented to the view of man ! What supply 
 contrived for his wants ! What a variety of objects set 
 before him, to gratify his senses, to employ his under- 
 standing, to entertain his imagination, to cheer and 
 gladden his heart ! Indeed, the very existence of the 
 nnivcrse is a standing memorial of the goodness of the 
 Creator. For nothing except goodness could originally 
 prompt creation. The Supreme Being, self-existent 
 and all-sufficient, had no wants which he could seek to 
 supply. No new accession of felicity or glory was to 
 result to him from creatures whom he made. It was 
 goodness communicating and ponviag itself forth, good- 
 ness delighting to imx)art happiness in all its forms, 
 which in the beginning created the heaven and the 
 earth. Hence those innumerable orders of living crea- 
 tures w ith which the earth is peopled ; from the lowest 
 class of sensitive being to the highest rank of reason and 
 inlelligence. Wherever there is life, there is some 
 degree of happiness ; there are enjoyments suited to the 
 different powers of feeling; and earth, and air, and 
 ^vater, are with magnificent liberality made to teeut 
 with life. 
 
 In the most inconsiderable, as well as in 
 illustrious works of the Creator, eunsumrair 
 
 G
 
 42 
 
 design appear. There is not a creature that mores, nor 
 •a vegetable that grows, but, when minutely examined, 
 furnishes materials of the highest admiration. The 
 same wisdom that placed the sun in the centre of the 
 system, and arranged the several planets around him in 
 their order, has no less shown itself in the provision 
 made for the food and dwelling of every bird that roams 
 the air, and every beast that wanders in the desert; 
 equally great, in the smallest, and in the most magnifi- 
 cent objects ; in the star, and in the insect ; in the ele- 
 phant, and in the fly ; in the beam that shines from 
 heaven, and in the grass that clothes the gi-ound. Nothing 
 is overlooked. Nothing is carelessly performed. Every 
 thing that exists is adapted, with perfect symmetry, to 
 the end for which it was designed. All this infinite 
 variety of iiarticulars must have been iiresent to the 
 mind of the Creator ; all beheld with one glance of his 
 eye ; all fixed and arranged, from the beginning, in his 
 gi-eat design, when he formed the heavens and the earth. 
 
 To higher and more serious thoughts these worhs of 
 nature give occasion, when considered in conjunction 
 •with the Creator who made them. — Let me call on you, 
 my friends, to catch some interval of reflection, some 
 serious moment, for looking with thoughtful ej'e on the 
 world around you. Lift your view to that immense 
 arch of heaven which encompasses you above. Behold 
 the sun in all his splendour rolling over your head by 
 day ; and the moon by night, in mild and serene majesty, 
 surrounded with that host of stars which present to your 
 imagination an innumerable multitude of worlds. Listen 
 to the awful voice of thunder. Listen to the roar of 
 the tempest and the ocean. Survey the wonders that 
 iill the earth which you inhabit. Contemplate a steady
 
 43 
 
 and powerful liaud bvin;;ing round spring and sumraor, 
 auturau aud winter, in roirular course ; decorating tliis 
 earth with innumerable beauties, divcrsifj-ing it with 
 innumerable inhabitants, pouring forth comforts on all 
 that live ; and, at the same time, overawing the nations 
 •with the violence of the elements, when it pleases the 
 Creator to let them forth. — After you have viewed your- 
 selves surrounded with such a scene of wonders ; after 
 you have beheld, ou every hand, such an astonishing 
 display of majesty united with wisdom and goodness ; 
 are you not seized with solemn and serious awe? Is 
 there not something which whispers you within, that 
 to this great Creator reverence and homage are due by 
 all the rational beings whom he has made ? Admitted 
 to be spectators of his works, placed in the midst of so 
 many great and interesting objects, can you believe that 
 you were brought hither for no purpose but to immerse 
 30urselve3 in gross and brutal, or, at best, in trifling 
 pleasures ; lost to all sense of the wonders you behold ; 
 lost to all reverence of that God who gave you being, 
 and who has erected this amazing fabric of nature, on 
 which you look only with stupid and unmeaning eyes I 
 —No : Let the scenes which you behold prompt corres- 
 pondent feelings. Let them awaken you from the 
 degrading intoxication of licentiousness into nobler 
 emotions. Every object which you view in nature, 
 whether great or small, serves to instruct you. The star 
 aud the insect, the fiery meteor and the flower of spring, 
 the verdant field aud the lofty mountain, all exhibit a 
 Supreme Power, before which you ought to tremble and 
 adore ; all preach the doctrine, all inspire the spirit of 
 devotion and reverence. "Regarding," then, "the 
 work of the Lord," let rising emotioixs of awe and gra- 
 titude call forth from your souls such scutiments as
 
 44 
 
 these : — " Lord, wherever I am, and whatever I enjqy, 
 may I never forget thee as the Author of nature ! May 
 I never forget that I am thy creature and thy subject ! 
 In this magnificent temple of the universe, Avhere thou 
 hast placed me, may I ever he thj- faithful worshipper ; 
 and may the reverence and the fear of God be the first 
 sentiments of my heart !" 
 
 It is impossible to think of God at all, without con- 
 ceiving him as the Benefactor of mankind. Mystei-ious 
 as this Avorld is in many of its appearances, it neverthe- 
 less carries, on the whole, a strongly marked character 
 of goodness and benignity in its Author. We behold a 
 vast system obviously contrived to provide, not food 
 and nourishment only, but comfort also and enjoyment 
 to an infinite number of inhabitants. The more that 
 philosophy has enlarged our views of nature, the more 
 it has been discovered that, throughout the wide extent 
 of creation, there is no useless profusion of magnificence, 
 but that every thing has been rendered subservient to 
 the welfare of the rational or sensible world ; nay, that 
 many objects, which were once considered as not only 
 superfluous, but noxious, hold an useful place in the 
 general system. Such provision has been made for our 
 entertainment on this earth, such care has been taken 
 to store the world with a varietj^ of pleasures, to cheer 
 our senses, and enliven our imagination, that he Avhose 
 eje opens on all the beauty of nature, must be of insen- 
 sible heart, indeed, if he feels no gratitude to that Being 
 who has brought him forth to enjoy this wonderfal 
 scene. 
 
 In the midst of your solitary musings, lift your eye?, 
 and beliold all nature full of God. Look up to the iir-
 
 45 
 
 filament and admire his glory. Look round on the 
 earth, and observe his presence evciy Avhi-re displajed. 
 If the gay landscape, or the fruitful field, present them- 
 selves to your eye, behold him smiling upon his works. 
 If the mountain raise its lofty head, or the exiianse of 
 Avaters roll its tide before you, contemplate, in those 
 great and solemn objects, his power and majesty. 
 Nature, in all its diversities, is a varied manifestation of 
 the Deity. If you were to "take the wings of the 
 morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea," 
 even there j-ou will find him. For "in him you live 
 and move." He fills and animates all space. In the 
 barren wilderness, as in the peopled region, you can 
 trace his footsteps ; and in the deepest solitude, you 
 may hear a voice which testifies of him. 
 
 Him, indet'd, you arc never to confound with tlio 
 workmanship of his hands. Nature, in its most awful 
 or most pleasing scenes, exhibits no more than different 
 forms of inanimate matter. But on these dead forms is 
 impressed the glory of a living spirit. The beauty, or 
 the greatness, which appears in them, flows from the 
 Fountain of all greatness and beauty ; in him it centres ; 
 of his perfection it retlects an image; and towards him 
 should lead your view. — In conversing with a fellow- 
 creature on earth, it is not with his body we converse, 
 though it is his body only which we see. From his 
 words and actions we conceive his mind ; with his mind, 
 though invisible, we hold correspondence, and direct 
 tov.-ards this spiritual es.sence our affection and regard. 
 In like manner, though here we behold no more of God 
 than what his works display, yet, in those displays, we 
 are capable of perceiving the universal Spirit, and of 
 holding correspondence with tliis unseen Being, in 
 veneiution, grat tule, aud love. 
 
 Bl.viu.
 
 46 
 
 SABBATH MORNING. 
 Now along the morning ^'ale 
 
 Tolls the chureh-bell soft and slowly. 
 And o'er mountain, ^vood, and vale, 
 
 Sleeps the Sabbath silence holy. 
 
 Not a human voice is heard, 
 Voice of labour or of pleasure, 
 
 Mingling with the tuneful biid. 
 As it trills its early measure. 
 
 Now, from every mountain glen, 
 
 Scenes of unpolluted nature. 
 Come the lonely shepherd men. 
 
 Peace in every heart and feature. 
 
 Now, along the village way, 
 
 Clad in meet and homely dresses. 
 
 Matrons staid, and maidens gay, 
 Join the crowd that church- ward presses. 
 
 Now the youthful and the old. 
 
 Now the cheerful and the weeping. 
 
 Tread along tlie flowery mould, 
 Where their kindred dust is sleeping. 
 
 Now the pious spirit glows. 
 Now the holy psalm is singing, 
 
 Bringing thoughts of long repose, 
 Thoughts of endless glory bringing.
 
 47 
 
 TO AN INFANT. 
 Thou vak'st from liappj- sleep to play. 
 
 With bounding heart my hoy ! 
 Before thee lies a long bright day 
 
 Of summer and of joy. 
 
 Thou hast no heavy thought or dream 
 
 To cloud thy fearless eye ; — 
 Long be it thus; life's early stream 
 
 Should still reflect the sky ! 
 
 Yet ere the cares of earth lie dim 
 
 On thy young spirit's wings. 
 Now in thy morn forget not Him 
 
 From whom each pure thought springs ! 
 
 So in thy onward vale of tears. 
 
 Where'er thy path may be, 
 When strength hath bow'd to evil years. 
 
 He will remember thee. 
 
 FIXED PPJNCirLES IXDISFENSABLE. 
 Setting the consideration of religion and virtue aside, 
 ?ind attending, merely to interest and reputation, it will 
 be found that ho who enters on active life without 
 having ascertained some regular plan, will be unpros- 
 prrous in the whole of his subsequent progress. But 
 when conduct is viewed in a moral and religious light, 
 the efToct of having fixed no principles of action, of 
 having formed no laudable standard of character, be- 
 eumes more obviously fatal. For hence it is, that the
 
 48 
 
 young and thouglitlcss imbibe so readily the poison of 
 *' evil communications, *' and fall a prey to every 
 seducer. , They have no internal guide whom they are 
 accustomed to follow and obey ; nothing within them- 
 selves that can give firmness to their conduct. They are 
 of course the victims of momentary inclination or ca- 
 price; religious and good bj' starts, when, during the ab- 
 sence of temptation and tempters, the virtuous principle 
 stirs within them ; but never long the same ; changing 
 and fluctuating according to the passion that chances to 
 rise, or the instigation of those with whom they have 
 connected themselves. They are sailing on a dangerous 
 sea, which abounds with rocks ; without compass, by 
 which to direct their course ; or helm, by which to 
 guide the vessel. "Whereas, if they acted on a system, 
 if their behaviour made it appear that they were deter- 
 mined to conduct themselves bj' certain rules and prin- 
 ciples, not only would they escape innumerable dangers, 
 but they would command respect from the licentious 
 themselves. Evil doers would cease to lay their snares 
 for one whom they saw moving above them, in a higher 
 sphere, and v. ith a more steady course. 
 
 Nothing can be more wavering and disjointed, than 
 the behaviour of those who are whollj' men of the 
 world, and have never been inured to commune with 
 themselves. Dissipation is a more frequent cause of 
 their ruin than determined impiety. It is not so much 
 because they have adopted bad principles, as because 
 they have never attended to principles of any kind, that 
 their lives are so full of incoherence and disorder. — You 
 hover on the borders of sin and duty. One day you 
 read the Scriptures, you hear religious discourses, and 
 form good resolutions. Next day you plunge into the
 
 49 
 
 •world, and forgot the serious impression, as if it had 
 never been made. The impression is again renewed, 
 and again effaced ; and in this circle your life revolves. 
 Is such conduct worthy of creatures endowed with 
 intelligent powers ? Shall the close of life overtake 
 you, before you have determined how to live ? Shall 
 the day never come, that is to find you steady in your 
 views, decided in your plans, and engaged in a course 
 of action which your mind approves ? If you wish that 
 day ever to arrive, retirement and meditation must first 
 bring you home to yourselves, from the dissipation in 
 which you are now scattered ; must teach you to fix 
 such aims, and to lay down such rules of conduct, as 
 are suitable to rational and immortal beings. Then 
 will your character become uniform and respectable. 
 Then you may hope that your life will proceed iu such 
 a train as shall prepare you, when it is finished, for 
 joining the society of more exalted spirits. 
 
 It is a careless train of living, that is the general ruin 
 of mankind. It is not so much from having adopted 
 evil principles that men become wicked, as from having 
 adopted no principles at all. They follow their incli- 
 nations, without examining whether there be any prin- 
 ciples which they ought to form for regulating their 
 conduct. The chief corrective of this mischief is that 
 which has been suggested; by bringing conscience into 
 a frequent exercise of Hs power, and thereby awakening 
 its authority over our lif"^. 
 
 Blair.
 
 50 
 
 THE MAN OF INTEGRITY. 
 It will not take much time to delineate the character 
 of the man of integrity, as by its nature it is a plain 
 one, and easily understood. He is one who makes it 
 his constant rule to follow the road of duty, according 
 as the word of God, and the vdice of his conscience, 
 point out to him. 
 
 He is not guided merely by affections, which may 
 sometimes give the colour of virtue to a loose and un- 
 stable character. The upright man is guided by a fixed 
 principle of mind, which determines him to esteem 
 nothing but what is honourable, and to abhor whatever 
 is base and unworthy in moral conduct. Hence you 
 find him ever the same ; at all times, the trusty friend, 
 the affectionate relation, the conscientious man of busi- 
 ness, the pious worshipper, the public-spirited citizen. 
 He assvimes no borrowed appearance. He seeks no 
 mask to cover him ; for he acts no studied part ; but he 
 is in truth what he appears to be, full of truth, candour, 
 and humanity. In all his pursuits he knows no part 
 but the fair and direct one ; and would much rather fail 
 of success, than attain it by reproachful means. He 
 never shews you a smiling countenance while he medi- 
 tates evil against you in his heart. He never praises 
 you among your friends, and then joins in traducing 
 you among your enemies. You will never find one 
 part of his character at variance with another. In his 
 manners he is simple and unaffected ; in all his pro- 
 ceedings open and consistent. 
 
 The man of the world aims at higher things, and more 
 rapid success, than the man of moderation and virtue. 
 But at the same time, he incurs greater risks and dan-
 
 51 
 
 gers. No calculation of probabilities can insure safety 
 to him who is acting a deceitful part. Amidst the un- 
 foreseen vicissitudes of the world, he has to dread not 
 only disappointment to his plans, but the miseries also 
 which detected fallacies may bring on his head. He 
 walks on the ledge of precipices where a single false 
 step may be fatal. He* follows a wandering light, which, 
 if it fail of guiding him by a short path to the palace of 
 ambition, leads him into the pit, or the lake. Whereas, 
 he who follows the guidance of integrity, walks in the 
 high road on which the light of the sun shines. He sees 
 before him the habitation of peace to which his steps are 
 directed ; and if he be longer in arriring at it, he is sure 
 of neither wandering far astray, nor of meeting on his 
 road with any forms of unusual terror. Let it be always 
 remembered, that the ptinciple of integrity which directs 
 a good man is far from excluding prudence in the con- 
 duct of life. It implies no improvident or thoughtless 
 simplicity. On the contrary, it is closely connected 
 with true wisdom. A man of enlarged capacity, and 
 extensive views, is always upright. Craft is merely the 
 supplement of inferior abilities. It characterises a nar- 
 row comprehension, and a little mind. 
 
 Blaib. 
 
 TEMPERANCE. 
 PiARELY drink but -s^ hen thou art thirsty ; nor then, 
 between meals, if it can be avoided. The smaller the 
 drink, the clearer the head, and the cooler the blood ; 
 which are great benefits in temper and business. 
 
 W. Pens.
 
 52 
 
 PHILOSOPHY UNABLE TO TEACH US TRUTH. 
 God never meant that man should scale the heavens 
 By strides of human Avisdom. In his works, 
 Though Avondrous, he commands us in his word 
 To seek him rather, where his mercy shines. 
 The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above. 
 Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause 
 The grand efifect ; acknowledges with joy 
 His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
 But never yet did philosophic tube. 
 That brings the planets home into the eye 
 Of Observation, and discovers, else 
 Not visible, his family of worlds. 
 Discover him that rules them ; such a veil 
 Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth. 
 And dark in things divine. Full often, too. 
 Our wayward intellect, the more we leara 
 Of nature, overlooks her Author more ; 
 From instrumental causes proud to draw 
 Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. 
 But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray 
 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
 Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light ; 
 Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized 
 In the pure fountain of eternal love, 
 Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees 
 As meant to indicate a God to man. 
 Gives Mm his praise, and forfeits not her ovm. 
 Learning has borne such fruit in other days 
 On all her branches ; piety has found 
 Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 
 Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. 
 Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage !
 
 53 
 
 Sagacious reader of the works of God, 
 And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, 
 Milton, whose genius had angelic wings. 
 And fed on manna ! And such thine, in whom 
 Our British Themis gloried with just cause. 
 Immortal Hale ! for deep discernment praised. 
 And sound integrity, not more than famed 
 For sanctity of manners undetiled. 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
 Like the fair flower disherell'd in the wind ; 
 Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream ; 
 The man we celebrate must find a tomb. 
 And we that wors>iip him ignoble graves. 
 Nothing is proof against the general curse 
 Of vanity, that seizes all below. 
 The only amaranthine flower on earth 
 Is virtue ; the only lasting treasure, truth. 
 But what is truth? 'twas Pilate's question put 
 To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. 
 And wherefore ? will not God impart his light 
 To them that ask it? — Freely — 'tis his joy, 
 His glory, and his nature, to impart : 
 But to the proud, uncandid, insincere. 
 Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
 AVhat's that which brings contempt upon a book 
 And him who writes it, though the style be neat. 
 The method clear, and argument exact ? 
 That makes a minister in holy things 
 The joy of many, and the dread of more, 
 His name a theme for praise and for reproach? — 
 That, while it gives us worth in God's account, 
 Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? 
 ^Vhat pearl is it that rich men cannot buy. 
 That learning is too proud to gather up ;
 
 51 
 
 But which the poor, and the despised of all. 
 Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? 
 Tell me— and I will tell thee what is truth. 
 
 COWPER, 
 
 PRECEPTS FOR YOUTH. 
 As, in the succession of the seasons, each, by the inva- 
 riable laws of Nature, affects the productions of what is 
 next in course ; so, in human life, every period of our 
 age, according as it is well or ill spent, influences the 
 happiness of that which is to follow. Virtuous youth 
 gradually brings forward accomplished and flourishing 
 manhood ; and such manhood passes of itself, without 
 uneasiness, into respectable and tranquil old age. But 
 when nature is turned out of its regular course, disorder 
 takes place in the moral, just as in the vegetable, world. 
 If the spring put forth no blossoms, in summer there will 
 be no beauty, and in autumn no fruit. So, if youth be 
 trifled away without improvement, manhood will be 
 contemptible, and old age miserable. If the beginnings 
 of life have been "vanity," its latter end can be no 
 other than " vexation of spirit." 
 
 The self-conceit of the young is the great source of 
 those dangers to which they are exposed, and it is pecu- 
 liarly unfortunate, that the age which stands most in 
 need of the counsel of the wise should be the most prone 
 to contemn it. Confident in the opinions which they 
 adopt, and in the measures which they pursue, they 
 seem as if they understood Solomon to say, not, "Who 
 knoweth," but, who is ignorant of "what is good for 
 man all the days of his life ?" The bliss to be aimed at
 
 55 
 
 is, in their opinion, fully apparent. It is not the dan- 
 ger of mistake, but the failure of success, •which they 
 dread. Activity to seize, not sagacity to discern, is the 
 only requisite which they value. — How long shall it be, 
 ere the fate of your predecessors in the same course 
 teach you wisdom ? How long shall the experience of 
 all ages continue to lift its voice to you in vain? 
 Beholding the ocean on which you are embarked, 
 covered with wrecks, are not those fatal signals sufficient 
 to admonish you of the hidden rock ? If, in Paradise 
 itself, there was a tree which bare fruit fair to the eye, 
 but mortal in its effects, how much more, in this fallen 
 state, may such deceiving appearances be expected to 
 abound ! The whole state of Nature is now become a 
 scene of delusion to the sensual mind. Hardly any thing 
 is what it appears to be. And what flatters most, is 
 always farthest from reality. There are voices which 
 sing around you ; but whose strains allure to ruin. 
 There is a banquet spread, where poison is in every 
 dish. There is a couch invites you to repose ; but to 
 slumber upon it is death. In such a situation, "be not 
 hi^'h-minded, but fear." Let sobriety temper your un- 
 wary ardour. Let modesty check your rash presump- 
 tion. Let wisdom be the offspiing of reflection now, 
 rather than the fruit of bitter experieuce hereafter. 
 
 Of all the follies incident to youth, there are none 
 which either deform its present appearance, or blast the 
 prospect of its future prosperity, more than self-conceit, 
 presumption, and obstinacy. By checking its natural 
 progress in improvement, they fix it in long immaturity ; 
 and frequeutly produce mischiefs, which can never be 
 repairecL Yet thf so are vices too commonly found amou.g 
 the young. Big with enterprise, and elated by hope.
 
 56 
 
 they resolve to trust for success to none but themselves. 
 Full of their own abilities, they deride the admonitions 
 which are given them by their friends, as the timorous 
 su,'f?estions of age. Too vpise to learn, too impatient to 
 deliberate, too forward to be restrained, they plunge, 
 "with precipitant indiscretion, into the midst of all the 
 dangers with which life abounds, " Seest thou a young 
 man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of 
 a fool, than of him." 
 
 In order to render yourselves amiable in society, 
 correct every appearance of harshness in behaviour. 
 Let that courtesy distinguish your demeanour, which 
 springs not so much from studied politeness, as from 
 a mild and gentle heart. Follow the customs of the 
 ■world in matters indifferent, but stop when they become 
 sinful. Let your manners be simple and natural ; and 
 of course they will be engaging. Affectation is certain 
 deformity. By forming themselves on fantastic models, 
 and vying with one another in every reigning folly, the 
 young begin with being ridiculous, and end in being 
 vicious and immoral. 
 
 It is necessary to recommend to you sincerity and 
 truth. This is the basis of every virtue. That darkness 
 of character, where we can see no heart, those fold- 
 ings of art, through which no native affection is allowed 
 to penetrate, present an object, unamiable in every 
 season of life, bnt particularly odious in youth. If, at 
 an age when the heart is warm, when the emotions are 
 strong, and when nature is expected to show itself free 
 and open, you can already smile and deceive, what are 
 we to look for when you shall be longer hackneyed in 
 the wars of men : when interest shall hare com;)leied
 
 57 
 
 the obduration of your heart, and experience shall have 
 improved you in all the arts of guile ? Dissimulation in 
 youth, is the fore-runner of perfidy in old age. Its first 
 appearance is the fatal omen of growing depravity, and 
 future shame. It degrades parts and learning, obscures 
 the lustre of every accomplishment, and sinks you into 
 contempt with God and man. 
 
 Nothing is of more importance for the young, than to 
 be careful in the choice of their friends and companions. 
 This choice is too frequently made without much 
 thought, or is determined by some casual connexion ; 
 and yet, very often, the whole fate of their future life 
 depends upon it. The circumstances which chiefly 
 attract the liking and the friendship of youth are viva- 
 city, good humour, engaging manners, and a cheerful or 
 easy temper; qualities, I confess, amiable in themselves, 
 and useful and valuable in their place. But I entreat 
 j'ou to remember, that these are not all the qualities 
 requisite to form an intimate companion or friend ; 
 something more is still to be looked for, a sound under- 
 standing, a steady mind, a firm attachment to princ^iple, 
 to virtue, and honour. As only solid bodies polish well, 
 it is only on the substantial ground of these manly en- 
 dowments, that the other amiable qualities can receive 
 their proper lustre. 
 
 Too many of the pretended friendships of youth are 
 mere combinations in pleasure. They are often founded 
 on capricious likings ; suddenly contracted, and as sud- 
 denly dissolved. Sometimes they are the effect of in- 
 terested complaisance and flattery on the one side, aud 
 of credulous fondness on the other. Beware of such 
 raili and dangerous connexions, which may afterwards 
 I
 
 / 
 
 58 
 
 load j'ou with disVionour, Remember, that by the cha- 
 racter of those wliom you choose for your friends, your 
 own is likely to be formed, and will certainly be nudged 
 of by the world. Be slow, therefore, and c4uti)ous in 
 contracting intimacy ; but when a virtuous friendship is 
 once established, consider it as a sacred engagement. 
 Expose not yourselves to the reproach of lightness and 
 inconstancy, which always bespeak either a trifling or a 
 base mind. Reveal none of the secrets of your friend. 
 Be faithful to his interests. Forsake him not in danger. 
 Abhor the thought of acquiring any advantage by his 
 prejudice or hurt. " There is a friend that loveth at all 
 times, and a brother that is born for adversity. Thine 
 own friend, and thy father's friend, forsake not." Prov. 
 xvii. 17. — xxvii. 10. 
 
 Blair. 
 
 ELIJAH. 
 2 Kings II. 8—12. 
 The Prophet had finish'd the t^ils of his day. 
 And life, in its evening, was hasting away ; 
 The strength of his manhood ebb'd fast in decline. 
 But his soul drew fresh vigour from converse diviue. 
 
 For He w^hom he liv'd but to love and obey, 
 Now smil'd on his servant, and call'd him away ; 
 Having succour'd and blessed him, all his life long. 
 Was now, and for ever, his joy and his song. 
 
 He stood by the flood, — cast on Jordan his eye, 
 "Whose heaving wave deeply and proudly pass'd by : 
 At the noise of the waters his soul was not aw'd, 
 For he fear'd, and he lov'd^ and he trusted his God.
 
 59 
 
 At the stroke of his mantle, the hilloMS divide ; 
 The river reooiling, rolls back his strong tide; 
 The Prophet unwet, is permitted to tread 
 Through *khe midst, by his Maker, invisibly led, 
 
 AVhen tlms to Elisha ; " It is with the Lord, 
 This day to appoint me my crown of reward; 
 Say what shall I give thee, ere yet he shall call. 
 Or what shall I ask of the Giver of All ?" 
 
 Elisha replies, " Let that Spirit divine, 
 
 Which in thee hath been mighty, henceforward be mine. 
 
 In double proportion, oh, let it descend; 
 
 Unerring — my guide ; and unconquer'd — mj" friend'." 
 
 "A hard thing thou askest" the prophet replied, 
 "Yet still thy petition, shall not be denied. 
 If thou see me what time I am caught up on high, 
 On my way to the mansions of joy in the sky." 
 
 A\Tiile thus they commune, and for parting prepare, 
 The sound of the whirlwind is heard in the air ; 
 Elijah is wrapt in the visions of light. 
 As eternity opens her gates on his sight. 
 
 With a rash as of ocean storm, roaring aloud. 
 Unfurl the dark folds of a tempest- wrought cloud. 
 From the midst of the depth and the gloom of its shade, 
 A chariot alights, and its coursers are stayed. 
 
 And the car was of fire, and the wheels whirling flame. 
 And with thundering, and flashing, and rolling it came ; 
 And each gleaming steed darted swift from on high. 
 Like the vollev-bolt hurl'd from the over-fraught sky.
 
 60 
 
 But the flames were all love, of a fervour divine. 
 There -was nought of the flickering of wrath in their shine; 
 There was nought of alarm — of mortality's dread, 
 But peace o'er the scene calm serenity shed. 
 
 And the harp-tones of heaven breathed soft from afar. 
 As the Prophet immortal ascended the car — 
 As, casting one glance on a world left behind. 
 Triumphant he rose on the wings of the wind. 
 
 The awe-struck Elisha in silence abode. 
 Till his bright wheels retrac'd their ethereal road — 
 Assur'd then he shouted, My Father, my Sire ! — 
 The horsemen of Israel — his chariot of fire ! 
 
 He sees him no more ! — Quick enkindles his soul. 
 Love glows in his heart, like the altar's live coal ; 
 And Faith's eagle eye, that can look into heaven. 
 With the mantle of prophecy, doubly are given ! 
 
 Oh, Head of the Church ! ever, — (even as then) 
 "Whose compassions fail not to the children of men, 
 "SVhen the righteous thou takest their cro^\'n to receive. 
 Let thy Spirit descend on the mourners they leave ! 
 
 WHien Thou callest the souls of Thy prophets away. 
 Who have told of thy wonders of love in their day. 
 Let thine angel o'ershadowing thy Church with his Mings, 
 Anoint of Thy people for priests and for kings.* 
 
 And exalt Thy great name, till the knowledge of Thee, 
 Have hallow'd the earth, to the uttermost sea ; 
 Till the isles afar oflF, shall rejoice in Thy word ; 
 lu the name of their Saviour, Christ Jesus, the Lord! 
 • Rev. i. 6.
 
 61 
 
 ON CONVERSATION. 
 
 " Thought, too deliver'd, is the more possess'd; 
 Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain." 
 
 Were perfection always the result of practice, surely 
 the art of conversing had reached its climax ; even 
 amongst a people esteemed taciturn by their more 
 voluble neighbours. 
 
 Were the activity of the mind commensurate with the 
 activity of the tongue, we should not hear those com- 
 plaints of tediousness in conversation, which jjervade 
 the mass of society ; oven in an age that plumes itself 
 upon intellectual attainments. 
 
 Whether it arise from that self-love, which is flattered 
 in proportion to its own prominency, we know not ; 
 but most certainly, diffidence, on this subject, is a 
 circumstance of rare occurrence. 
 
 When a musician himself calls upon you to listen to 
 his execution, or a painter voluntarily offers to exhibit 
 the powers of his pencil, you naturally expect to meet 
 with a degree of excellence at least : — but the demands 
 of frivolous talkers are of all others the most exorbi- 
 tant ; — they claim both your time and attention, tax 
 your patience, and leave nothing behind that is worth 
 retaining. 
 
 And yet " the sweet music of speech," flowing from 
 a full mind, is a delightful banquet ! — but it is a gift 
 possessed by few. Many individuals, indeed, converse 
 a:jreeably, who yet fail in awakening any great interest; 
 the reason is they do not think. They who think, 
 whilst engaged in conversation, cause others to think 
 with them, which is the great secret of fixing attention.
 
 62 
 
 In the generality of persons there is a natural indo- 
 lence that would rather receive an idea than give birth 
 to one — this is a great fault; — dried fruits, however 
 excellent, possess neither the flavour nor the delicious 
 freshness of fruits that are newly gathered ; and though 
 the thoughts of the most vigorous minds may not always 
 be stamped with entire originality, yet individuality 
 continues to leave its own impress, enabling the intelli- 
 gent observer to distinguish the original from the copy, 
 mere verbiage from digested thought, pruriency of 
 speech from mental plenitude. 
 
 Those who complain of the want of interesting sub- 
 jects to converse about, will never discover them — will 
 never be interesting companions; the merest trifle 
 becomes a theme capable of fixing the attention, v,-heu 
 thought surrounds it with its creative, vivifying influence. 
 Some persons see nothing but the forms of things ; if 
 the form be beautiful they praise it, but proceed no 
 further ; this is of as little use as admiring the binding 
 of a book, j-et remaining ignorant of the wisdom which 
 is contained within, and is only one grade removed from 
 mere sense ; for the eye informs us of the colour of the 
 rose, and the sense of smell proclaims its fragrance ; but 
 it is the thinking mind alone that can perceive the 
 exquisite beauty, skill, and wisdom displayed in its 
 conformation. 
 
 Other minds find food for meditation in every object ; 
 to them, all nature teems with instruction — the sight of 
 a flower, the wing of a bird — a child at play, a word 
 spoken, opens to them interminable avenues of thought, 
 for they behold infinity, every where, stamped upon 
 creation. We shall now proceed to mention some of 
 the most obvious faults in conversation ; amongst these, 
 tediousness, and the want of tact in the choice of sub-
 
 63 
 
 jects, must claim a prominent place. If self-love did not 
 blind us, we should never imagine that minute details 
 of domestic transactions, local events, and, most of all, 
 circumstantial descriptions of sickness, suitable only for 
 the physician, could ever be agreeable. A simple 
 inquiry respecting health should never be answered by 
 a bulletin — a delicate mind will not obtrude those rela- 
 tions upon the ear of courtesy, which shonld be exclu- 
 sively reserved for affection. 
 
 To be minute without tediousness is a great art, 
 attained by few ; therefore brevity is the safest plan to 
 be pursued, except in instances where every circumstance 
 is interesting. The mind, being then under the influence 
 of strong excitement and expectation, is not displeased 
 by a little circumlocution, which serves to whet curio- 
 sity and augment the interest of the sequel ; — but on 
 common occasions it is undesirable to dwell long. 
 
 Mere rehearsers of facts, individuals who possess no 
 imagination, frequently bcjtray so little address in their 
 narratives, that you see the point at which they will 
 arrive, a length of time ere they, themselves, have 
 reached it. Every traveller knows how tedious a long 
 unbroken road appears, and how much the distance 
 seems increased by the eye travelling more rapidly than 
 the feet. Yet abruptness, though a fault of less magni- 
 tude, is certainly a great imperfection. A lively ima- 
 gination, like a young pointer, frequently starts more 
 game than the sportsman can follow ; therefore it should 
 be carefully reined in, until the proper season; for 
 when a subject has come fairlj- under discussion and the 
 mind is pursuing it, it is not agreeable to be turned aside 
 by irrelevant matter — not that every thing, which at 
 first sight appears irrelevant, may ultimately prove so ; 
 fur the rapidity with which some minds travel is r.o
 
 CI 
 
 arfrumcnt that thcj' will bring notliing home, or that the 
 matter will be desultory ; — on the contrary, the happi- 
 ness of a simile, an appropriate comparison, the ready 
 recollection of a circumstance bearing on the subject, 
 may be most opportune and serve effectually to elicit 
 the truth; — only suffer not the imagination to take 
 precedence of the judgment. 
 
 Let no one, -who wishes to be an agreeable companion, 
 despise what may be tenned negative qualities, for they 
 not unfrequently obtain the meed of just approbation. 
 To listen attentively maj' be classed amongst the number, 
 for to listen well is no mean acquirement, and add3 
 greatly to the enjoyment of conversation. If we would 
 be heard with pleasure, we in return must listen with 
 attention. A monopolizer of speech is rarely agreeable 
 — one note in music, however sweet, does not constitute 
 harmony, one species of fruit, however highlj'-fiavoured, 
 docs not please everj' palate ; besides, as no individual 
 monopolizes good sense, so no one should exclusively 
 monopolize attention. It was an admirable remark of 
 Dr. Johnson's, and worthy a place in the minds of the 
 learned and unlearned, that " No man is well pleased to 
 have his all neglected, be that all ever so liitle.'" 
 
 To listen well, implies that you should follow the 
 conversation attentively ; otherwise, an expression of 
 courtesy accompanied by a look that betrays you have 
 been wandering will give offence. An observation, 
 when judiciously made, encourages the speaker, and is 
 much preferable to a simple yes, or a mere assent of the 
 voice — the latter, especially, is a rude custom which 
 should be avoided. To persons gifted with very active 
 minds it is a difficult task, even when they are not 
 guilty of interruption, to hear the subject to the end with- 
 out suffv'ring their understandings to start forward whcu
 
 65 
 
 an ohservation is made •which affords fresh food for 
 investigation ; yet this error should be guarded against, 
 or, when the subject is concluded, the person who has 
 been conversing will have the mortification to find he 
 has been running a race alone; he thought he had a 
 companion, but he discovers his mistake, and if not 
 displeased, is at least disappointed. Amongst the 
 advantages to be derived from listening attentively, the 
 following remark of Dr. Johnson's deserves to be men- 
 tioned — " He that is a hearer in one place qualifies 
 himself to become a speaker in another," — thus the ear 
 enriches the memory, which proves a most important 
 auxiliary in conversation, provided it be judiciously 
 used ; but it requires wisdom to make a proper use of 
 the wisdom of others. 
 
 There is one attainment in conversation which we 
 have not yet mentioned, and it is the highest attain- 
 ment — the great purpose for which speech was given, 
 but the use of which belongs exclusively to the Chris- 
 tian — the art of leadhig the conversation to something 
 good — something calculated to elevate the thoughts to 
 our Creator; this delightful art may he managed with 
 such skill, such delicacy of address, that it may be 
 imperceptible to an outward observer, but it will be 
 steadily pursued by the single eye of him who lives 
 much in communion with his Maker — for Avhcre tlie 
 love of our Redeemer pervades the iieart it will flow to 
 the lips, and imbue the language with something of 
 superior wisdom and purity. And there is assuredly a 
 sireetness in religious conversation, when judieious'iy 
 introduced, that has a most cementing efiect upon 
 society — for where the love of God is the guiding prin- 
 ciple of action, it s>Uedia tender, aiacred iiillueuce over 
 w
 
 66 
 
 evi'iy subject, — as Cowpcr beautifully expresses iu the 
 
 following lines ; — 
 
 •" When one, who holds communion with the skies, 
 lias fiU'd his urn whore these pure waters rise. 
 And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
 'Tis ev'n as if an angel shook his wings ; 
 Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
 That tells us whence his treasures are supplied," 
 
 A. 11. 
 
 A SUMMER MORNING'S MEDITATION. 
 
 Shew me a place of prayer. 
 
 That with the early sun, 
 I may arise and run, 
 
 And be the foremost there. 
 
 Enquirer, if thy breast 
 
 Waking from favour' d rest. 
 
 Perceives the Sun of righteousness 
 
 Ascending on the morning wing 
 
 The gladden'd heart to bless, 
 
 And peace and solace bring — 
 Take any right hand path, thou'lt soon be there, 
 Nor canst thou find a road, without a place of prayer. 
 
 If with the early morn 
 
 Bright raj's the skies adorn, 
 
 Go forth before the day begins its care, 
 
 Behold the smiling fields, and let thy walk be prayer. 
 
 If thou'rt a son of toil. 
 
 Engaged to dress the soil, 
 
 A menial daughter who with hardship fed. 
 
 Art so much worthier of thy daily bread, 
 With cheerful heart resume thy usual care, 
 BuUmiasively seieue, and let thy toil be prayer.
 
 67 
 
 ARCHBISHOP LEIGIITON'S OBSERVATIONS ON 
 
 PRAYER. 
 The exercise of prayer being so important, and bearing 
 so great a part in the life and comfort of a Christian, it 
 deserves to be very seriously considered. We will, 
 therefore, subjoin some few considerations concerning it. 
 Prayer may be considered in a three-fold notion. 
 1st, As a duty we owe to God. As it is from Him we 
 expect and receive all, it is a very reasonable homage 
 and acknowledgment, thus to testify the dependence of 
 our being and life on him, and the dependence of our 
 souls upon him, for being, and life, and all good ; that 
 we be daily suitors before his throne, and go to him for 
 all. 2dly, As it constitutes the dignity and delight of 
 a spiritual mind, to have so near access unto God, and 
 such liberty to speak to him. 3dly, As a proper and 
 sure means, by Divine appointment and promise, of 
 obtaining at the hands of God those good things that are 
 needful and convenient for us. And although some 
 believers of lower knowledge do not (it may be) so dis- 
 tinctly know, and others not so particularly consider, 
 all these in it; yet, there is a latent notion of them all 
 in the heart of every godly person, which stirs them 
 and puts them on to the constant use of prayer, and to 
 a love of it. And as they are in these respects inclined 
 and bent to the exercise of prayer, the Lord's ear is in 
 like manner inclined to hear their prayer in these 
 respects. He takes it well at their hands, that they do 
 offer it up as due worship to him ; that they desire thus 
 as they can to serve him. He accepts of those offerings 
 graciously, passes by the imperfections in them, and 
 hath regard to their sincere intention and desire. It 
 pleases him well that they delight in prayer, as converse
 
 6S 
 
 •with him; that they love to ho miioh with him, and to 
 speak to him often, and still aspire, by this way, to 
 moro acquaintance with him, that they are ambitious of 
 this. He willingly hears their prayers, as their necessi- 
 ties and desires : being both rich and bountiful, he loves 
 to have blessings drawn out of his hands in that way. 
 The Lord's treasury is always full, and therefore he is 
 always communicative. 
 
 As to the qualification of the heart, it must be, in 
 some measure, 1st, a holy heart. There must be no 
 regarding iniquity, no entertaining of friendship with 
 any sin, but a permanent love and desire of holiness. 
 Thus, indeed, a man prays within himself as in a sancti- 
 fied place, whither the Lord's ear inclines, as of old to the 
 Temple. He needs not run superstitiously to a Church, 
 &c. Pray inwardly, but first see whether thou art 
 thyself a temple of God. The sanctified man's body is 
 the temple of the Holy Ghost, as the Apostle speaks, 1 
 Cor. vi. 19, and his soul is the priest in it that oflers 
 sacrifice ; both holy to the Lord, consecrated to him. 
 2dly, It must be a believing heart, for there is no 
 prayer without this. Faith is the very life of prayer, 
 whence spring hope and comfort with it, to uphold the 
 soul, and keep it steady under storms with the promises ; 
 and, as Aaron and Hur to Moses, keeping it from faint- 
 ing, strengthening the hands wlicn they would begin to 
 fail. Such is the force of that word (Psalm x. 17,) for 
 the preparing of the heart, which God gives as an assu- 
 rance and pledge of his inclining his ear to hear, signifies 
 the establishing of the heart ; that, indeed, is a maia 
 point of its preparedness, and due disposition for prayer. 
 Now this is done by faith, without which, the soul, as 
 the Apostle St. James speaks, is a rolling unquiet thing, 
 as a wave of the sea, of itself unstable as the -.vater, and
 
 then driven with the wind ar.d tossed to and fro M-ith 
 every temptation. See and feel thine own unworthi- 
 ncss as mucli as thou canst, for thou art never bidden to 
 believe in thyself; no, but that is countermanded as 
 faith's great enemy. But Avhat hath thy unworthiness 
 to say aiaiast free promises of grace, which are the 
 basis of thy faith ] Tsalra Ixii. 8. — Trust in him at all 
 times, ye people; and then pour out your hearts before 
 him. Confide in him as a most faithful and powerful 
 friend ; and then you will open your hearts to him. 
 
 For tlie way of offering up prayer. It is a great art, 
 a main point of the secret of religion, to be skilled in it, 
 and of great concern for the comfort and success of it. 
 Much is here to be considered; but, for the prcseut, 
 take these advices briefly. 
 
 1st. — Offer not to speak to him without the heart in 
 some measure seasoned and prepossessed with the sense 
 of his greatness and holiness. And there is much in 
 this, considering wisely to whom we speak, the King, 
 the Loi-d of Glory, and setting the soul before him in 
 his presence, and then reflecting on ourselves, and seeing 
 what we are, how wretched, and base, filthy, and un- 
 worthy of such access to so great a i^Iajesty. The 
 want of this prei.aring of the heart to speak in the 
 Lord's ear, by the consideration of God and ourselves, 
 is that which fills the exercise of prayer with much 
 guiltiness; makes the heart careless and light, and irre- 
 verent, and so displeases the Lord, and disappoints our- 
 selves of that comfort in prayer, and those answers of 
 it, of which othervrise we shou-d liave more experience. 
 
 2dly. — When thouaddressest thyself to prayer, desire 
 and depend upon the assistance and inspiration of tlie 
 Holy Spirit of God, without which thou art not truly 
 able to pray. It is a '.upcriiaturai work, and therefore
 
 70 
 
 tho principle of it mw^t bo supornatur.il. IIo that hath 
 nothin:; of the Spirit of God, cannot pray at all, he may 
 howl as a beast in his necessity or distress, or may speak 
 words of prayer, as some birds learn the language of 
 men — but pray, he cannot. And they that have that 
 Spirit, ought to seek the movings and actual workings 
 of it in them in prayer, as the particular help of their 
 infirmities, teaching both what to ask (a thing which of 
 ourselves we know not); and then enabling them to 
 ask, breathing forth their desires in such sighs and 
 groans, as are the breath, not simply of their own, but 
 of God's Spirit. 
 
 3dly. — As these two precautions are to be taken 
 before prayer ; so, in the exercise of it, you should 
 learn to keep a watchful eye over your own hearts 
 throughout, for every step of the way, that they start 
 not out. And in order to this, strive to keep up a con- 
 tinual remembrance of that presence of God, which, on 
 the entry of the work, is to be set before the eye of 
 the soul. And our endeavour ought to be, to fix it upon 
 that view, that it turn not aside nor downwards, but 
 from beginning to end keep sight of Him, who sees and 
 marks whether we do so or not. They that are most 
 inspective and watchful in this, will still be faulty in it; 
 but, certainly, the less watchful, the more faulty. And 
 this we ought to do, to be aspiring daily to more stabi- 
 lity of mind in prayer, and to be driving ent somewhat 
 of that roving and wandering, which is so universal an 
 evil, and certainly so grievous, not to those who have it 
 most, but who observe and discover it most, and endea- 
 vour most against it. A strange thing! that the mind, 
 even the renewed mind, should be so ready, not only at 
 otlior times, but in the exercise of prayer, wherein we 
 peculiarly come so near to God; yet, even then, to
 
 slip out and leave him, and follow some poor vanity or 
 other instead of him! Surely the godlj- man, when he 
 thinks on this, is exceedingly ashamed of himself, — 
 cannot tell what to think of it. God, his exceeding joy, 
 w hom, in his right thoughts, he esteems so much above 
 the world and all things in it, yet to use him thus! 
 when he is speaking to him, to break off from that, and 
 hold discourse, orchange a word with some base thought 
 that steps in, and whispers to him ; or, at the best, not 
 to be steadfastly minding the Lord to whom he speaks, 
 and possessed with the regard of his presence, and of 
 his business and errand with him. • • * • 
 
 4thly. — And for success in prayer, exercising faith in 
 it, it is altogether necessary to interpose the Mediator, 
 and to look through him, and to speak and petition by 
 him, who warns us of this, that there is no other way to 
 speed. No man cometh to the Father, but by me. — 
 John xiv. 6. As the Jews, when they prayed, looked 
 towards the temple, where was the mercy-seat, and the 
 peculiar presence of God; thus ought we, in all our 
 praying, to look to Christ, who is our propiatory, and 
 in whom the fulness of the Godhead dwells bodily. — ■ 
 Col. xi. 9. The forgetting of this, may be the cause of 
 our many disappointments. 
 
 5thly. — Fervency ; not to seek coldly, that presages 
 refusal. There must be fire in the sacrifice, otherwise 
 it ascends not. There is no sacrifice without incense ; 
 and no incense without fire. Our remiss, dead hearts, 
 are not likely to do much for the Church of God, nor 
 ourselves. . « . . 
 
 But in this, there must be some difference between 
 temporal and spiritual things. That prayer which is 
 in the right strain, cannot be too fervent in any 
 thing; but the desire of the thing in temporals may be
 
 72 
 
 too parnost. A fevorish distemporofl hoat tlirpa«:of< the 
 soul ; thoreforo, in those things, a holy inflifferenoe 
 concerninjj the particular, may, and should be joined 
 ■with the fervency of prayer. But in spiritual thiny?, 
 there is no danger in veliemency of desire. • • •■ • 
 
 THRALDOM. 
 Oh that my prison doors -were burst, 
 
 And I were free to fly 
 To the mountain stream, to slake my thirst. 
 
 And gaze on the boundless sky ! 
 Where I might hear no sound 
 
 Save the whisperini,' of the trees ; 
 Or the carol of tlie lark on its airy round. 
 
 Or the murmuring of the bees. 
 
 I Avould sit on the edge of the pebbly brook, 
 
 As its waters are running away ; 
 And down on the still, green valley look, 
 
 On the eve of a summer's day ; 
 1 would climb on the path of the sloping hill, 
 
 Rejoicing in the breeze ; — 
 Oh ! blest to hold on my course at will. 
 
 And shape it as I please. 
 
 To leave for ever behind me 
 
 The citj- and its snares 1 
 To be sure that its fetters no more can bind me t 
 
 Nor its weary wasting cares ! 
 To change its loud and deafening din 
 
 For the (^uict of the lonely glea !
 
 75 
 
 To cast the Blough of strife and sin. 
 
 That cleaves to crowded men ! 
 To lay the intolerable burden down. 
 Stretch out the unshackled limb, and use it as my own! 
 
 Say is not this the " fever of vain-longing ?" 
 These restless cravings, hopes that dare not be, 
 
 AyQund my dark and silent pillow thronging. 
 People my dreams with visions of the free 
 
 And buoyant soul of youth — the rest of age, 
 
 After the Litter years of life's stem pilgrimage! 
 
 And is it all too much that man should ask 
 A few brief hours of quiet and repose, 
 
 Wiien he has finish'd his Egyptian task. 
 Or ere the eternal curtain o'er him close? 
 
 Let him dismiss the query, in his trust 
 
 That the Omuiputent God is merciful and just. 
 
 Yes ! for He gives the weary spirit rest, 
 
 And seals it in the sepulchre ; there sleeping 
 
 Until the resurrection of the blest, 
 ;With all committed to His holy keeping. 
 
 It shall come forth in glory, from its clay. 
 
 To its own home in heaven, where tears are wiped 
 awav. 
 
 FREEDOM. 
 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
 Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; 
 And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 
 Eiicept \\hat wiidjm lays im evil men, 
 
 L
 
 74 
 
 Is evil : hurts the faculties, impedes 
 
 Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 
 
 The eye-sight of Discovery ; and begets 
 
 In those that suffer it a sordid mind 
 
 Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit 
 
 To be the tenant of man's noble form. 
 
 Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art. 
 
 With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed 
 
 By public exigence, till annual food 
 
 Fails for the craving hunger of the state. 
 
 Thee I account still happy, and the chief 
 
 Among the nations, seeing thou art free ; 
 
 My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude. 
 
 Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
 
 All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine : 
 
 Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 
 
 And plausible than social life requires, 
 
 And thou hast need of discipline and art. 
 
 To give thee what politer France receives 
 
 From Nature's bounty — that humane address 
 
 And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 
 
 In converse, either starved by cold reserve, 
 
 Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl: 
 
 Yet being free I love thee : for the sake 
 
 Of that one feature can be well content. 
 
 Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art. 
 
 To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
 
 But once enslaved, farewell ! I could endure 
 
 Chains no where patiently ; and chains at home. 
 
 Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 
 
 Then what were left of roughness in the grain 
 
 Of British natures, wanting its excuse 
 
 That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 
 
 And shock me. J should then with double paia
 
 Feel all tlip Tigour of thy fickle clime ; 
 
 And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, 
 
 For which our Ilampdens and our Sidneys blcl, 
 
 1 would at least bewail it under skies 
 
 Milder, among a people less austere ; 
 
 In. scenes, which, having never known me free. 
 
 Would not reproach me with the loss 1 felt. 
 
 Do I forebode impossible events. 
 
 And tremble at vain dreams ? Heaven grant I may T 
 
 But the age of virtuous politics is past. 
 
 And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
 
 Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere. 
 
 And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 
 
 Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
 
 Design' d by loud declaim ers on the part 
 
 Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust, 
 
 Incurs derision for his easy faith 
 
 And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough : 
 
 For when was public virtue to be found. 
 
 Where private was not ? Can he love the whole,, 
 
 WTio loves no part ? He be a nation's friend, 
 
 Who is in truth the friend of no man there ? 
 
 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause. 
 
 Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake 
 
 That country, if at all, must be beloved ? 
 
 But there is yet a liberty, unsung 
 By poets, and by senators unpraised. 
 Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers 
 Of earth and hell confederate take away : 
 A liberty, which persecution, fraud. 
 Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind; 
 Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 
 'Tis liberty of heart derived from Heaven,
 
 76 
 
 Bought with nis blood, Mho gave it to mankind. 
 And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
 By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure 
 By the unimpeachable and awful oath 
 And promise of a God. II is other gifts 
 All bear the royal stamp, that speaks them his. 
 And are august ; but this transcends them all. 
 Ilis other works, the visible display 
 Of all-creating ener^ and might, 
 Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word. 
 That, finding an interminable space 
 Unoccupied, has fiil'd the void so well. 
 And made so sparkling what was dark before. 
 But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 
 Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene. 
 Might well suppose the artificer divine 
 Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
 Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is. 
 And, still designing a more glorious far, 
 Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 
 These therefore are occasional, and pass ; 
 Form'd for the confutation of the fool. 
 Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; 
 That office served, they must be swept a\ray. 
 Not so the labours of his love : they shine 
 In other heavens than these that we behold, 
 And fade not. There is Paradise that fears 
 No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 
 Large prelibation oft to saints below. 
 Of these the first in order, and the pledge 
 And confident assurance of the rest. 
 Is liberty ; a flight into his arms. 
 Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, 
 A clear escape from tyrannizing lust.
 
 77 
 
 And full immunity from penal wo. 
 
 lie is the freeman whom the truth makes free. 
 And all are slaves besides. There's not a chaiu. 
 That hellish foes, confederate for his harm. 
 Can wind around him, but he casts it off, 
 "With as much ease as Samson his green withes, 
 lie looks abroad into the varied field 
 Of nature, and though poor, perhaps, compared 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sight. 
 Calls the delightful scenerj- all his own. 
 His are the mountains, and the valleys his. 
 And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy 
 ■\Yith a propriety that none can feel, 
 But who, Avith filial confidence inspired, 
 Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
 And smiling say — " My Father made them all !" 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right. 
 And by an emphasis of interest his. 
 Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 
 "Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
 With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, 
 That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world 
 So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ? 
 Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
 The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
 In senseless riot; but ye will not find 
 In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
 A liberty like his, who unimpeach'd 
 Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong. 
 Appropriates nature as his Father's work. 
 And has a richer use of yours than you. 
 He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 
 Of no mean city ; planu'd or e'er the hills
 
 78 
 
 Were Imilt, llio fountains opcnM, or the sea 
 
 ^Vith all his roarin^ multitude of waves. 
 
 His freedom is the same in every state ; 
 
 And no condition of this changeful life, 
 
 So manifold in cares, whose every day 
 
 Brings its own evil with it, makes it less : 
 
 For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain. 
 
 Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
 
 No nook so narrow hut he spreads them there 
 
 With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
 
 His body bound ; but knows not what a range 
 
 His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; 
 
 And that to bind him is a vain attempt 
 
 "NVhom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. 
 
 So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth 
 Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! 
 Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost, 
 With intellects bemazed in endless doubt. 
 But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 
 With means that were not till by thee employ' d. 
 Worlds, that had never been hadst thou in strength 
 Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
 They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power 
 And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
 That hear not, or receive not their report. 
 In vain thy creatures testify of thee, 
 Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed 
 A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine. 
 That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn. 
 And with the boon gives talents for its use. 
 Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
 Bossess the heart, and fables false as hell ; 
 Yet, deemed oracular, lure down to death
 
 79 
 
 The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. 
 
 We }:i\-e to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind. 
 
 The glory of thy work ; which yet appears 
 
 Perfect and unimpeachable of blame. 
 
 Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 
 
 Then skilful most when most severely judged. 
 
 But chance is not ; or is not where thou reigu'st : 
 
 Thy providence forbids that fickle power 
 
 (If power she be, that works but to confound) 
 
 To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
 
 Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
 
 Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 
 
 Gods such as guilt makes welcome ; gods tliat sleep,. 
 
 Or disregard our follies, or that sit 
 
 Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 
 
 Thee we reject, unable to abide 
 
 Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure, 
 
 Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause. 
 
 For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. 
 
 Then we are free. Then liberty, like day. 
 
 Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven 
 
 Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 
 
 A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not 
 
 Till thou hast touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song— 
 
 A loud Hosanua sent from all thj- works; 
 
 Which he that hears it with a shout repeats. 
 
 And adds his rapture to the general praise. 
 
 In that blest moment Nature, throwing wide 
 
 Iler veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
 
 The Author of her beauties, who, retired 
 
 Behind his own creation, works unseen 
 
 By the impure, and hears his power denic(L 
 
 Thou art the source and centre of all minds. 
 
 Their only point of rest, eternal Word I
 
 80 
 
 From thoe depaTtln.'?, they are lost, and rove 
 At random, -svithout honour, hope, or peaoe. 
 From thee is all that soothes the life of man. 
 His high endeavour, and his glad success. 
 His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 
 But O thou hounteous Giver of all good, 
 Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 
 Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor; 
 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 DUESS. 
 On'H cannot forbear reflecting on the too prevailinq^ 
 humour of being fond and ostentatious of dress. AVhat 
 an abject and mistaken ambition is this ! How unworthy 
 tlie dignity of immortal, and the wisdom of rational 
 beings! Especially, since these little productions of 
 the earth have indisputably the pre-eminence in such 
 outward embellishments. Go, clothe thyself with 
 purple and lino linen ; trick thjself up in all the gay 
 attii-e which the shuttle or the needle can furnish ; yet 
 Ivuow, to the mortilication of thy vanity, that the native 
 elegance of a common daisy eclipses all this elaborate 
 linery. Nay, Mcrt thou decked like some illustrious 
 princess on her coronation day, in all the splendour of 
 royal apparel ; couldst thou equal even Solomon, in tV.e 
 height of his magnificence aud glory ; yet would tlie 
 meanest among the flowery populace outshine thee; 
 every discerning eye would give the preference to those 
 beauties of the ground. Scorn, then, to borrow thy 
 recommendations from a neat disposition of threads and 
 a curioui arrar. vat of cjlours. Assume a becoming
 
 81 
 
 greatness of temper*, let thy endowments be of the 
 immorlal kind; study to be all-glorious -svithiu; be 
 clothed with humility ; wear the ornament of a meek 
 and quiet spirit. To say all in a word, put on the Lord 
 Jesus Christ; Rom. xiii. 14. Let his blood besprinkled 
 upon thy conscience, and it shall be whiter than the 
 virgin snow ; let his righteousness, like a spotless robe, 
 adorn thy inner man, and thou shalt be amiable even in 
 the most distinguishing eye of God. Let his blessed 
 Spirit dwell in thy heart, and, under his sanctifying ope- 
 rations, thou shalt be made partaker of a divine nature. 
 These are real excellencies ; truly noble accomplish- 
 ments these. In this manner be arrayed, be beautified ; 
 and thuu wilt not find a rival in the feathers of a pea- 
 cock, or the foliation of a tulip. These will exalt thee 
 far above the low pretensions of lace and embroidery : 
 tliese will prepare thee to stand in the beatific presence, 
 and to take thy seat among the angels of light. 
 
 Heevey. 
 
 CHARACTER OF THE GREAT F0L3DER OF 
 CHRlSTIAXiTY. 
 Never was there on earth any person of so extraordi- 
 nary a character as the Founder of our religion. In him 
 we uniformly see a mildness, dignity, and composure, 
 and a perfection of wisdom and of goodness, that plainly 
 point liim out as a superior being. But his superinrity 
 was all in his own di\-iue mind. He had none of those 
 outNvard advantages that have distinguished all other 
 lawgivers. He had no influence in tlie state ; he had 
 no wealtli ; he aimed at no worldly power. He was the 
 sou of a carpenter's wife, and he was liiuiseir a carpen- 
 
 M
 
 lor. So poor were his reputed parents, that at the time 
 of his birth, his mother could obtain no better lodging 
 than a stable ; and so poor was he himself, that he often 
 had no lodging at all. That he had no advantages of 
 education, we may infer from the surprise expressed by 
 his neighbours on hearing him speak in the synagogue : 
 •'Whence hath this man these things? AVhat wisdom 
 is this which is given him ? Is not this the carpenter, 
 the son of Mary ? Are not his brethren and sisters with 
 us ?" This point, however, we need not insist on ; as 
 from no education, that his own or any other country 
 could have afforded, was it possible for him to derive 
 that supernatural wisdom and power, that sanctity of 
 life, and that purity of doctrine, which so eminently 
 distinguish him. His first adherents were a few fisher- 
 men ; for whom he was so far from making any provi- 
 sion, that, when he sent them out to preach repentance 
 and heal diseases, they were, by his desire, furnished 
 with notliiug, but' one coat, a pair of sandals, and a stall". 
 He went about iu great humility and meekness, doing 
 good, teaching wisdom, and glorifying God, for the 
 space of about three years after the commencement of 
 his ministry ; and then, as he himself had foreseen and 
 foretold, he was publicly crucified. — This is the great 
 personage, who at this day gives law to the world. This 
 is he, who has been the author of virtue and happiness 
 to millions and millions of the human race. And this 
 is he whom the wisest and best men that ever lived have 
 reverenced as a Divine Person, and gloried in as the 
 deliverer and saviour of mankind. 
 
 Dr. Beattie.
 
 ON THE BEAUTIES OF THE PSALMS. 
 
 Greatness confers no cxcmi)tion from the cares and 
 sorrows of life : its share of them frequently bears a 
 melancholy proportion to its exaltation. This the mo- 
 narch of Israel experienced. lie sought in piety, that 
 peace which he could not find in empire ; and alleviated 
 the disquietude of state, with the exercises of devotion. 
 His invaluable Tsalms convey those comforts to others, 
 ■which they afforded to liimself. Composed upon par- 
 ticular occasions, yet designed for general use; delivered 
 out as services for Israelites under the Law, yet no less 
 adapted to the circumstances of Christians under the 
 Gospel ; they present religion to us iu the most engaging 
 dress; communicating truths which philosophy could 
 never investigate, in a stjle which, poetry can never 
 equal ; wliile history is made the vehicle of prophecy, 
 and creation lends all its charms to paint the glories of 
 redemption. Calculated alike to profit and to please, 
 they inform the understanding, elevate the affections, 
 and entertain the imagination. Indited under the influ- 
 ence of HIM, to whom all hearts are known, and all 
 events foreknown, they suit mankind in all situations ; 
 grateful as the manna which descended from above, and 
 conformed itself to every palate. 
 
 The fairest productions of human wit, after a few 
 perusals, like gathered flowers, wither in our liands, 
 and lose their fragrancy : but these unfading plants of 
 paradise become, as we are accustomed to them, still 
 more and more beautiful ; their bloom appears to be 
 daily heightened ; fresh odours are emitted, and new 
 sweets extracted from them. He who hath once tasted 
 their cxcclleucies, will desire to taste them again ; and 
 he who tastes them ofteaest, will relish them best.
 
 84 
 
 And now, could tho author flatter himself, that any 
 one would take half the pleasure in reading his work, 
 which he has taken in writin;^ it, he would not fear the 
 loss of his labour. The employment detached him from 
 the bustle and hurry of life, the din of politics, on;', the 
 noise of folly. Vanity and vexation flew away for a 
 season ; care and disquietude came not near his^dwclling. 
 He arose, fresh as the morning, to his task ; the silence 
 of the night invited him to pursue it ; and he can truly 
 say, that food and rest were not preferred before it. 
 Every psalm improved infinitely upon his acquaintance 
 with it, and no one gave him uneasiness but the last : 
 for then he grieved that his work was done. Happier 
 hours than those which have been spent in these merli- 
 tations on the Songs of Sion, he never expects to see iu 
 this world. Very pleasantly did they pass ; they moved 
 smoothly and swiftly along : for when thus engaged, he 
 counted no time. They are gone ; but they have left a 
 relish and a fragrance upon the mind ; and the remem- 
 brance of them is sweet. 
 
 noRNE. 
 
 ON THE TRUE HONOUR OF MAN. 
 The proper honour of man arises not from some of those 
 splendid actions and abilities, v.hich excite high admi- 
 ration. Courage and prowess, military renown, signal 
 victories and conc^uests, may render the name of a man 
 famous, without rendering liis character truly honour- 
 able. To many brave men, to many heroes renowned 
 in story, we look up with wonder. Their exploits are 
 recorded. Their praises arc sung. Tliey stand as on 
 an eminence, above the rest of mankind. Tiicir emi-
 
 85 
 
 nence, nevertheless, may not be of that sort, before 
 which we bow with inward esteem and respect. Some- 
 thing more is wanted for that puri^ose, than the conquer- 
 ing arm, and the intrepid mind. The laurels of the 
 warrior must at all times be dyed in blood, and bedewed 
 with the tears of the widow and the orphan. Cut if 
 they have Vieen stained by rapine and inhumanity ; if 
 sordid avarice has marked his character ; or low and 
 gross sensuality has degraded his life ; tl:e great hero 
 sinks into a little man. What, at a distance, or on a 
 superficial view, we admired, becomes mean, perhaps 
 odious, when we examine it more closely. It is like 
 the colossal statue, whose immense size struck the 
 spectator afar oil with astonishment; but when nearly 
 viewed, it appears disproportioned, unshapely, and rude. 
 Obscrvati ms of the same kind may be applied to all 
 the reputatiim derived from civil accomplishments ; from 
 the refined politics of the statesman; or the literary 
 efforts of genius and erudition. These bestow, and 
 within certain bounds, ought to bestow, eminence and 
 distinction on men. They discover talents wliich in 
 themselves are shining; and which become highly 
 vah\able, when employed iu advancing the good of man- 
 kind. Hence, they frequently give rise to fame. But 
 a distinction is to be made between fame, and true 
 honour. Tlie statesman, the orator, or the poet, may 
 be famous ; while yet the man himself is far from being 
 honoured. We envy his abilities. We wish to rival 
 thom. But we would not choose to be classed with him 
 who possesses them. Instances of this sort are too often 
 found in every record of ancient or modern history. 
 
 From all this it follows, that in order to discern where 
 man's true honour lies, we must look, not to any adven- 
 titious circumstances of fortune ; not to any biugle
 
 8G 
 
 Srarklin5 quality ; l»ut to tlio whole of what forms a 
 man : what entitles him, as such, to rank hij^h among 
 that class of beings to which he helongs ; in a wor<I, we 
 must look to the mind and the soul. A mind superior 
 to fear, to selfish interest, and corruption; a mind 
 governed hy the priucii>le3 of uniform rectitude and 
 intejjrity ; the same in prosperity and adversity ; which 
 no bribe can seduce, nor terror overawe ; neitlicr by 
 jileasurc melted into effeminacj', nor by distress sunk 
 into dejection : such is the mind which forms the dis- 
 tinction and eminence of man. — One, who in no situa- 
 tion of life is either ashamed nr afraid of discharging his 
 duty, and acting ]u3 proper part with firmness and con- 
 stancy; true to the God whom he worships, and true 
 ti> the faith in which he professes to believe ; full of 
 aflection to his brethren of mankind; faithful to his 
 friends, generous to his enemies, warm with compassion 
 to the unfortunate; self-denying to little private 
 interests and pleasures, but zealous for public interest 
 and happiness ; magnanimous, without being proud ; 
 humble, without Ijeing mean; just, without being 
 harsli ; simple in his manners, but manly in his feel- 
 ings; en whose word we can entirely rely; whose 
 countenance never deceives us ; whose professions of 
 kindness are the effusions of his heart : one, in fine, 
 •whom, independently of any views of advantage, wo 
 should choose for a superior, could trust in as a friend, 
 and could love as a brother — this is the man, whom in 
 our heart, above all others, we do, we must honour. 
 
 Blaib.
 
 87 
 
 THOUGHTS ON MORTALITY. 
 
 "Romans v. 12 : So death passed upon all men, for that 
 all have sinned. — Job iii, 12: The small and the ^eat 
 are there. — Zacharlali i. 5 : Your fathers, where are 
 they ? and the prophets, do they live for ever ? 
 
 O why should the spirit of mortal he proud ! 
 Like a fast flitting meteor, a fast liyin;; cloud, 
 A flash of the lightning, a break of the Avave, 
 He passes from life to his rest in the grave. 
 
 For the multitude goes, — like the flower and the weed. 
 That wither away to let others succeed ; 
 And the multitude comes, — even those we behold, 
 To repeat every tale that hath often been told I 
 
 For we are the same things that our fathers have been, 
 ■\Ve see the same sights that cur fathers have seen, 
 \N'e drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, 
 A.nd we run the same course that our fathers have run. 
 
 They loved — but their story we cannot unfold ; 
 They scorned — ^but the heart of the haughty is cold ; 
 They grieved — but no wail from their sliunbers may 
 
 come ; 
 They joyed — but the voice of their gladness is dumb ! 
 
 They died — aye, they died ! and we things that are now, 
 "NVho walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
 ^^^lo make in their dwellings a transient abode, 
 Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage roatU
 
 Yea, hopo and despondence, find pleasure and pain. 
 Are mingled tos^other like sunshine and rain ; 
 And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge. 
 Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 
 
 'Tis the close of an eye, 'tis the draw of a breath. 
 From the blossom of health to the paleness of death ; 
 From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud — 
 O why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
 
 Knox's Songs of Israel. 
 
 'BEHOLD MY MOTHER AND MY BRETHREN.' 
 TTno is my mother ? or my brethren ? 
 He spake, and looked on them who sat around, 
 With a meek smile of pity, blent with love, 
 More melting than e'er gleamed from human face. 
 As when a sunbeam, through a summer morn. 
 Shines mildly on a little hill side flock ; 
 And with what look of love he said, — Behold 
 My mother and my brethren ; for I say. 
 That whosoe'er shall do the will of God, 
 He is my brother, sister, mother, all. 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 O Innocence ! how glorious and happy a portion art 
 thou to the breast that possesses thee; thou feavest 
 neither the eyes nor the tongues of men. Truth, the 
 most powerful of all things, is thy strongest friend ; and 
 the brighter the light in which thou art displayed, the 
 more it discovers thy transccndant beauties.
 
 89 
 
 TIME. 
 
 Still on its Tnarch, unnoticed and unfelt. 
 
 Moves on our being. "We do live and breathe. 
 
 And we are gone. The spoiler heeds us not. 
 
 "NVe have our spring-time and our rottenness ; 
 
 And as we fall another race succeeds, 
 
 To perish likewise. — Meanwhile Nature smiles — 
 
 The seasons run their round — The Sun fulfils 
 
 His annual course — and heaven and earth remain 
 
 Still changing, yet unchanged — still doom'd to feel 
 
 Endless mutation in perpetual rest, 
 
 Where are conceal'd the days which have elapsed 1 
 
 Hid in the mighty cavern of the past. 
 
 They rise upon us only to appal, 
 
 By indistinct and half-glimpsed images, 
 
 Misty, gigantic, huge, obscure, remote. 
 
 Oh, it is fearful, on the midnight couch, 
 "\Mien the rude rushing winfls forget to rave. 
 And the pale moon, that through the casement high 
 Surveys the sleepless muser, stamps the hour 
 Of utter silence ; it is fearful then 
 To steer the mind, in deadly solitude. 
 Up the vague stream of probability ; 
 To wind the mighty secrets of the past. 
 And turn the key of Time ! Oh ! who can strive 
 To comprehend the vast, the awful truth, 
 Of the eternity that hath gone hy. 
 And not i-ecoil from the dismaying sense 
 Of human impotence ] The life of man 
 Is sumra'd in birth-days and in sepulchres : 
 But the Eternal God had no beginning ; 
 He hath no end. Time had been with hira 
 For everlasting, ere the divdal world 
 
 N
 
 90 
 
 Hose from \ho trulf in loveliness. — Like him 
 It knew no source : like him 'twas uncreate. 
 AVhat is it then ? the past Eternity ! 
 We comprehend a future v.ithout end, 
 ■\Ve feel it possible that even yon sun 
 May roll for ever: but we shrink amazed — 
 We stand aghast, when we reflect that Time 
 Knew no commencement. That heap age on age. 
 And million upon million, without end, 
 And Ave shall never span the void of days 
 That were, and are not but in retrospect. 
 The Past is an unfathomable depth, 
 Beyond the span of thought ; 'tis an elapse 
 Which hath no mensuration, but hath been 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 Change of days 
 To us is sensible ; and each revolve , 
 
 Of the recording sun conducts us on 
 Farther in life, and nearer to our goal. 
 Not so with Time, — mysterious chronicler ! 
 He knoweth not mutation ; — centuries 
 Are to his being as a day, and days 
 As centuries. — Time jiast, and Time to como. 
 Are always equal ; when the world began 
 God had existed from eternity. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 Now look on mau 
 Myriads of ages hence. — Hath time elapsed I 
 Is he not standing in the self-same place 
 "WTiere once we stood? — The same eternity 
 Huth gone before him, and is yet to come ; 
 His past is not of longer span than ours. 
 Though myriads of ages intervened ; 
 For who can add to what has neither sum.
 
 91 
 
 Nor bound, nor source, nor estimate, nor end! 
 
 Uh, who can compass the Almi'^hty mind { 
 
 AVho can unlock the secrets of the llijjh ? 
 
 In speculation of an altitude 
 
 Sublime as this, our reason stands confess'd 
 
 Foolish, and insigoificant, and mean. 
 
 "WTio can apply the futile arijument 
 
 Of finite beings to infinity ? 
 
 He might as well compress the universe 
 
 Into the hollow compass of a gourd, 
 
 Scoop'd out by human art ; or bid the whale 
 
 Drink up the sea it swims in. — Can the less 
 
 Contain the greater? or the dark obscure 
 
 Infold the glories of meridian day] 
 
 "What does Philosophy impart to man 
 
 But undiscovcr'd wonders ? — Let her soar 
 
 Evcy to her proudest heights — to where she caught 
 
 The soul of Newton and of Socrates, 
 
 She but extends the scope of wild amaze 
 
 And admiration. All her lessons end 
 
 In wider views of God's unfathom'd depths. 
 
 Oh ! I would walk 
 A weary journey to the farthest verge 
 Of the big world, to kiss that good man's hand, 
 "Who, in the blaze of Avisdom and of art. 
 Preserves a lowly mind; and to his God, 
 Feeling the sense of his own littleness. 
 Is as a child in meek simplicity ! 
 What is the pomp of learning ? the parade 
 Of letters and of tongues ? Even as the mists 
 Of the gray morn before the rising sun. 
 That pass away and perish.
 
 92 
 
 EaTthly things 
 Arc Lut the transient pageants of an hour ; 
 And earthly pride is Ul\e the passing flower. 
 That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die. 
 •Tis as tlie tower erected on a cloud, 
 Baseless and silly as the schoolboy's dream. 
 Ages and epochs that destroy our pride. 
 And then record its downfal, what are they 
 But the poor creatures of man's teeming brain ! 
 Ilath Heaven its ages 1 or doth Heaven preserve 
 Its stated eras 1 Doth the Omnipotent 
 Hear of to-morrows or of yesterdays ? 
 There is to God nor future nor a past; 
 Throned in his might, all times to him are present j 
 He hath no lapse, no past, no time to come ; 
 He sees before him one eternal now. 
 Time moveth not! — our being 'tis that moves : 
 And we, sv/ift gliding down life'^ rapid stream. 
 Dream of swift ages and revolving years, 
 Ordain'd to chronicle our passing days ; 
 So the young sailor in the gallant bark. 
 Scudding before the wind, beholds the coast 
 Receding from his eye, and thinks the while. 
 Struck with amaze, that he is motionless, 
 And that the laud is sailing. 
 
 Such, alas! 
 Are the illusions of this Proteus life ; 
 All, all is false : through every phasis still 
 'Tis shadowy and deceitful. It assumes 
 The semblances of things and specious shapes ; 
 But the lost traveller might as soon rely 
 On the evasive spirit of the marsh 
 Whose lantern beams, and vanishes, and flits. 
 O'er bog, and rockj and pit, aud hollow way.
 
 93 
 
 As wc on its appearances. 
 
 On earth 
 There is nor certainty nor stable hope. 
 A3 well the weary mariner, whose bark 
 Is toss'd beyond Cimmerian Bosphorus, 
 "U'here Storm and Darkness hold their drear domain. 
 And sunbeams never penetrate, might trust 
 To expectation of serener skies, 
 And linger in the very jaws of death. 
 Because some peevish cloud were opening. 
 Or the loud storm had bated in its rage ; 
 As we look forward in this vale of tears 
 To permanent delight — from some slight glimpse 
 Of shadowy unsubstantial happiness. 
 
 The good man's hope is laid far, far beyond 
 
 The sway of tempests, or the furious sweep 
 
 Of mortal desolation. — Ke beholds, 
 
 Unapprehensive, the gigantic stride 
 
 Of rampont Ruin, or the unstable waves 
 
 Of dark Vicissitude. — Even in death. 
 
 In that dread hour, when with a giant pang. 
 
 Tearing the tender fibres of the heart. 
 
 The iramo.'tal spirit struggles to be free, 
 
 Then, even then, that hope forsakes him not. 
 
 For it exists beyond the narrow verge 
 
 Of the cold sepulclire. — The petty joys 
 
 Of fleeting life indignantly it spurn'd, 
 
 And rested on tlie bosom of its God. 
 
 Tliis is man's only reasonable hope ; 
 
 And 'tis a hope which, cherish'd in the breast. 
 
 Shall not be disappointed. — Even he. 
 
 The Holy One — Almighty — who elanced 
 
 The rolling world along its airy way. 
 
 Even lie will deign to smile upon the good.
 
 94 
 
 And welcome him to tho?e celestial seats, 
 
 ^Vllero,joy and gladness hold their changeless reign. 
 
 Thou, proud man, look upon j-on starry vault. 
 
 Survey the countless gems which richly stud. 
 
 The Night's imperial chariot ; — Telescopes 
 
 "Will shew thee myriads more innumerous 
 
 Than the sea sand ; — each of those little lamps 
 
 Is the great source of light, the central sun 
 
 Round which some other mighty sisterhood 
 
 Of planets travel, every planet stock'd 
 
 With living beings impotent as thee. 
 
 Now, proud man! uow, where is thy grcatnc^5S tlvd ? 
 
 "What art thou in the scale of universe .' 
 
 Less, less than nothing ? — Yet of thee the God 
 
 Who built this wondrous frame of worlds is carci'ul, 
 
 As well as of the mendicant who begs 
 
 The leavings of thy table. And shalt thou 
 
 Lift up thy thankless spirit, and contemn 
 
 Ills heavenly providence ! Deluded fool. 
 
 Even now the thunderbolt is wing'd with death. 
 
 Even now thou totterest on the^brink of hell. 
 
 KiKKE White. 
 
 MAJESTY OF GOD IN HIS WORKS. 
 Why are the works of God so splendid ? Why is there 
 such magnificence in every thing we see ? Why do we 
 behold such multifarious, such numberless beauties, 
 each object surpassing the other, and clothed with 
 charms peculiar to itself? Why do I every where find 
 new subjects of admiration and astonishment? For 
 this reason : that I may never cease to admire and adore 
 that great Being, who is infiuilcly greater, more sublime.
 
 S5 
 
 and more ma-^ificent than any of the oV'<?cts ^vhich he 
 has presented to my senses ; that I might be led to this 
 reflection : If the •works are so perfect, how glorious 
 must be the maker of them ! If the beauty of that 
 which he has created is inexpressibly great, infinitely 
 greater must be that Being who surveys all creation at 
 a single glance. 
 
 If the sun has a splendour whicli my eyes cannot 
 endure, can we bo surprised, that he who kindled this 
 brilliant orb should dwell in light inaccessible to human 
 vision? Can he be less wonderful than the works 
 which his hand hath formed ? The more marvellous 
 are his works, the more he himself must excite astonish- 
 ment. Were we capable of comprehending the full 
 extent of his greatness, he would cease to be God, or 
 we to be men. 
 
 "Where then can I more enlarge my views, where can 
 I acquire greater knowled.re and more sublime ideas 
 than in contemplating the illimitable power andmajesty 
 of the Godhead I "Where else can I procure, for ail the 
 faculties of my soul, that energy and vigour which, 
 befits me for the enjoyment of endless felicity ? The 
 more my mind is here expanded and enlarged by con- 
 templating the greatest of all Beings, the more will it 
 be capable of comprehending his grandeur and majesty 
 in a future state. 
 
 Stuem. 
 
 THE ^-OMI^-AL christian defective in 
 
 LOVE TO GOD. 
 Lft the question be fiiirly put to the test. Conceming 
 the proper marks and cvidcuccs of aliVetion, there cau
 
 96 
 
 "be little dispute. Lot the most cnndid inres{i|,'ator 
 examine the character, and conduct, and language of 
 the persons to whom we have been speaking ; and he 
 will be compelled to acknowledge, that so far as love 
 towards the supreme Being is in question, these marks 
 and evidences are no where to be met with. It is ia 
 itself a decisive evidence of a contrary feeling in those 
 nominal Christians, that they find no pleasure in the 
 service and worship of God. Their devotional acts 
 resemble less the free-will offerings of a grateful heart, 
 than that constrained and reluctant homage which is 
 exacted by some hard master from his oppressed depen- 
 dents; and paid with coldsullenness, and slavish appre- 
 hension. It was the very charge brought by God 
 against his ungrateful people of old, that, while they 
 called him Sovereign and Father, thej' withheld from 
 him the regards which severally be'iong to those respected 
 and endearing appellations. Thus we likewise think 
 it enough to offer to the most excellent and amiable of 
 Beings, to onr supreme and unwearied Benefactor, a 
 dull, artificial, heartless gratitude, of which we should 
 be ashamed in the case of a fellow-creature, who had 
 ever so small a claim on our regard and thankfulness. 
 
 It may be cf infinite use to establish in our minds a 
 strong and habitual sense of that first and great com- 
 mandment, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with 
 all thy heart, and with all thy mind, and with all thy 
 soul, and with all thy strength." This passion, opera- 
 tive and vigorous in its very nature, like a master 
 epring, would set in motion, and maintain in action all 
 the complicated movements of the human soul. 
 
 It would also soon terminate many practical questions 
 concerning the allowableness of certain compliances; 
 questions which, wilhothcrsiuiilar difficulties, are often
 
 97 
 
 only the cold offspring of a spirit of reluctant submis- 
 sion, and cannot stand the encounter of this trying 
 princii;le. If, for example, it were disputed, whether 
 or not the law of God were so strict as had been stated, 
 in coademning the slightest infraction of its precepts; 
 yet, when, from the precise demands of justice, the 
 appeal shall be made to the more generous principle of 
 love, there would be at once an end of the discussion. 
 Fear will deter from acknowledged crimes, and self- 
 interest will bribe to laborious services ; but it is the 
 peculiar glory, and the very characteristic, of this more 
 generous passion, to shew itself in ten thousand little 
 and undefinable arts of sedulous attention, which love 
 alone can pay ; and of which, when paid, love alone can 
 estimate the value. Love outruns the deductions of 
 reasoning ; it scorns the refuge of casuistry ; it refiuires 
 not the slow process of laborious and undeniable proof 
 that one action would be injurious and offensive, or 
 another beneficial or gratifying, to the object of its 
 affection. The least hint, the slightest surmise, is 
 sufficient to make it start from the former, and liy w ith 
 eagerness to the latter. 
 
 "VNlLEERFORCE. 
 
 PLEASURES OF SCIENCE. 
 The highest of all our gratifications in the contempla- 
 tions oi science remains ; we are raised by them to au 
 understanding of the infinite wisdom and goodness whii-h 
 the Creator has displayed in his works. Not a step can 
 we take in any direction, without perceiving the most 
 extraordinary traces of design ; and the skill everywhere 
 conspicuous, is calculated, in so vast a proportion of 
 o
 
 98 
 
 Instance!?, to promote the happiness of livinp; creatures, 
 and especially of our own kind, that we can feel no 
 hesitation in concluding that, if we knew the whole 
 scheme of Providence, every part would be found ia 
 harmony with apian of absolute benevolence. Inde- 
 pendently, however, of this most consoling inference, 
 the delight is inexpressible of being able to follow, as it 
 were, with our eyes, the marvellous works of the Great 
 Architect of Nature — to trace the unbounded power and 
 exquisite skill which are exhibited in the most minute, 
 as well as the mightiest parts of his system. The 
 pleasure derived from this study is unceasing, and so 
 various, that it never tires the appetite. But it is unlike 
 the loAv gratifications of sense in another respect : while 
 those hurt the health, debase the understanding, and 
 corrupt the feelings, this elevates and refines our nature, 
 teaching us to look upon all earthly objects as insigniti- 
 cant and below our notice, except the pursuit of know- 
 ledge and the cultivation of virtue ; and giving a dignity 
 and importance to the enjoyment of life, which the 
 frivolous and the grovelling cannot even comprehend. 
 
 Let us, then, conclude, that the Pleasures of Science 
 go bund in hand with the solid benefits derived from it; 
 that they tend, unlike other gratifications, not only to 
 make our lives more agreeable, but better; and that a 
 rational being is bound, by every motive of interest and 
 of duty, to direct his mind towards pursuits which are 
 found to be the sure path of Virtue as well as of 
 happiness. 
 
 BnOUGIIAM,
 
 99 
 
 THE DELUSIONS OF LIFE. 
 If the situation of man in the present life be considered 
 in all its relations and dependencies, a striking incon- 
 sistency will be apparent to a very cursory observer. We 
 have sure warrant for believing that our abode here is 
 to form a comparatively insignificant part of our exist- 
 ence, and that on our conduct in this life will depend 
 the happiness of the life to come ; yet our actions daily 
 give the lie to this proposition, inasmuch as we com- 
 monly act like men who have no thought but for the 
 present scene, and to whom the grave is the boundary 
 of anticipation. But this is not the only paradox which 
 humanity furnishes to the eyes of a thinking man. It 
 is very generally the case, that we spend our whole lives 
 in the pursuit of objects which common experience 
 informs us are not capable of conferring that pleasure 
 and satisfaction which we expect from their enjoyment. 
 Our views are unifonnly directed to one point: happi- 
 ness, in whatever garb it be clad, and under whatever 
 figure shadowed, is the great aim of the busy multitudes, 
 whom we behold toiling through the vale of life, in such 
 an infinite diversity of occupation and disparity of views. 
 But the misfortune is, that we seek for happiness where 
 she is not to be found, and the cause of wonder, that 
 the experience of ages should not have guarded us 
 against so fatal and so universal an error. 
 
 It would be an amusing speculation to consider the 
 various points after which our fellow-mortals are in- 
 cessantly straining, and in the possession of which they 
 have jilaced that imaginarj- chief good w hich we are all 
 doomed to covet, but which perhaps, none of us, in this 
 sublunary stale, can attain. At present, however, we 
 are led to considerations of a more important nature.
 
 100 
 
 Wc turn from the inconsistencies oljservablc in the 
 prosecution of our subordinate pursuits, from the partial 
 follies of individuals, to the general delusion which 
 seems to envelope the whole human race : — the delusion 
 under whose influence they lose sight of the chief end 
 of their being, and cut down the sphere of their hopes 
 and enjoyments to a few rolling years, and that, too, in 
 a scene where they know there is neither perfect fru- 
 ition nor permanent delight. 
 
 The faculty of contemplating mankind in the abstract, 
 apart from those prepossessions which, both by nature 
 and the power of habitual associations, would intervene 
 to cloud our view, is only to be obtained by a life of 
 Tirtue and constant meditation, by temperance, and 
 purity of thought. Whenever it is attained, it must 
 greatly tend to correct our motives — to simplify our 
 desires — and to excite a spirit of contentment and pious 
 resignation. We then, at length, are enabled to con- 
 template our being, in all its bearings, and in its full 
 extent, and the result is, that superiority to common 
 views and indifference to the things of this life, which 
 should be the fruit of all true philosophy, and which, 
 therefore, are the more peculiar fruits of that system of 
 philosophy which is called the Christian. 
 
 To a mind thus sublimed, the great mass of mankind 
 %vill appear like men led astray by the workings of wild 
 and distempered imaginations — visionaries who are 
 wandering after the phantoms of their own teeming 
 brains; and their anxious solicitude for mere matters of 
 worldly accommodation and ease will seem more like 
 the effects of insanity than of prudent foresight, as they 
 are esteemed. To the awful importance of futurity he 
 will observe them utterly insensible ; and he will soo 
 with astonishment the few allotted years of human life
 
 101 
 
 wasted in providing abundance they will norer enjoy, 
 while the eternity they are placed here to prepare fur, 
 scarcely employs a moment's consideration. And yet 
 the mass of these poor wanderers in the ways of error 
 have the light of truth shining on their very foreheads. 
 They have the revelation of Almighty God himself, to 
 declare to them the folly of worldly cares, and the 
 necessity for providing for a future state of existence. 
 They know, by the experience of every preceding 
 generation, that a very small portion of joy is allowed 
 to the poor sojourners in this vale of tears, and that too, 
 embittered with much pain and fear ; and yet every one 
 is willing to flatter himself that he shall fare better than 
 his predecessor in the same path, and that happiness 
 will smile on him which hath frowned on all his 
 progenitors. 
 
 Still it would be wrong to deny the human race all 
 claim to temporal felicity. There may be comparative, 
 although very little i^ositive happiness ; — whoever is 
 more exempt from the cares of the world and the cala- 
 mities incident to humanity — whoever enjoys more 
 contentment of mind, and is more resigned to the dis- 
 pensations of Divine Providence — in a word, whoever 
 possesses more of the true spirit of Christianity than 
 his neighbours, is comparatively happy. But the 
 number of these, it is to be feared, is very small. Were 
 all men equally enlightened by the illuminations of 
 truth, as emanating from the spirit of Jehovah himself, 
 they would all concur in the pursuit of virtuous ends by 
 virtuous means: — as there would be no vice, there 
 would be very little infelicity. Every pain would be 
 met with fortitude, every affliction with resignation. 
 We should then all look back to the past with compla- 
 cency, and to the future with hope. Even this uustabk*
 
 102 
 
 state of bcin^ woukl have many exquisite enjoj-monts — ■ 
 the principal of which -would be tl.e anticipation of that 
 approachin;^ gtate of beatitude to which we might then 
 look with confidence, throuj^h the medium of that 
 atonement of which we should be partakers, and our 
 acceptance, by virtue of which, would be sealed by that 
 purity of mind of which human nature is, of itself, in- 
 capable. But it is from the mistakes and miscalculations 
 of mankind, to which their fallen natures are continually 
 prone, that arises that flood of misery which overwhelms 
 the whole race, and resounds wherever the footsteps of 
 man have penetrated. It is the lamentable error of. 
 placing happiness in vicious indulgences, or thinking to 
 jmrsue it by vicious means. It is the blind folly of 
 sacrificing the welfare of the future to the opportunity 
 of immediate guilty gratification which destroys the 
 harmony of society, and poisons the peace, not only of 
 the immediate procreators of the errors — not only of the 
 identical actors of the vices themselves, but of all those 
 of their fellows who fall within the reach of their 
 influence or examjile, or who are in any wise connected 
 with them by the ties of blood, 
 
 I would therefore exhort you earnestly — you who 
 are yet unskilled in the ways of the world — to beware 
 on what object you concentre your hopes. Pleasures 
 may allure — pride or ambition may stimulate, but their 
 fruits are hollow and deceitful, and they airord no sure, 
 no solid satisfaction. You are placed on the earth in a 
 state of probation — ycur continuance here will be, at 
 the longest, a very short period, and when you are 
 called from hence, j'ou plunge into an eternity, the 
 rumpletion of which will be in correspondence to your 
 past life, unutterably happy or inconceivably miserable. 
 Your faic will prohably depend on your caily pursuits
 
 103 
 
 — it ^vi^ be these -which will give the turn to your cha- 
 racter and to your pleasures. I beseech you, therefore, 
 with a meek and lowly spirit, to read the pages of that 
 Book, which the wisest and best of men have acknow- 
 ledged to be the word of God. You will there find a 
 rule of moral conduct, such as the world never had any 
 idea of before its divulgation. If you covet earthly 
 happiness, it is only to be found in the path you will 
 find there laid down, and I can confidently promise you, 
 in a life of simplicity and purity, a life passed in accord- 
 ance with the Divhie word, such substantial bliss, such 
 unruffled peace, as is nowhere else to be found. All 
 other schemes of earthly pleasure are fleeting and unsa- 
 tisfactory. They all entail upon them rcpeutance and 
 bitterness of thought. This alone endureth for ever — • 
 this alone embraces equally the present and the future 
 — this alone can arm a man against every calamity — 
 can alone shed the balm of peace over that scene of life 
 when pleasures have lost their zest, and the mind can 
 no longer look forward to the dark and mysterious 
 future. Above all, beware of the ignis fatuus of false 
 philosophy : that must be a very defective system of 
 ethics which will not bear ac man through the most 
 trying stage of his existence, and I know of none that 
 will do it but the Christian. 
 
 KiEKE "White. 
 
 VANITY INSCRIBED ON ALL THINGS. 
 Time, like a long-Iiov.-ing stream, makes haste into 
 eternity, and is for ever lost and swallowed up there ; 
 and, while it is hastening to its period, it sweeps away 
 ail things with it which are not immortal. There is a
 
 104 
 
 limit appointed by Providence to the duration of all the 
 jiloasant and desirable scenes of life, to all the works of 
 the hands of men, -with all the glories and excellencies 
 of animal nature, and all that is made of flesh and blood. 
 Let us not dote upon any thing here below, for heavca 
 hath inscribed vanity upon it. The moment is hasten- 
 ing when the decree of heaven shall be uttered, and 
 Providence shall pronounce upon every glory of the 
 earth, " Its time shall be no longer." 
 
 "What is that stately building, that princely palace, 
 which now entertains and amuses our sight with ranks 
 of marble columns and wide spreading arches, that gay 
 edifice, which enriches our imagination with a thousand 
 Toyal ornaments, and a profusion of costly and glittering 
 furniture ? Time, and all its circling hours, with a swift 
 wing, are brushing it away; decay steals upon it insen- 
 seusibly, and a few years hence it shall lie in mouldering 
 ruin and desolation ! Unhappy possessor, if he has no 
 better inheritance ? 
 
 ^Vhat are those fine and elegant gardens, those de- 
 lightful walks, those gentle ascents, and soft declining 
 slopes, which raise and sink the eye by turns to a thou- 
 sand vegetable pleasures ? How lovely are those sweet 
 liorders, and thoce growing varieties of bloom and fruit, 
 w hich recall lost Paradise to mind ! Those living par- 
 terres, which regale the sense with vital fragrancy, and 
 make glad the sight, by their refreshing verdure and 
 intermingled flowery beauties ! The scythe of Time is 
 passing over them all ; they wither, they die away, they 
 tlrop and vanish into dust ; their duration is short ; a 
 few months deface all their yearly glories : and within 
 a. few years, perhaps, all these rising terrace-walks, these 
 gentle verging declivities, shall lose all order and ele- 
 gance, and become a rug^-ed heap of ruins : those well-
 
 105 
 
 distinguished borders and parterres shall be levelled in 
 confusion, and thrown into common earth again, for the 
 ox and the ass to graze upon them. Unhappy man, who 
 possesses this agreeable spot of ground, if he has no 
 paradise more durable than this ! 
 
 And no wonder that these labours of the hands of 
 men should perish, when even the works of God are 
 perishable. 
 
 Vv'hat are these visible heavens, these lower skies, and 
 this globe of earth ? They are indeed the glorious work- 
 manship of the Almighty ; but they are waxing old, and 
 waiting their period too, when the angel shall pronounce 
 upon them, " That time shall be no more. The heavens 
 shall be folded up as a vesture, the elements of the lower 
 world shall melt with fervent heat, and the earth, and 
 all the works thereof, shall be burnt up with fire.'* 
 ZSIay the unruinable world be but my portion, and the 
 heaven of heavens my inheritance, which is built for an 
 eternal mansion for the sons of God ; these buildings 
 shall outlive time and nature, and exist through unknown 
 ages of felicity ! 
 
 ^^"hat have we mortals to be proud of in our present 
 state, when every human glory is so fugitive and fading ? 
 Let the brightest and the best of us say to ourselvei, 
 " That we are but dust and vanity." 
 
 Is my body formed upon a graceful model ? Are my 
 limbs well turned, and my complexion better coloured 
 than my neighbours ? Beauty, even in perfection, is of 
 the shortest date : a few years will inform me that its 
 bloom vanishes, its fiower withers, its lustre grows dim, 
 its duration shall be no longer ; and if life be prolonged, 
 yet the pride and glory of it is for ever lost in age and 
 wrinkles; or, perhaps, our vanity meets a speedier fatt*. 
 Death and the grave, with a sjveveign and irresistible 
 i-
 
 106 
 
 command, summons the brif,'htost as well as tlie coarsest 
 pieces of human nature to lie down early in their cold 
 embraces ; and at last they must all mix together amonj^t 
 worms and corruption. iEsop the deformed, Helena 
 the fair, are lost and undistinguished in common earth. 
 Nature, in its gayest bloom, is but a painted vanity. 
 
 Are my nerves well strung and vigorous ? Is my 
 activity and strength far superior to my neighbours iu 
 the days of youth? But youth hath its appointed limit : 
 age steals upon it, unstrings the nerves, and makes the 
 force of nature languish into infirmity and feebleness. 
 Samson and Goliath would have lost their boasted 
 advantages of stature and their brawny limbs in the 
 course of half a century, though the one had escaped the 
 sling of David, and the other the vengeance of his own 
 hands in the ruin of Dagon's temple, Man, in his best 
 estate, is a flying shadow and vanity. 
 
 Even those nobler powers of human life, which seem 
 to have something angelical in them, I mean the powers 
 of wit and fancy, gay imagination, and capacious 
 memory, they are all subject to the same laws of decay 
 and death. "What though they can raise and animate 
 beautiful scenes in a moment, and, in imitation of cre- 
 ating power, can spread bright appearances and new 
 worlds before Ihe senses and the souls of their friends 1 
 What though they can entertain the better part of man- 
 kind, the refined and polite world, with high delight 
 and rapture ! These scenes of rapturous delight grow- 
 flat and old by a frequent review, and the very powers 
 that raised them grow feeble apace. What though they 
 can give immortal applause and fame to their possessors I 
 It is but the immortality of an empty name, a mere suc- 
 cession of the breath of men ; and it is a short sort of 
 Immortality too, which must die and perish when thi*
 
 107 
 
 world perishes. A poor shadow of duration indeed, 
 ■while the real period of these powers is hastening every 
 day ; they languish and die as fast as animal nature, 
 which has a lar','e share in them, makes haste to its 
 decay, and the time of their exercise shall shortly he no 
 more. 
 
 In rain the aged poet and the painter would call up 
 the muse and genius of their youth, and summon all the 
 arts of their imagination to spread and dress out some 
 visionary scene : in vain the elegant orator would recall 
 the bold and masterly figures, and all those flowery 
 images whicli gave ardour, grace, and dignity to his 
 younger composures, and charmed every ear : they are 
 gone, they are fled beyond the reach of their owner's 
 call : their time is past, they are vanished and lost 
 beyond all hope of recovery. 
 
 The God of uature has pronounced an impassable 
 period upon all the powers, and pleasures, and glories 
 of this mortal state. Let us then be afraid to make any 
 of them our boast or our happiness ; but point our 
 aflfections to those diviner objects whose nature is ever- 
 lasting ; let us seek those religious attainments and 
 those new-created powers of a sanctified mind, concern- 
 ing which it shall never be pronounced, " that their 
 time shall be no longer." 
 
 O may every one of us be humbly content, at the call 
 of heaven, to part with all that is pleasing or magnificent 
 here on earth ; let us resign even these agreeable talents, 
 when the God of nature demands; and when the hour 
 arrives that shall close our eyes to all visible things, and 
 lay our fleshy structure in the dust, let us yield up our 
 whole selves to the hands of our Creator, who shall 
 reserve our spirits with himself ; and while we cheer- 
 fully give up all that was mortal to the grave, we may
 
 108 
 
 lio down full of tho joj-ful hope of a rising immovtality. 
 New and unknown powers and glories, brighter flames 
 of imagination, richer scenes of wit and fancy, and 
 diviner talents are preparing for us, when we shall awake 
 from the dust ; and the mind itself shall have all its 
 faculties in a sublime state of improvement. These 
 shall make us eijual, if not superior, to angels, for M'e 
 are nearer akin to the Son of God than they are, and 
 therefore we shall be made more like him. 
 
 Watts, 
 
 PRAISE WAITETII FOU THEE, GOD, IN SIGN". 
 
 Psalm Ixv. 1. 
 And does praise wait for God in the congregation of hia 
 saints ? Surely it doth not use to be so. Mercy uses 
 to be beforehand with us, and the Lord waiteth to be 
 gracious. Mercy is wont to be ready in the hands of 
 God before praise is ready on the tongues of men ; and 
 •we are sure he waited on us to shew his grace long before 
 we had any songs ready for him, or any thought of 
 praising him. 
 
 Yet sometimes it is so in this lower world : holy souls 
 may be waiting at the throne of grace with their praises 
 ready to ascend as soon as mercy appears ; mercy may 
 be silent for a season, and then praise for a season is 
 silent too. This is the original language of the psalm, 
 and this the state of things when the psalmist wrote; 
 " Praise is silent for thee in Sion." When the church 
 of God under trouble has been long seeking any particu- 
 lar blessing or deliverance, and God's appointed hour of 
 salvation is not yet come, then the songs of the church 
 are sileut ; yet she stands watching and waiting for the
 
 109 
 
 desired moment, that she may meet the salvation witli- 
 praise. 
 
 But why should God suffer praise to be silent at all in. 
 Sion ? Is not the church the habitation of his praises? 
 Yes ; but it is the house of prayer too ; prayer and 
 patience must have their proper exercise. If praise 
 vere never silent on earth, where would there be any 
 room for prayer to speak? when would there be any 
 season for the grace of patience to shew itself ? God 
 loves prayer as well as praise ; his sovereignty is 
 honoured by humble waiting, as well as his goodness by 
 holy gratitude and joy. If praise be silent, then let 
 prayer be more fervent. The absent Saviour loves to 
 hear the voice of his beloved ; the lips of the church 
 must never be quite silent, though they are not always 
 employed in hallelujahs. 
 
 Praise is the sweetest part of divine worship ; it is a 
 short heaven here on earth. God lets our praises be silent 
 sometimes, to teach us that this is not a state of complete 
 blessedness. After the great day of decision, praise 
 shall be continual and unceasing, when there shall be 
 no more sighing for the saints, no more death, no more 
 pain. Then churches shall want ordinances no more ; 
 nor saints abstain from the bread of life, Jesus, their 
 everlasting pastor, shall feed them in pastures ever 
 green, and from the tree of life, and lead them to the 
 fountains of joy, and the streams where eternal pleasures 
 run. O may our souls wait with joyful hope for that 
 day, and cur praises shall not be silent. 
 
 Yet it is not with the church as it is with the world, 
 when praise is silent in both. It is ever silent among 
 the wicked ; because they are forgetful of God, tlieir 
 Maker : it is only siicut among the saints for a seasou.
 
 no 
 
 ■wTicn their Oocl Pocms to frown and hide himself, and as 
 it wore to forget his people. 
 
 Besides, let us consider that all praise is not silent 
 there. Daily incense arises before God in his temple, 
 though particular thank-olferings -wait till particular 
 mercies are received. Praise for all the greatest mercie.s, 
 namely, for redeeming grace, for electing love, for the 
 sanctifying Spirit, is never silent in Zion. Psalm Ix.vxiv. 
 4: "Blessed are they that dwell in thine house ; they 
 will be still praising thee." But praise for some special 
 favours may be silent for a season, as well as that large 
 revenue of praise that shall grow due at the accomplish- 
 ment of all the promises and the eonsummatioii of 
 blessednes.s. 
 
 Again, the praises of God are silent in the world with- 
 out any design of breaking forth ; but the silence of the 
 church longs to be lost in joyful songs of thanksgiving. 
 It is like an engine charged with praise, that wants only 
 the warm touch of mercy to make it shine with the 
 glories of heavenly worship, and sound aloud the name 
 of the God of heaven. 
 
 Sometimes God is as well pleased that praise should 
 ■wait with humble silence, as that it should speak. It 
 shews a well disposed frame and temper of soul that 
 longs to honour God. Tlie hearts of his saints are 
 instruments of music to the Lord ; he has formed their 
 souls for his glory, and tuned their heartstrings to his 
 own praise. Now he loves to see them keep still in 
 tune, though he does not always play his own praises 
 upon them ; he neither wants our services nor our 
 songs, for his own perfections are an everlasting harmony 
 to himself, without the slender notes that we can sound. 
 
 We may make this sweet remark at last, that Zion on 
 earth shall be joined to Jeruiulcm above ; the family
 
 Ill 
 
 below shall be joined to the upper house, for they have 
 learned the work of heaven ; their hearts are tuned to 
 praise ; they want only such harps as angels have to 
 bring glory down, and make a heaven on this earth. 
 In 1 Chron, xi. 4., we are told that David took Zion 
 from the Jebuzites, and built it round about, and added 
 it to Jerusalem. So shall Jesus, the true David, the 
 king of saints, take this earthly Zion from the powers 
 of this wicked world, and shall build and adorn it around 
 with glory and strength, with perfect beauty and com- 
 plete grace, and add it to the Jerusalem which is above. 
 Look upward, O souls who are full of praises, and are 
 even impatient to speak the glories of your God! look 
 to Jerusulem above, where praise is constant and never- 
 ceasing, and rejoice to think that you shall be made 
 inhabitants of that city, and united to the glorious 
 church. It is your chief pleasure here to be praising 
 your God; and it is the chief pleasure of your fellow- 
 saints on high, where happiness is perfect, praise is per- 
 fect too, and nc^er silent. 
 
 It is the chief delight of happy souls there to run over 
 the glories of their God, and tell one another jojfuUy, 
 and humbly tell their God, what a wise, what a holy, 
 what an almighty, and all-gracious God he is. Every 
 breath of praise is a new gale of pleasure there ; it is 
 sweet breathing, in air perfumed with praises; and 
 this climate is most agreeable to your new nature and 
 your constitution, you that are members and parts of 
 Zion; and you shall be translated thither to your kin- 
 dred souls. In heaven the river of plt'asurc springs from 
 God's right hand, because Jesus, the Saviour, sits there. 
 It is a river that makes glad the city of God; and every 
 stream, as it flows along the golden streets, murmurs 
 sweet praises to the fouataiu.
 
 113 
 
 But hoavon and the state of glory arc not yet com- 
 plete : the church waits above for many promises that 
 are not yet fuliilled, and future blessings that are yet 
 unknown. The work of grace is not finished till the 
 great resurrection day ; and heaven itself, in all the 
 blissful regions of it, waits for such praises as the ear 
 of men or angels has never yet heard. 
 
 While the whole church of God on earth is in a state 
 of imperfection and trial, a state of sins and sorrows, 
 praise waits in all the sanctuaries below, and in Zion 
 above top. The souls in glory wait for complete salva- 
 tion, and the redemption of their bodies from the grave. 
 On the harps of angels praise sits waiting; and it waits 
 also on tlie tongue of Jesus, the intercessor. His 
 prayers shall one day change all at once into praises, 
 and lift the praises of angels, and embodied saints, to 
 higher mjtes than ever yet they knew. O the voices 
 and the songs, the joys, the raptures of that moment, 
 of that day, of that eternity, when such a multitude 
 of praises shall burst out at once, that have been 
 waiting long in that Zion, and shall become an everlast- 
 ing praise ! when Jesus, the Son of God, the Mediator, 
 shall load the worship, and the praises that have been 
 growing these seventeen hundred years on his tongue 
 shall break forth and spread themselves abroad, and 
 all the creation shall hear, and all echo to his song, 
 Glorj' to God in the highest ! This is what we wait and 
 hope for, and long to bear a part in those pleasures and 
 those praises. 
 
 ■\Vatts.
 
 113 
 
 REFLECTIONS SUGGESTED IN SILENT WOR- 
 SHIP— " THOUGHTS OF THE WORLD." 
 
 Tnoi:GHTS of the World, away! nor dare molest 
 
 The sacred calm now settling on my breast. 
 
 Thoughts of the World — and what that world contains, 
 
 Seducing pleasures, ending still in pains. 
 
 You now I offer on that purer shrine 
 
 Where thus to wait, to pray, to weep is mine. 
 
 may no image, tho' most dear it he. 
 Presume to steal between my God and me ; 
 May he in silence holy thought inspire. 
 And my soul's enemy subdu'd retire. 
 
 Till, heaven-assisted, through each mental strife, 
 
 1 drink the waters of the well of life. 
 And feel their vivifying power impart 
 Strength to my soul, and comfort to my heart. 
 Thoughts of the World — O must you come again. 
 To bind my wearied soul in Satan's chain ? 
 Again to dash salvation's cup from me, 
 
 And fetter her, the Saviour now sets free : 
 Alas ! too soon your influence may return, 
 And faith's now lambent radiance dimly burn ; 
 No more my heart may feel the holy rest. 
 Like halcyon's wings on ocean's troubl'd breast. 
 Which smooths the waves of passion at its will. 
 And to the voice of sin cries " Peace, be still." 
 Thoughts of the World — How shall I then control. 
 Amidst that world, your influence on my soul ? 
 Say, when 1 leave this consecrated scene, 
 Where now so safe, so wrapt, so bless'd I've been. 
 How shall I seek, and where obtain the pow'r, 
 To guard my tbreaten'd breast in danger's hour ? 
 Q
 
 114 
 
 Spirit of prayer I In-dv.elling Spirit, thou, 
 And thou alone this iEgis canst bestow ; 
 Shielded by thee, Avhen worldly thou'^hts intrude. 
 Still shall I keep my soul's pure solitude ; 
 Still drive the baneful visitants away. 
 Still bid rebellious sin withold its sway. 
 Till my whole heart to its Redeemer ijiven, 
 Thoughts of the World shall yield to hopes of heaven, 
 Amelia Opie. 
 
 ON DIVINE WORSHir. 
 TnorGH worship, or devotion, is the most solemn, the 
 most awful, and the most sublime exercise in which the 
 mind of man can be engaged, yet, in itself, it is simple. 
 How awful it must be, for frail and erring creatures to 
 present them<:elves to the notice of that Omniscient 
 Being, before whom the secrets of all hearts are unveiled ! 
 Well might the prophet, under a sense of the Divine 
 Majesty, exclaim ; " Wherewith shall I come before the 
 Lord, and bow myself before the high God .' Shall I 
 come before him with burnt offerings, with calves of a 
 year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of 
 rams, or with ten thousands of rivers of oil?" — Micah 
 vi. 6, 7. 
 
 And yet how animating ! What an unspeakable favour 
 it is, for the soul to be permitted to approach the Throne 
 of Grace, and pour forth its wants, its sorrows, and 
 desires, before a Heavenly Father ; feeling that his own 
 Divine Influence gives access to Him, and forms the 
 language of the prayer, the humble acknowledgment, or 
 triumphant praise ! And yet this solemn and sublime 
 exercise is simple. It requires neither wealth, nor
 
 115 
 
 Icarnint^, nor extraordinary natural ahilities, to perform 
 it. It is within the reach of the simple, the illiterate, 
 and the poor. It can he performed in solitude, as well 
 as in the crowd. — The splendour of temples, and the 
 pomp of attendance, can add nothing to recommend it 
 to the notice of Almighty God. 
 
 There is not a duty we owe, or a privilege we enjoy, 
 more necessary or more simple than Divine worship. 
 But as the act itself can neither be performed nor 
 comprehended, without the quickening, illuminating 
 Influence of the Spirit of Christ ; so there is no religious 
 duty, in which the wisdom of man has been more busy, 
 or made greater innovations, 
 
 B.VTES. 
 
 JEHOVAH SIIAMMAIL 
 EzEKiEL >dviii. 35. 
 
 Tuor art our Father, Lord, our Lord ; 
 
 And thou shalt every word fulfil 
 Of promised love, and Z ion-ward 
 
 Shall lead the tribes in Judah still. 
 
 Though mute within thy courts we stand, 
 N<)r harp, nor tabret's sound is there. 
 
 Nor bended knee, nor lifted hand. 
 Nor solemn vow, nor voice of prayer. 
 
 The heart contrite, the lowly mind. 
 
 The strength implored, the trembling plea, 
 
 The darling joy of years resigned. 
 In grateful incense rise to thee.
 
 116 
 
 (Sometimes, perhaps, as left and weak. 
 Along her walls may Zion mourn. 
 
 Because they be but few that seek 
 Her day of feast or solemn morn. 
 
 But thou shalt still inhabit there, 
 
 And there shall still thy glory shine ; 
 
 And Shiloh's fount thy name shall bear. 
 And Zion's hill shall yet be thine. 
 
 Yet shalt thou teach her sons thy ways, 
 Her courts with prophets yet shall fill ? 
 
 And on her gates shall still be praise, 
 And on her walls salvation still. 
 
 There shalt thou bid thine ensign stand. 
 And blow thy trumpet, that from far 
 
 Shall call the nations, land by land; 
 And they shall answer, here we are. 
 
 And Cush and Elam as of old, 
 
 And Ocean's Isles shall come to her 
 
 "With richest offerings, gems and gold. 
 And balm, and frankincense, and myrrh. 
 
 Around her border shalt thou lead 
 
 The streams that gladden where they flow ; 
 
 And there Nabaioth's rams shall feed. 
 And there the flocks of Kedar go. 
 
 Within, thy love, thy peace shall rest. 
 The unmeasured spirit all shall bear; 
 
 And every tongue shall call her Blessed, 
 And name her name, " The Lord is there.'
 
 117 
 
 TESTIMONIES OF THE HEATHEN TO THE IN- 
 FLUENCE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. 
 
 Pythagoras calls this Divine Principle, the " Great 
 Light and Salt of ages." Anaxagoras called it "the 
 Divine Mind." Socrates called it "a good Spirit." 
 Timeus styled it an Unbegotten Principle, and Author 
 of all Light." Hieron, Pythagoras, Epictetus, and 
 Seneca, say it is " God in Man, or God within." Plato 
 calls it the " Eternal, Ineflfable and Perfect Principle of 
 Truth; the Light and Spirit of God." Plotin calls it, 
 " the Root of the Soul ; the Divine Principle in man." 
 Philo, " the Divine Power — the Infallible, Immortal 
 Law, in the minds of men." And Plutarch denominates 
 it, " the Law and the Living Rule of the mind, the in- 
 terior Guide of the soul, and Everlasting Foundation of 
 virtue." 
 
 Of the operation of this Divine Principle in the mind, 
 Plato gives this striking testimony: " The Light and 
 Spirit of God are as wings to the soul, or as that which 
 raises up the soul into a sensible communion with God, 
 above the world, which the mind of man is prone to 
 slug or bemire itself withal." Cleanthes, a stoic philo- 
 sopher, considered that men should be governed "by 
 that Divine, Infinite, and Eternal Nature, which is God, 
 universally difl'used or sown through the whole race of 
 man, as the most sure and infallible Guide and Rule." 
 " To live," said he, " according to this knowledge and 
 direction, is strictly to live according to virtue; not 
 doing any thing that is forbidden. The virtue and hap- 
 piness of man depend upon the close correspondence of 
 his mind with the divine will of Him who goverueth
 
 118 
 
 the unlver?o." "The knowledge of God is imprinted 
 on the minds of men." 
 
 The testimony of Plutarch deserves to be transmitted 
 to jjosterity: " It is a law, not written in tables or 
 books, but dwelling in the mind always, as a living rule, 
 which never permits the soul to be destitute of an 
 intarior Guide. " " To debase this ancient faith of 
 mankind, and natural belief, which is planted in all 
 reasonable souls, is to overthrow the strong and ever- 
 lasting foundation of virtue." 
 
 And Seneca bore this noble testimony, among many 
 others, to this principle ; " that virtue has sent her light 
 before into the minds of all; for even they i\\nXfulluw 
 lnjr not, sen Iter.'^ Bates. 
 
 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 TiiK evening was glorious, and light through the trees, 
 Play'd the sun-shine and rain drops, the birds and the 
 
 breeze ; 
 The landscape, outstretching in loveliness, lay 
 On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May. 
 
 For the Queen of the Spring, as she pass'd down the vale, 
 Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale ; 
 And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours. 
 And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. 
 
 The skies, like a banner in sunset unroU'd, 
 O'er the west threw their splendour of azure and gold; 
 But one cloud at a distance ro,-se dense, and iacrea.s'd, 
 Tin its margin of black touch'd the zenith, and east.
 
 119 
 
 "We gaz'd on the scenes, while around us they glowed, 
 V/hen a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud; — 
 'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view. 
 Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through slar-light and 
 blue. 
 
 Lihe a spirit, it came in the van of a storm ! 
 And the eye, and the heart, haii'd its beautiful form ; 
 For it look'd not severe, like an angel of wrath, 
 Eut a garment of brightness illum'd its dark path. 
 
 Sublime in the hues of its grandeur it stood. 
 O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood; 
 And river, field, village, and woofUaads grew bright. 
 As conscious they gave and afforded delight. 
 
 'Tu'as the bow of Omnipotence, bent in his hand, 
 "Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd; 
 'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime; 
 His vow from the flood to the exit of time ! 
 
 Not dreadful, as when in the whirlwind he pleads, 
 "When storms are his chariot, and lightnings his steeds ; 
 The black clouds his banner of vengeance uufurl'd. 
 And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world ; — 
 
 In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, 
 And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire. 
 And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the 
 
 plain. 
 And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain ; — 
 
 Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one ! 
 "V^'hose arch was refraction, its kcv-stuue— t':e sun;
 
 120 
 
 A pavilion it seem'd which the Deity grac'd, 
 And Justice and Mercy met there, aud embrac'd. 
 
 Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, 
 Like Love o'er a death-couch, or Hope o'er the tomb; 
 Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retir'd, 
 As Love had just vanish'd, or Hope had cxpir'd. 
 
 I gaz'd not alone on that source of my song; — 
 To all who beheld it these verses belong ; 
 Its presence to all was the path of the Lord ! 
 Each full heart expanded — grew warm — and adored! 
 
 Like a visit — the converse of friends — or a day. 
 That bow, from my sight, pass'd for ever away ; 
 Like that visit, that converse, that day — to my heart, 
 That bow from remembrance can never depart. 
 
 'Tis a picture in memory distinctly'defm'd, 
 With the strong and un perishing colours of mind; 
 A part of my being, beyond mj- controul, 
 Beheld on that cloud, and transcrib'd on my soul. 
 
 J. Holland. 
 
 ON THE VASTNESS OF THE UNIVERSE. 
 
 1. The aspect of the world, even Avithout any of the 
 peculiar lights which science throws upon it, is fitted to 
 give us an idea of the greatness of the power by which 
 it is directed and governed, far exceeding any notions 
 of power aud greatness which are suggested by any other 
 contemplation. The number of human beings who 
 surround us — the various conditions requisite for their
 
 121 
 
 life, nutrition, well-being, all fulfilled ; — the way in 
 which these conditions are modified, as we pass in 
 thought to other countries, by climate, temperament, 
 habit ; — the vast amount of the human population of the 
 globe thus made up ; — yet man himself but one among 
 almost endless tribes of animals ; — the forest, the field, 
 the desert, the air, the ocean, all teeming with creatures 
 whose bodily wants are as carefully provided for as his ; 
 — the sun, the clouds, the winds, all attending, as it 
 were, on these organized beings ; — a host of beneficent 
 energies, unwearied by time and succession, pervading 
 every corner of the earth ; this spectacle cannot but give 
 tlie contemplator a lofty and magnificent conception of 
 the Author of so vast a work, of the Ruler of so wide 
 and rich an empire, of the Provider for so many and 
 varied wants, the Director and Adjuster of such complex 
 and jatring interests. 
 
 But when we take a more exact view of this spectacle, 
 and aid our vision by the discoveries which have been 
 made of the structure and extent of the universe, the 
 impression is incalculably increased. 
 
 The number and variety of animals, the exquisite 
 skill displayed in their structure, the comprehensive and 
 profound relations by which they are connected, far 
 exceed any thing which we could have beforeliand 
 imagined. But the view of the universe expands also 
 on another side. The earth, the globular body thus 
 covered with life, is not the only globe in the universe. 
 There are, circling about our own sun, six others, so 
 fax as we can judge, perfectly analogous in their nature : 
 bL^sides our moon and other bodies analogous to it. No 
 one can resist the temptation to conjecture, that these 
 plobes, some of them much larger than our own, are not 
 dead and barren; — that they are, like ours, occupied 
 &
 
 122 
 
 with organization, life, intelligence. To conjecture is 
 all that we can do, yet even by the percejjtiou of such 
 a possibility, our view of the domain of nature is 
 enlarged and elevated. The outermost of the planetary 
 globes of which we have spoken is so far from the sun, 
 that the central luminary must appear to the inhabitants 
 of that planet, if any there are, no larger than Venus 
 does to us ; and the length of their year will bo 83 of 
 ours. 
 
 But astronomy carries us still onwards. It teaches 
 us that, with the exception of the pfii^ets alreadj' men- 
 tioned, the stars which we see have no immediate rela- 
 tion to our system. The obvious supposition is that they 
 are of the nature and order of our sun : the minut<?nes3 
 of their apparent magnitude agrees, on this supposition, 
 with the enormous and almost inconceivable distance 
 which,* from all the measurements of astronomers, we 
 are led to attribute to them. If then these are suns, 
 they may, like our sun, have planets revolving round 
 them ; and these may, like our planet, be the seats of 
 vegetable and animal and rational life : — we may thus 
 have in the universe worlds, no one knows how many, 
 
 na one can guess how varied ; — but however many, 
 
 t- 
 however varied, they are still but so many provinces in 
 
 the same empire, subject to common rules, governed by 
 a common power. 
 
 But the stars which we see with the naked eye arc 
 but a very small portion of those which the telescope 
 xmveils to us. The most imperfect telescope will disco- 
 ver some that are invisib/e without it; the very best 
 instrument perhaps does not show us the most remote. 
 The number x)f stars which crowd some parts of the 
 heavens is truly "marvellous : Dr. Ilerschel calculated 
 that a portiou of the milky way, about 10 degrees long
 
 123 
 
 and 2i broad, contained 2r)8,000. In a sky eo occupied, 
 the moon would eclipse 2000 of such stars at once. 
 
 We learn too frem tlie telescope that even in this 
 province the variety of nature is not exhausted. Not 
 only do the stars differ in colour and appearance, but 
 some of them grow periodically fainter and brighter, as 
 if they were dark on one side, and revolved on their 
 axes. In other cases two stars appear close to each other, 
 and in some of these cases it has been clearly established, 
 that the two have a motion of revolution about each 
 other; thus exhibiting an crrangement new to the 
 astronomer, and giving rise, possibly, to new conditions 
 of worlds. In other instances again, the telescope 
 shows, not luminous points, but extended masses of 
 dilute light, like bright clouds, hence called nehiilee. 
 Some have supposed that such nebulre by farther conden- 
 sation might become suns ; but for such opinions we 
 have nothing but conjecture. Some stars again have 
 undergone permanent changes ; or have absolutely 
 disappeared, as the celebrated star of 1572, in the con- 
 stellation Cassiopea. 
 
 If we take4;he whole range of created objects in our 
 own system, f jom the sun down to the smallest animal- 
 cule, and suppose such a system, or something in some 
 way analogous to it, to be repeated for each of the mil- , 
 lions of stars t which the telescope reveals to us, we 
 obtain a representation of the material universe; at 
 least a representation which to many persons appears 
 the most probable one. And if we contemplate this 
 aggregate of systems as the work of a Creator, whicli in 
 our own system we have found ourselves so irresistibly 
 led to do, we obtain a sort of estimate of the extent 
 through which his creative energy may be traced, by 
 taking the widest view of the univer'se which our facul- 
 ties have attained.
 
 124 
 
 If wo consider further the endless and admirable con- 
 trivances and adaptations which philosophers and obser- 
 vers have discovered in every portion of our own system ; 
 every new step of our knowledge showing us something 
 new in this respect ; and if we combine this considera- 
 tion with the thought how small a portion of the universe 
 our knowledge includes, we shall, without being able at 
 all to discern the extent of the skill and wisdom dis- 
 plajed in the creation, see something of the character 
 of the design, and of the copiousness and ampleness of 
 the means which the scheme of the world exhibits. And 
 •when we see that the tendency of all the arrangements 
 which we can comprehend is to support the existence, 
 to develope the faculties, to promote the well-being of 
 these countless species of creatures ; we shall have some 
 impression of the beneficence and love of the Creator, 
 as manifested in the physical government of his creation. 
 
 3. It is extremely difficult to devise any means of 
 bringing before a common apprehension the scale on 
 which the universe is constructed, the enormous propor- 
 tion which the larger dimensions bear to the smaller, 
 and the amazing number of steps from large to smaller, 
 or from small to larger, which the consideration of it 
 offers. The following comparative representations may 
 serve to give the reader to whom the subject is new some 
 idea of these steps. 
 
 If we suppose the earth to be represented by a globe 
 a foot in diameter, the distance of the sun from the 
 earth will be about two miles ; the diameter of the sun, 
 on the same supposition, will be something above one 
 hundred feet, and consequently his bulk such as might 
 be made up of two hemispheres, each about the size of 
 the dome of St. Paul's, The moon will be thirty feet 
 from us, and her diameter three inches, about that of a
 
 125 
 
 crickft hall. Thus the sun would much more than 
 occupy all the space -within the moon's orbit. On the 
 same scale, Jupiter would l)e above ten miles from the 
 sun, and Uranus forty. We see then how thinly scat- 
 tered throujjh space are the heavenly bodies. The fixed 
 stars would be at au unknown distance, but, probably, 
 if all distances were thus diminished, no star would be 
 nearer to such a oue-foot earth, than the moon now is 
 to us. 
 
 On such a terrestrial globe the highest mountains 
 would be about 1 -80th of an inch high, and consequently 
 only just distiuguishable. We may imagine therefore 
 how imperceptible would be the largest animals. The 
 whole organized covering of such an earth would be 
 quite undiscoverable by the eye, except perhaps by 
 colour, like the bloom on a plum. 
 
 In order to restore the earth and its inhabitants to 
 their true dimensions, we must magnify the length, 
 breadth, and thickness of every part of our supposed 
 models forty millions of times ; and to preserve the pro- 
 portions, we must increase equally the distances of the 
 sun and of the stars from us. They seem thus to pass 
 off into infinity ; yet each of them thus removed, has 
 its system of mechanical and perhaps of organic pro- 
 cesses going on upou its surface. 
 
 But the arrangements of organic life which we can see 
 with the naked eye are few, compared with those which 
 the microscope detects. We know that we may magnify 
 objects thousands of times, and still discover fresh com- 
 plexities of structure ; if we suppose, therefore, that we 
 thus magnify every member of the universe and every 
 particle of matter of which it consists ; we may imagine 
 that we make perceptible to our senses the vast multi- 
 tude of organized adaptations which lie hid on every
 
 126 
 
 side of us ; and in this mannor wo approach towards 
 an estimate of the extent throus^h which we may trace 
 the power and skill of the Creator, by scrutinizing hi» 
 work with the utmost subtlety of our faculties. 
 
 3. The other numerical quantities which we have to 
 consider in the phenomena of the universe are on as 
 gigantic a scale as the distances and sizes. By the rota- 
 tion of the earth on its axis, the jiarts of the equator 
 move at the rate of a thousand miles an hour, and the 
 portions of the earth's surface which are in our latitude, 
 at about six hundred. The former velocity is nearly 
 that with which a cannon ball is discharged from the 
 mouth of a gun ; but, large as it is, it is inconsiderable 
 compared with the velocity of the earth in its orbit 
 about the sun. This latte? velocity is sixty-five times 
 the former. Bj* the rotatory notion of the earth, a 
 point of its surface is carried sometimes forward and 
 sometimes backwards with regard to the annual pro- 
 gression ; but in consequence of the great predominance 
 of the annual motion in amount, tl;e diurnal scarcely 
 affects it either way in anj^ appreciable degree. And 
 even the velocity of the earth in her orbit is inconsider- 
 able compared with that of light; which comparison^ 
 however, we shall not make ; since, according to the 
 theory we have considered as most probable, tnemotiou 
 of light is not a transfer of matter but of motion from 
 one part of space to another. 
 
 The extent of the scale of density of different sub- 
 stances has already been mentioned; gold is twenty 
 times as heavy as water; air is eight hundred and thirty 
 times lighter, steam eight thousand times lighter than 
 water; the Inminiferous ether is incomparablj- rarer 
 than steam: and this is true of the matter of light, 
 whether we adapt the undulatory theory or any other.
 
 127 
 
 4. The abore estimates are vast In amount, and almost 
 oppressive to our faculties. They belonjij to the mea- 
 surement of the powers which are exerted in the uni- 
 verse, and of the spaces through which their efficacy 
 reaches (for the most distant bodies are probably con- 
 nected both by gravity and light). But these estimates 
 cannot be said so much to give us any notion of the 
 powers of the Deity, as to correct the errors we should 
 fall into by supposing his powers to have any limits 
 like those which belong to our faculties : — by supposing 
 that numbers, and spaces, and forces, and combinations, 
 which would overwhelm us, are any obstacle to the 
 arrangements which his plan requires. We can easily 
 understand that to an intelligence surpassing ours in 
 degree only, that may be easy which is impossible to us. 
 The child who cannot count beyond four, the savage who 
 has no name for any number above five, cannot com- 
 prehend the possibility of dealing with thousands and 
 millions: yet a little additional developement of the 
 intellect makes such numbers conceivable and manage- 
 able. The difficulty which appears to reside in numbers 
 and magtiitudes and stages of subordination, is one pro- 
 duced by judging from ourselves — by measuring with 
 iur own sounding line ; when that reaches no bottom, 
 the ocean appears unfathomable. Yet in fact, how is a 
 hundred millions of miles a great distance ? how is a 
 hundred millions of times a.L'reat ratio ? Not in itself; 
 this greatness is no quality of the numbers which can be 
 proved like their mathematical properties; on the con- 
 trary, all that absolutely belongs to number, space, and 
 
 atio, must, we know demonstrably, be equally true of 
 the largest and the smallest. It is clear that the great, 
 ness of these expressions of measure has reference to oar 
 faculties only. Our astouishmeat and embarraismeut
 
 12R 
 
 take foT j^antcd the limits of our own naturo. W'p have 
 a tondcnny to treat a difference of deffroe and of addition, 
 as if it were a difference of kind and of transformation. 
 The existence of the attributes, desii:;n, power, goodness, 
 is a matter depending on ohvious grounds ; about these 
 qualities there can be no mistake : if we can know any- 
 thing, we can know these attributes when we see them. 
 But the extent, the limits of such attributes must be 
 determined by their effects; our knowledge of their 
 limits by what wc see of the effects. Nor is any extent, 
 any amount of power and goodness improbable before 
 band: we know that these must be great, we cannot tell 
 how great, "VVe should not expect beforehand to find 
 them bounded ; and therefore when the boundless pros- 
 pect opens before us, we may be bewildered, but we 
 have no reason to be shaken in our conviction of the 
 reality of the cause from which their effects proceed : 
 we may feel ourselves incapable of following the train 
 of thought, and may stop, but we have no rational 
 motive for quitting the j)oint which we have thus 
 attained in tracing the Divine Perfections. 
 
 On the contrary, those magnitudes and proportions 
 which leave our powers of conception far behind-. — - 
 that ever-expanding view which is brought before us, 
 of the scale and mechanism, the riclies and magnifi- 
 cence, the population and activity of the universe ; — 
 may reasonably serve, not to disturb, but to enlarge and 
 elevate our conceptions of the Maker and Master of all ; 
 to feed an ever-growing admiration of Ilis wonderful 
 nature ; and to excite a desire to be able to contemplate 
 more steadily and conceive less inadequately the scheme 
 of His government and the operation of His power. 
 
 WUEWELL.
 
 129 
 
 OMNIPOTENCE, 
 (IBAIAH xl. Psalm civ. &c.) 
 
 How mighty is our Father, 
 
 Whose throne is in the heaven ! 
 Whose footstool is this spacious earth. 
 That sprang immediately to birth 
 When his command was given. 
 
 He measured out the waters 
 
 In hollow of his hand, 
 And, as he spread the curtained sky 
 Around the rolling orbs on high. 
 
 The wide creation spanned. 
 
 He weighed upon a balance 
 
 The everlasting hills, 
 And portioned out the primal clay 
 That now, in forms of various ray. 
 
 The scene of being fills. 
 
 lie sits upon the circle 
 
 Of the revolving earth ; 
 And, as the human tumult stirs. 
 The people are like grasshoppers 
 
 That cherup in their mirth. 
 
 He touches but the mountains. 
 
 And they with terror smoke ; 
 He fro\\-ns — the earth's foundations shake ; 
 He smiles — and gushing waters break 
 
 Profusely from the rock.
 
 130 
 
 IIo clothes him ■with the sun-light. 
 
 And every tongue is praise ; 
 lie wraps him in the thunder-cloud. 
 And drives with ruin o'er the proud. 
 
 And all the works they raise. 
 
 He rides upon the whirlwind. 
 
 He walks upon the waves, — 
 Ilis ministers are flamino; fire. 
 That chase, in his consuming ire. 
 
 The impious to their graves. 
 
 He is the same for ever 
 
 To those that on him trust ; 
 ■\Vhile men and all their boasted hopes 
 Are scattered like the water-drops — 
 
 Like particles of dust. 
 
 At last he will extinguish 
 
 The brilliant orb of day — 
 The heavens with all their stars shall roll 
 Together like a burning scroll. 
 
 And earth dissolve away. 
 
 Oh! then, Eternal Father ! 
 
 Stretch forth thy mighty hand. 
 And from the overwhelming flame 
 That wracks the seorners of thy name, 
 
 Oh ! snatch us like a brand ! 
 
 Kkox.
 
 131 
 
 THE DIVINE MISSION OF JESUS VERIFIED 
 BY TIIIIEE MOST SINGULAR AND INCON- 
 TESTABLE FACTS. 
 The truth of Christianity depends upon its leading facts, 
 and upon them alone. Now of these we have evidence 
 which ought to satisfy us, at least until it appear that 
 mankind have ever been deceived by the same. We 
 have some uncontested and incontestable points to which 
 the history of the human species has nothing similar to 
 offer. A Jewish peasant changed the religion of the 
 world, and that without force, without power, without 
 support, without one natural source or circumstance of 
 attraction, influence, or success. Such a thing hath not 
 happened in any other instance. The companions of 
 this person, after he himself had been put to death 
 for this attempt, asserted his supernatural character, 
 founded upon his supernatural opinions ; and in 
 testimony of the truth of their assertions, that is, in 
 consequence of their own belief of that truth, and in 
 order to communicate the knowledge of it to others, 
 voluntarily entered upon toils and hardships, and, with 
 a full experience of their danger, committed themselves 
 to the last extremity of pei-sccution. This hath not a 
 parallel. — More particularly, a few days after this person 
 had been publicly executed, and in the very citj- in 
 which he was buried, these his companions declared with 
 one voice, that his body was restored to life ; that they 
 had scon lum, handled him, cat with him, conversed 
 v> ith him ; and in pursuance of their persuasion of the 
 truth of what they told, preached his religion, with this 
 strange lact as the foundation of it, in the face of those 
 who had killed him, who vv-ere armed with the power of 
 the country, and necessarily and naturally disposed to
 
 132 
 
 treat his followers as they had treated himself; and 
 having done this upon the si)ot where the event took 
 place, carried the intelligence of it abroad, in despite of 
 difficulties and opposition, and where the nature of their 
 errand gave them nothing to expect but derision, insult, 
 and outrage. This is without example. These three 
 facts I think are certain, and would have been nearly so, 
 if the Gospels had never been written. The Christian 
 story as to these points have never varied. No 
 other hath been set up against it. Every letter, every 
 discourse, every controversy, amongst the followers of 
 the religion ; every book written by them, from the age 
 of its commencement to the present time, in every part 
 of the world in which it hath been professed, and with 
 every sect into which it hath been divided (and we have 
 letters and discourses written by contemporaries, by 
 witnesses of the transactions, by persons themselves 
 bearing a share in it, and other writings following that 
 age in regular succession) concur in representing these 
 facts in this manner. A religion, which now possesses 
 the greatest part of the civilized world, unquestionably 
 sprung up at Jerusalem at this time. Some account 
 must be given of its origin ; some cause assigned for its 
 rise. All the accounts of this origin, all the explications 
 of this cause, whether taken from the writings of the 
 early followers of the religion (in which, and in which 
 perhaps alone, it could be expected that they should be 
 distinctly unfolded), or from occasional notices in other 
 writings of that or the adjoining age, either expressly 
 allege the facts above stated as the means by which the 
 TPligion was set up, or advert to its commencement in a 
 manner which agrees with the supposition of these facts 
 being true, and which testilics their operations and effects. 
 These propositions alone lay a foundation for our
 
 133 
 
 faith; for they prove the existence of a transaction, 
 which cannot even in its most general parts be accounted 
 for, upon any reasonable supposition, except that of the 
 truth of the mission. But the particulars of the detail 
 of the miracles or miraculous pretences (for such there 
 necessarily must have been), upon which this unexam- 
 pled transaction rested, and for which these men acted 
 and suffered as they did act and suffer, it is undoubtedly 
 of great importance to us to know. We have tliis detail 
 from the fountain head, from the persons themselves ; 
 in accounts written by eye witnesses of the scene, by 
 contemporaries and companions of those who were so ; 
 not in one book, but four, each containing enough for 
 the verification of the religion, all agreeing in the funda- 
 mental parts of the history. Vv^e have the authenticity 
 of these books established by more and stronger proofs 
 than belong to almost any other ancient book whatever, 
 and by proofs which widely distinguish them from any 
 others claiming a similar authority to theirs. If there 
 were any good reason for doubt concerning the names 
 to which these books are ascribed (which there is not, 
 for they were never ascribed to any other, and we have 
 evidence, not long after their publication, of their bear- 
 ing the names which they now bear), their antiquity, of 
 which there is no question, their reputation and autho- 
 rity amongst the early disciples of the religion, of which 
 there is as little, form a valid proof that they must, ia 
 the main at least, have agreed with what the first teach- 
 ers of the religion delivered. 
 
 "SYlien we open these ancient volumes, we discover in 
 them marks of truth, whether we consider each in itself, 
 or collate them with one another. The writers certainly 
 kne^v something of what they were writing about, for 
 they manifest an acquaintance with local circumstauees.
 
 134 
 
 vrith the history and usages of the times, wliioh could 
 only belong to an inhabitant of that country, living in 
 that age. In every narrative we perceive simplicity and 
 undesignedness ; the air and the language of realitj-. 
 "SVhen we compare the difiorcnt narratives together, we 
 find them so varying, as to repel all suspicion of con- 
 federacy; so agreeing under this variety, as to show 
 that the accounLi had one real transaction for their 
 common foundation ; often attributing different actions 
 and discourses to the person whose history, or rather 
 memoirs of whose history, tlicy profess to relate, yet 
 actions and discourses so similar, as very much to 
 bespeak the same character; which is a coincidence, 
 that, in such writers as they were, could only be the 
 consequence of their writing from fact, and not from 
 imagination. 
 
 These four narratives are conflned to the history of 
 the founder of the religion, and end with his ministry. 
 Since, however, it is certain that the afTair went on, we 
 cannot help being anxious to know how it proceeded. 
 This intelligence hath come down to us in a work pur- 
 porting to be written by a person himself connected 
 with the business during the first stages of its progress, 
 taking up the story where the former historian had left 
 it, carrying on the narrative oftentimes with great par- 
 ticularity, and throughout with the appearance of good 
 sense,* iiiforraatiou, and candour, stating all along the 
 origin, and the only probable origin of effects, which 
 
 * See Peter's speech upon curing the cripple (Acts xiii. 
 18); the council of the Apostles (X.V.) ; Paul's discourse 
 at Athens (xvii, 22); before Agrippa (xxvi.) I notice 
 t'nese passages both as fraught with good sense, and as 
 free from the smallest tincture of euthusiasni.
 
 135 
 
 unquostionahly wcro produood, together with the nr\hjral 
 consequences of situations, which unquestionably did 
 exist ; and covfirmcd, in the substance at least of the 
 account, bythe stron;rest possible accession of testimony 
 which a history can receive, original letters, written by 
 the person who is the principal subject of the history, 
 written upon the business to which the history relates, 
 and during the period, or soon after the period, which 
 the history comprises. No man can say that this alto- 
 gether is not a body of strong historical evidence. 
 
 Paley. 
 
 reiQuiTY. 
 
 (Psalm csxxix, 7, 8, 9, and 10.) 
 
 TheuE is a Spirit in the wilderness. 
 
 Though all the winds be sleeping, and the brooks 
 
 Elapsing do^m their shores 
 
 As quietly as dreams — 
 Though all the breathing creatures of the earth 
 Have stilled their voices, and the only sound 
 
 That strikes thy listening ear 
 
 Be from thy beating heart. 
 
 ■V\"!io sends the sun of morn, fne dew of cro. 
 And all those heavenly visitants that bring 
 
 Glad tidings to the scenes 
 
 Which man hath never trod? 
 Vr[\o bids the moss with living greenness clothe 
 The naked rocks, that happiness may How 
 
 DoAvn to th.e grasshopper. 
 
 And creatures more minute ?
 
 136 
 
 "Who — hadst thou wing of angel to approach 
 The limits of creation, to pursue 
 
 Thy journey through the vale 
 
 Of darkness and of death, 
 To visit heavens beyond the flight of thought — 
 Who, with an universal presence, still 
 
 Would never once be found 
 
 A moment from thy side 1 
 
 Go ask thy heart these questions — when the moon 
 Shines on the breathless midnight, and the eyes 
 
 Of human things are closed 
 
 In temporary death — 
 Go ask thy heart — What Spirit thus abides 
 In every region? thus minutely works 
 
 In deserts? And thy heart 
 
 Shall answer — "It is God!" 
 
 Knox. 
 
 THE FLOOD. 
 
 (Genesis vii.) 
 
 The Lord beheld from highest heaven. 
 
 That all the earth had gone astray. 
 And, grieved that breath had e'er been given 
 
 To such corrupted things of clay : 
 He bade the foaming ocean rush 
 
 In fury from its ancient place — 
 He bade heaven's opened windows gush 
 
 Their waters o'er the earth's fair face : 
 For God had said that all should die 
 But Noah aud his family.
 
 137 
 
 Ah ! who the people's dread may tell, 
 
 When, wakenins? from their guilty dream, 
 They saw withia their native dell 
 
 The rolling and the rising stream, — 
 They saw the floating ark afar 
 
 Along the billowy waters driven. 
 Even swiftly as a glittering star 
 
 Behind the hurrying clouds of heaven ? 
 Merciful God ! how would they cry 
 Upon thy name in agony ! 
 
 And they would to the mountains speed, 
 
 "While fast behind the waters rise — 
 The aged with the hoary head. 
 
 The youthful with the sparkling eyes. 
 The mother with her babe at breast, 
 
 The lather with his tottering child. 
 All with one common fear impressed. 
 
 All with one common terror wild — 
 All shrinking from the scenes that lie 
 Before them in eternity. 
 
 And now, on every mountain-top, 
 
 A crowd of trembling mortals stands ; 
 And, though bereft of every hope. 
 
 All raising the imploring hands. 
 All lifting the beseeching voice, 
 
 As nearer still the waters come ; 
 Save when the wave's appalling noise 
 
 Hath struck the frenzied tremblers dumb. 
 In that dark state of blank dismay 
 That knows not what to do or say.
 
 138 
 
 And o'er them now the waters rise — • 
 
 O God ! the rush, the shriek, the prayer! 
 And now all breathing nature dies 
 
 lu one loud yell of wild despair! 
 Save those that of the watery world 
 
 May now enjoy a human home — 
 Save those that yet, with wing unfurled, 
 
 Skim feebly o'er their graves of foam — 
 Save those that sail securely by 
 AVith Noah and liis family. 
 
 Knox. 
 
 REFLECTIONS.— ON PRAYER. 
 Ir there be any duty which our Lord Jesus Christ 
 Beems to have considered as more indispensably necessary 
 towards the formation of a true Christian, it is that of 
 prayer. He has taken every opportunity of impressing 
 on our minds the absolute need in which we stand of 
 the divine assistance, both to persist in the paths of 
 righteousness, and to fly from the allurements of a fasci- 
 nating but dangerous life ; and he has directed us to the 
 only means of obtaining that assistance, in constant and 
 habitual appeals to the throne of grace. Prayer is cer- 
 tainly the foundation-stone of the superstructure of a 
 religious life : for a man can neither arrive at true piety, 
 nor persevere in its ways when attained, unless with 
 sincere and continued fervency, and with the most 
 unaffected anxiety, he implore Almighty God to grant 
 him his perpetual grace, to guard and restrain him from 
 all those derelictions of heart, to which we are, by 
 nature, but too prone. I should think it an insult to the 
 understanding of a Christian to dwell on the necessity oC
 
 139 
 
 prayer ; and, before we can harangue an infidel on it* 
 efficacy, we must convince him aot only that the Being 
 to ^shom we address ourselves really exists, hut that he 
 condescends to hear and to answer our humble supplica- 
 tions. As these objects are foreign to my present pur- 
 pose, I shall take my leave of the necessity of prayer, 
 as acknowledged by all to whom this paper is addressed, 
 and shall be content to expatiate on the strong induce- 
 ments which we have to lift up our souls to our Maker 
 in the language of supplication and praise ; to depict the 
 happiness which results to the man of time piety from 
 the exercise of this duty ; and lastly, to warn mankind, 
 lest their fervency would carry them into the extreme 
 of fanaticism, and their prayers, instead of being silent 
 and unassuming expressions of gratitude to their Maker, 
 and humble entreaties for his favouring grace, should 
 degenerate into clamorous vociferations, and insolent 
 gesticulations, utterly repugnant to the true spirit of 
 prayer, and to the language of a creature addressing his 
 Creator. 
 
 There is such an exalted delight to a regenerate being 
 in the act of prayer, and he anticipates with so much 
 pleasure, amid the toils of business, and the crowds of 
 the world, the moment when he shall be able to pour out 
 his soul without interruption into the bosom of his 
 Maker, that I am persuaded, that the degree of desire or 
 repugnance which a man feels to the performance of 
 this amiable duty, is an infallible criterion of his accept- 
 ance with God. Let the unhappy child of dissipation — 
 let the impure voluptuary boast of his short hours of 
 exquisite enjoyment; even in the degree of bliss they 
 are infinitely inferior to the delight of which the righte- 
 ous man participates in his private devotions; while in 
 their opposite couscfiucuces they lead to a no less wide
 
 140 
 
 extreme than heaven and hell, a state of positive happi- 
 ness, and a state of positive misery. If there were no 
 other inducement to prayer, than the very gratification 
 it imparts to the soul, it would deserve to be regarded 
 as the most important object of a Christian; fornoAvhere 
 else could he purchase so much calmness, so much 
 resignation, and so much of that peace and repose of 
 spirit, in which consists the chief happiness of this 
 otherwise dark and stormy being. But to prayer, besides 
 the inducement of momentary gratification, the very 
 self-love implanted in our bosoms Avould lead us to 
 resort, as the chief good ; for our Lord has said, " Ask, 
 and it shall be given to thee ; knock, and it shall be 
 opened;" and not a supplication made in the true 
 spirit of faith and humility, but shall be answered ; not 
 a request which is urged with unfeigned submission and 
 lowliness of spirit, but shall be granted, if it be consist- 
 ent with our happiness, either temporal or eternal. Of 
 this happintsa, however, the Lord God is the only judge; 
 but this we do know, that whether our requests be 
 granted, or whether they be refused, all is working 
 together for our ultimate benefit. 
 
 "When I say, thatsuchof our requests and solicitations 
 as are urged in the true spirit of meekness, humility, 
 and submission, will indubitably be answered, I would 
 wish to draw a line between supplications so urged, and 
 those violent and vehement declamations which, under 
 the name of prayers, are sometimes heard to proceed 
 from the lips of men professing to worship God in the 
 spirit of meekness and truth. Surely I need not impress 
 on any reasonable mind, how directly contrary these 
 inflamed and bombastic harangues are to every precept 
 of Christianity, and every idea of the deference due from 
 a poor worm, like man, to the omnipotent and all-great
 
 141 
 
 God, Can vre hesitate a moment as to which is more 
 acceptable in his sight — the diffident, the IottIv, the 
 retiring, and yet solemn and impressive form of worship 
 of our excellent church ; and the wild and laboured 
 exclamations, the authoritative and dictatory clamours 
 of men, who, forgetting the immense distance at which 
 they stand from the awful Being whom they address, 
 boldly and with unblushing front, speak to their God as 
 to an equal, and almost dare to prescribe to his intinite 
 wisdom the steps it shall pursue ? How often has the 
 silent, yet eloquent eye of mercy, rung from the reluctant 
 hand of charity that relief which has been denied to the 
 loud and importunate beggar? And is heaven to be 
 taken by storm ? Are we to wrest the Almighty from 
 his purposes by vociferation and importunity? God 
 forbid ! It is a fair and reasonable, though a melancholy 
 inference, that the Lord shuts his ears against prayers 
 like these, and leaves the deluded supplicants to follow 
 the impulse of their own headstrong passions, without a 
 guide, and destitute of every ray of his pure and holy 
 light. 
 
 Those mock apostles, who thus disgrace the worship 
 of the true God by their extravagance, are very fond of 
 appearing to imitate the conduct of our Saviour, during 
 his mortal peregrination ; but how contrary were his 
 habits to those of these deluded men ! Did he teach his 
 disciples to insult the ear of heaven with noise and 
 clamour? Were his precepts those of fanaticism and 
 passion ? Did he inflame the minds of his hearers with 
 vehement and declamatory harangues ? Did he pray with 
 all this confidence — this arrogance — this assurance ? 
 How different was his conduct ! He divested wisdom of 
 all its pomp and parade, in order to suit it to the capa- 
 cities of the meanest of its auditors. He spake to them
 
 142 
 
 in tlio lowly language of parable and sbnilitude; and 
 ■«hen he prayed, did he instruct his hearers to attend to 
 him with a loud chorus of Aniens ? Did he (participatinj* 
 as he did in the Godhead), did he assume the tone of 
 sufficiency, and the language of assurance? Far from it! 
 he prayed, and he instructed his disciples to pray, in 
 lowliness and meekness of spirit ; he instructed them to 
 approach the throne of Grace with fear and trembling, 
 silently, and with the deepest awe and veneration; and 
 be evinced by his condemnation of the prayer of the 
 self-sufficient Pharisee, opposed to that of the diffident 
 publican, the light in which those were considered ia 
 the eyes of the Lord, who, setting the terrors of his 
 Godhead at defiance, and boldly building on their own 
 worthiness, approaching him with confidence and pride. 
 • • • * • 
 
 TilEBE is nothing so indispensably necessary towards the 
 establishment of future earthly, as well as heavenly 
 happiness, as early impressions of piety. For, as religion 
 is the sole source of all human welfare and peace, so 
 habits of religious reflection, in the spring of life, are 
 the only means of arriving at a due sense of the import- 
 ance of divine concerns in age, except by the bitter and 
 hazardous roads of repentance and remorse. There ia 
 not a more awful spectacle in nature, than the death- 
 bed of a late repentance. The groans of agony M-hich 
 attend the separation of the soul from the body, height- 
 ened by the heart-piercing exclamation of mental 
 distress; the dreadful ebullitions of horror and remorse, 
 intermingled with the half- fearful, but fervent depreca- 
 tions of the divine wrath, and prayers for the divine 
 mercy, joined to the pathetic imploring to the friends 
 who stand weeping around the bed of the sinner to pray 
 for him, and to take warnia|j from hia awful end, cou-
 
 143 
 
 tribute to render this scene such an impressive and 
 terrible memento of the state of those who have negU^cted 
 their souls, as must bring to a due sense of his duty the 
 most hardened of infidels. 
 
 It is to ensure you, my young friends, as far as pre- 
 cepts can ensure you, from horrors like these in your 
 last moments, that I write this little book, in the hopes 
 that, through the blessing of the Divine Being, it may be 
 useful in inducing you to reflect on the importance of 
 early piety, and lead you into the cheerful performance 
 of your duties to God, and to your O'wn souls. In the 
 pursuit of this plan, I shall, first, consider the bliss which 
 results from a pious disposition, and the horrors of a 
 ■wicked one. Secondly, the necessity of an early atten- 
 tion to the concerns of the soul towards the establishment 
 of permanent religion, and its consequent happiness; 
 and, thirdly, I shall point out and contrast the last 
 moments of those who have acted in conformity, or in 
 contradiction to the rules here laid down. 
 
 The contrast between the lives of the good and the 
 wicked man affords such convincing arguments in 
 support of the excellence of religion, that even those 
 infidels who have dared to assert their disbelief of the 
 doctrine of Revelation, have confessed that in a politi- 
 cal point of view, if in no other, it ought to be main- 
 tained. Compare the peaceful and collected course 
 of the virtuous and pious man, with the turbulent 
 irregularity and violence of him who neglects his soul 
 for the allurements of vice, and judge for yourselves 
 of the policy of the conduct of each, even in this world. 
 Whose pleasures are the most exquisite? Whose delights 
 the most lasting? Whose state is the most enviable? 
 His who barters his hopes of eternal welfare for a few 
 fleeting moments of brutal gratiticatiou, or his who.
 
 144 
 
 while ho keops a future state alone in his view, finds 
 happiness in the conscientious performance of his duties, 
 and the scrupulous fulfilment of the end of his sojourn 
 here? Believe me, my friends, there is no comparisou 
 between them. The jojs of the infatuated mortal who 
 sacrifices his soul to his sensualities, are mixed with 
 bitterness and anguish. The voice of conscience rises 
 distinctly to his ear, amid the shouts of intemperance 
 and the sallies of obstreperous mirth. In the hour of 
 rejoicing, she whispers her appalling monitions to him, 
 and his heart sinks within him, and the smile of trium- 
 phant villany is converted into the ghastly grin of horror 
 and hopelessness. But, oh! in the languid intervals of 
 dissipation ; in the dead hour of the night, when all is 
 solitude and silence, when the soul is driven to commune 
 with itself, and the voice of remorse, whose whispers 
 were before half-drowned in the noise of riot, rises 
 dreadfully distinct — what ! — what are his emotions ! — • 
 Who can paint his agonies, his execrations, his despair! 
 Let that man lose again, in the vortex of fashion, and 
 folly, and vice, the remembrance of his horrors: let him 
 smile, let him laugh and be merry ; believe me, my dear 
 readers, he is not happy, he is not careless, he is not the 
 jovial being he appears to be. His heart is heavy within 
 him ; he cannot stifle the reflections which assail him ia 
 the very moment of enjoyment ; but strip the painted 
 veil from his bosom, lay aside the trappings of folly, and 
 that man is miserable, and not only so, but he has pur- 
 chased that misery at the expense of eternal torment. 
 
 Let us oppose to this awful picture the life of the good 
 man ; of him who rises in the morning with cheerfulness 
 to praise his Creator for all the good he hath bestowed 
 upon him, and to perform with studious exactness the 
 duties of his station ; and lays himself down on his pillow
 
 145 
 
 ia the erening In the sweet consciousness of the applause 
 of his own heart. Place this man on the stormy seas of 
 misfortune and sorrow — press him with afflictive dispen- 
 sations of Providence — snatch from his arms the object 
 of his affections — separate him for ever from all he loved 
 and held dear on earth, and leave him isolated and an 
 outcast in the world, — he is calm — he is composed — he 
 is grateful — he weeps, for human nature is weak, but he 
 still preserves his composure and resignation — he still 
 looks up to the Giver of all good with thankfulness and 
 praise, and perseveres with calmness and fortitude iu the 
 paths of righteousness. His disappointments cannot over- 
 whelm him, for his chief hopes are placed far, very far, 
 beyond the reach of human vicissitude, ' He hath chosen 
 that good part, which none can take away from him.' 
 
 Here, then, lies the great excellence of religion and 
 piety ; they not only lead to eternal happiness, but to 
 the happiness of this world ; they not only ensure ever- 
 lasting bliss, but they are the sole means of arriving at 
 that degree of felicity which this dark and stormy being 
 is capable of, and are the sole supports in the hour of 
 adversity and affliction. How infatuated then must that 
 man be, who can wilfully shut his eyes to his own wel- 
 fare, and deviate from the paths of righteousness which 
 lead to bliss ! Even allowing him to entertain the erro- 
 neous notion that religion does not lead to happiness iu 
 this life, his conduct is incompatible with every idea of 
 a reasonable being. In the Spectator we find the fol- 
 lowing image emplojed to induce a conviction of the 
 magnitude of this truth; supposing the whole body of 
 the earth were a great ball, or mass of the finest sand, 
 and that a single grain, or particle of this sand, should 
 be annihiiatod every thousand years; suppoaing, then, 
 lliat you liad it iu your choice to bo happy ail the whuo 
 
 L
 
 146 
 
 this prodigious mass was consuming, by this slow me- 
 thod, till there was not a grain of it left, on condition 
 that you were to be miserable ever after ; or supposing 
 that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you 
 would be miserable till the whole mass of sand were thus 
 annihilated, at the rate of one sand a thousand years ; 
 which of these two cases would you make your choice ] 
 It must be confessed that in this case so many * * * 
 The life of man is transient and unstable; its fairest 
 passages are but a lighter shade of evil, and yet those 
 passages form but a disproportionate part of the picture. 
 We all seek happiness, though with different degrees of 
 avidity, while the tickle object of our pursuits continually 
 evades the grasp of those who are tlie most eager in the 
 chase ; and perhaps at last throws herself into the arms 
 of those who had entirely lost all sight of her, and who 
 when they are more blessed with her enjoyment, are 
 least conscious that they possess lier. Were the objects 
 in which we placed the consummation of our wishes 
 always virtuous, and the means employed to arrive at 
 the bourn of our desires uuiformlj- good, there can be 
 little doubt that the aggi-egate of mankind would be as 
 happy as is consistent with the state in which they live ; 
 but, unfortunately, vicious men pursue vicious ends by 
 vicious means, and, by so doing, not only ensure their 
 own misery, but they overturn and destroy the fair 
 designs of the wiser and the better of their kind. Thus 
 he who has no idea of a bliss beyond the gratification of 
 his brutal appetites, involves in the crime of seduction, 
 the peace and repose of a good and happy family, and 
 an individual act of evil extends itself by a continued 
 impulse over a large portion of society. It is thus that 
 men of bad minds become the pests of the societies of 
 which they happen to be members. It is thus that
 
 147 
 
 the virtuous among men pay the bitter penalty of the 
 crimes and follies of their unworthy fellows. 
 
 Men who have passed their whole lives in the lap of 
 luxury and enjoyment, have no idea of misery beyond 
 that of which they happen to be the individual objects. 
 
 KiRKE "White. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 The turf shall be my fragrant shrine. 
 My temple. Lord, that arch of thine. 
 My censer's breath the mountain airs. 
 And silent thoughts my only prayers. 
 
 My choir shall be the moonlight waves, 
 "When murmuring homeward to their caves ; 
 Or, when the stillness of the sea, 
 Even more than music, breathes of Thee! 
 
 I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown. 
 All light and silence like thy throne ! 
 And the pale stars shall be, at night. 
 The only eyes that watch my rite. 
 
 Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look. 
 Shall be my pure and shining book. 
 Where I shall read, in words of flame. 
 The glories of thy wondrous name. 
 
 I'll read thy anger in the rack 
 
 That clouds a while the day-beam's track ; 
 
 Thy mercy in the azure hue 
 
 Of sunny brightness, breaking through !
 
 148 
 
 There's nothing bright, above, below. 
 From flowers that bloom to stars that glow. 
 But in its light my soul can see 
 Some feature of thy Deity I 
 
 There's nothing dark, below, above. 
 But in its gloom I trace thy love, 
 And meekly wait that moment, when 
 Thy touch shall turn all bright again ! 
 
 Moore. 
 
 THE CREATOR OF THE rilYSICAL WORLD IS 
 THE GOVERNOR OF THE MORAL WORLD. 
 
 With our views of the moral government of the world 
 and the religious interests of man, the study of material 
 nature is not and can not be directly and closely con- 
 nected. But it may be of some service to trace in these 
 two lines of reasoning, seemingly so remote, a manifest 
 convergence to the same point, a demonstrable unity of 
 result. It may be useful to show that we are thus led, 
 not to two rulers of the universe, but to one God ; — to 
 make it appear that the Creator and Preserver of the 
 world is also the Governor and Judge of men ; — that the 
 Author of the Laws of Nature is also the Author of the 
 Law of Duty ; — that he who regulates corporeal things 
 by properties of attraction and affinity and assimilating 
 power, is the same being who regulates the actions and 
 conditions of men, by the influence of the feeling of 
 responsibility, the perception of right and wrong, the 
 hope of happiness, the love of good. 
 
 The conviction that the Divine attributes which we 
 are taught by the study of the material world, and those
 
 149 
 
 ■which v:o Icara from the contemplation of man as a 
 responsible agent, belong to the same Divine Being, -sv-ill 
 be forced upon us, if -we consider the manner in which 
 all the parts of the universe, the corporeal and intellect- 
 nal, the animal and moral, are connected with each other. 
 In each of these provincea of creation we trace refined 
 adaptations and arrangements which lead us to the 
 Creator and Director of so skilful a system ; but these 
 provinces are so intermixed, these different trains of 
 contrivance so interwoven, that we cannot, in our 
 thoughts, separate the author of one part from the author 
 of another. The Creator of the Heavens and of the 
 Earth, of the inorganic and of the organic world, of 
 animals and of man, of the affections and the conscience, 
 appears inevitably to be one and the same God. 
 
 We will pursue this reflection a little more into detaiL 
 1. The Atmosphere is a mere mass of fluid floating on 
 the surface of the ball of the earth ; it is one of the inert 
 and inorganic portions of the universe, and must be con- 
 ceived to have been formed by the same Power which 
 formed the solid mass of the earth and all other parts of 
 the solar system. But how far is the atmosphere from 
 being inert in its effects on organic beings, and uncon- 
 nected with the world of life! By what wonderful 
 adaptations of its mechanical and chemical properties, 
 and of the vital powers of plants to each other, are the 
 developement and well-being of plants and animals 
 secured'. The creator of the atmosphere must have been 
 also the creator of plants and animals : we cannot for an 
 instant believe the contrary. But the atmosphere is not 
 only subservient to the life of animals, and of man 
 among the rest ; it is also the vehicle of voice ; it answers 
 the purpose of intercourse ; and, in the case of man, of 
 rational intercourse. "NVe have seen how remarkably the
 
 150^ 
 
 air is fitted for this office ; the construction of the organs 
 of articulation, by which they are enabled to perform 
 their part of the work, is, as is well known, a most exqui- 
 site system of contrivances. But though living in aa 
 atmosphere capable of transmitting articulate sound, and 
 though provided with organs fitted to articulate, man 
 "would never attain to the use of language, if he were 
 not also endowed with another set of faculties. The 
 powers of abstraction and generalization, memory and 
 reason, the tendencies which occasion the inflexions 
 and combinations of words, are all necessary to the 
 formation and use of language. Are not these parts of 
 the same scheme of which the bodily faculties by which 
 we are able to speak are another part ? Has man his 
 mental powers independently of the creator of his bodily 
 frame? To what purpose then, or by what cause was 
 the curious and complex machinery of the tongue, the 
 glottis, the larynx produced? These are useful for 
 speech, and full of contrivances which suggest such a use 
 as the end for which those organs were constructed. 
 But speech appears to have been no less contemplated 
 in the intellectual structure of man. The processes of 
 which we have spoken, generalization, abstraction, 
 reasoning, have a close dependence on the use of speech. 
 These faculties are presupposed in the formation of lan- 
 guage, but they are developed and perfected by the use 
 of language. The mind of man then, with all its intel- 
 lectual endowments, is the work of the same artist by 
 whose hands his bodily frame was fashioned; as his 
 bodily faculties again are evidently constructed by the 
 maker of those elements on which their action depends. 
 The creator of the atmosphere and of the material uni- 
 verse is the creator of the human mind, and the author 
 of those wonderful powers of tliiuking, judging, inferring.
 
 151 
 
 discovering, by -which we are able to reason concerning 
 the world in which we are placed ; and which aid us iu 
 lifting our thoughts to the source of our being himself. 
 
 2. Light, or the means by which light is propagated, 
 is another of the inorganic elements which forms a por- 
 tion of the mere material world. The luminiferous 
 ether, if we adopt that theory, or the fluid light of the 
 theory of emission, must indubitably pervade the re- 
 motest regions of the universe, and must be supposed to 
 exist, as soon as we suppose the material parts of the 
 universe to be in existence. The origin of light then 
 must be at least as far removed from us as the origin of 
 the solar system. Yet how closely connected are the 
 properties of light with the structure of our own bodies ! 
 The mechanism of the organs of vision and the mecha- 
 nism of light are, as we have seen, most curiously adapted 
 to each other. We must suppose, then, that the same 
 l^ower and skill jjroduced one and the other of these two 
 sets of contrivances, which so remarkably Jit into each 
 other. The creator of light is the author of our visual 
 powers. But how small a portion does mere visual 
 perception constitute of the advantages which we derive 
 from vision ! We possess ulterior faculties and capaci- 
 ties by which sight becomes a source of happiness and 
 good to man. The sense of beauty, the love of art, the 
 pleasure arising from the contemplation of nature, are 
 all dependent on the eye ; and we can har'lly doubt that 
 these faculties were bestowed on man to further the best 
 interests of his being. The sense of beauty both ani- 
 mates and refines his domestic tendencies ; the love of 
 art isapoweiful instrument for raising him above the 
 mere cravings and satisfactions of his animal nature ; the 
 expansion of mind which rises in us at the sight of the 
 Starry sky, the cloud-clapt mountain, the boundless
 
 153 
 
 ocean, seems intended to direct our thoucuhts by an 
 impressive thou2:li indefinite feeling, to the Infinite 
 Author of All. But if these faculties be thus i^art of the 
 scheme of man's inner being, given him by a good and 
 ■v\ise creator, can we suppose that this creator was any 
 other than the creator also of those visual organs, with- 
 out which the faculties could have no operation and no 
 existence ? As clearly as light and the eye are the work 
 of the same author, so clearly also do our capacities for 
 the most exalted visual jjleasures, and the feelings flow- 
 ing from them, proceed from the same Divine Hand, by 
 vhich the mechanism of light was constructed. 
 
 3. The creator of the earth must be conceived to be 
 the author also of all those qualities in the soil, chemical 
 and whatever else, by which it supports vegetable life, 
 under all the modifications of natural and artificial con- 
 dition. Among the attributes which the earth thus 
 possesses, there are some which seem to have an especial 
 reference to man in a state of society. Such ai-e the 
 power of the earth to increase its produce under the 
 influence of cultivation, and the necessary existence of 
 property in land, in order that this cultivation may be 
 advantageously applied; the rise under such eireum- 
 Btances, oi a surplus produce, of a quantity of subsistence 
 exceeding the wants of the cultivators alone; and the 
 conseciuent possibility of inequalities of rank and of all 
 the arrangements of civil society. These are all parts of 
 the constitution of the earth. But these would all 
 remain mere idle possibilities, if the nature of man had 
 not a corresponding direction. If man had not a social 
 ftnd economical tendency, a disposition to congregate 
 and co-operate, to distribute possessions and oflices 
 among the members of the community, to mahe and 
 obey and enfjicv lav.'s, the earth wou'.d iu vaia be jcady
 
 153 
 
 to respond to the care of the hasbandman. Must we 
 not then suppose that this attribute of the earth was 
 bestowed upon it by Him who gave to man those corre- 
 sponding attributes, through which the apparent niggard- 
 liness of the soil is the source of general comfort and 
 security, of polity and law ? Must we not suppose that 
 He who created the soil also inspired man with those 
 social desires and feelings which produce cities and 
 states, laws and institutions, arts and civilization ; and 
 that thus the apparently inert mass of earth is a part of 
 the same scheme as those faculties and powers with 
 which man's moral and intellectual progress is most 
 connected ? 
 
 4. Again: — It will hardly be questioned that the 
 author of the material elements is also the author of the 
 structure of animals, which is adapted to and provided 
 for by the constitution of the elements iu such innume- 
 rable ways. But the author of the bodily structure of 
 animals must also be the author of their instincts, for 
 without these the structure would not answer its purpose. 
 And these instincts frequently assume the character of 
 affections in a most remarkable manner. The love of 
 offspring, of home, of companions, are often displayed 
 by animals, in a way that strikes fne most indifferent 
 observer; and yet these affections will hardly be 
 denied to be a part of the same scheme as the instincts 
 by which the same animals seek food and the grati- 
 fications of sense. "Who can doubt that the anxious 
 and devoted affection of the mother-bird for her young 
 after they are hatched, is a pari of the same sj^stem of 
 Providence as the instinct by which she is impelled to 
 sit upon her eggs ? and this, of the same by which her 
 eggs are so organized that incubation leads to the birth 
 of the young animal ? Nor, again, can we imagine that 
 
 X
 
 154 
 
 ■while the structure and affections of animals Ijclong to 
 one system of things, the affections of man, in many 
 Tospects so similar to those of animals, and connected 
 •with the bodily frame in a manner so closely analogous, 
 can belong to a different scheme. ^Yho, that reads the 
 touching instances of maternal affection, related so often 
 of the women of all nations, and of the females of all 
 animals, can doubt that the principal of action is the 
 same in two cases, though enlightened in one of them 
 by the rational faculty ? And who can place in separate 
 provinces the supporting and protecting love of the father 
 and of the mother ? or consider as entirely distinct from 
 these, and belonging to another part of our nature, the 
 other kinds of family affection ? or disjoin man's love of 
 his home, his clan, his tribe, his country, from the affec- 
 tion -which he bears to his family ? The love of offspring, 
 home, friends, in man, is then part of the same system 
 of contrivances of -which bodily organization is another 
 part. And thus the author of our corporeal frame is also 
 the author of our capacity of kindness and resentment, 
 of our love and of our wish to be loved, of all the emotions 
 -which bind us to individuals, to our families, and to our 
 kind. 
 
 It is not necessary here to follow out and classify these 
 amotions and affections ; or to examine how they are 
 combined and connected -with our other motives of 
 action, mutually giving and receiving strength and 
 direction. The desire of esteem, of power, of know- 
 ledge, of society, the love of kindred, of friends, of our 
 country, are manifestly among the main forces by which 
 man is urged to act and to abstain. And as these jiarts 
 of the constitution of man are clearly intended, as we 
 conceive, to impel him in his appointed path ; so we 
 conceive that they are no less clearly the work of the
 
 155 
 
 same groat Artificer who created the heart, the eye, the 
 hand, the tongue, and that elemental world in -which, bj' 
 means of these instruments, man pursues the objects of 
 his appetites, desires, and afiections. 
 
 5. But if the Creator of the world be also the author 
 of our intellectual powers, of our feeling for the beautiful 
 and the sublime, of our social tendencies, and of our 
 natural desires and affections, vre shall find it impossible 
 not to ascribe also to Him thehigher directive attributes 
 of our nature, the conscious and the religious feeling, 
 the reference of our actions to the rule of duty and to 
 the will of God. 
 
 It would not suit the plan of the present treatise to 
 enter into any detailed analysis of the connexion of 
 these various portions of our moral constitution. But 
 we may observe that the existence and universality of 
 the conception of duty and right cannot be doubted, 
 however men may differ as l^o its original or derivative 
 nature. All men are perpetually led to form judgments 
 concerning actions, and emotions which lead to action, 
 as right or wrong ; as what they ought or otigJit not to 
 do or feel. There is a faculty which approves and dis- 
 approves, acquits or condemns the workings of our 
 other faculties. Now, what shall we say of such a 
 judiciary principle, thus introduced among our motives 
 to action ? Shall we conceive that while the other 
 springs of action are balanced against each other by our 
 Creator, this, the most pervading and universal regulator, 
 was no part of the original scheme ? That — while the 
 love of animal pleasures, of power, of fame, the regard 
 for friends, the pleasure of bestowing pleasure, were 
 infused into man as influences by which his course of 
 life was to be carried on, and his capacities and powers 
 developed and exeicLscd ; — this reverence fur a moral
 
 158 
 
 law, this acknowledgment of the obligation of duty, — a 
 feeling which is everywhere found, and which may be- 
 come a powerful, a predominating motive of action, — 
 was given for no purpose, and belongs not to the design? 
 Such an opinion would be much as if we should acknow- 
 ledge the skill and contrivance manifested in the other 
 parts of aship, but should refuse to recognize the rudder 
 as exhibiting any evidence of a purpose. Without the 
 reverence which the opinion of right inspires, and the 
 scourge of general disapprobation inflicted on that which 
 is accounted Avicked, society could scarcely go on; and 
 certainly the feelings and thoughts and characters of meu 
 could not be what they are. Those impulses of nature 
 ■which involve no acknowledgment of responsibility, 
 and the play and struggle of interfering wishes, might 
 preserve the species in some shape of existence, as we 
 see in the case of brutes. But a person must be strangely 
 constituted, who, living amid the respect for law, the 
 admiration for what is good, the order and virtues and 
 graces of civilized nations, (all which have their origiu 
 in some degree in the feeling of responsibility) can main- 
 tain that all these are casual and extraneous circum-» 
 stances, no way contemplated in the formation of man ; 
 and that a condition in which there should be no obliga- 
 tion in law, no merit in self-restraint, no beauty in 
 virtue, is equally suited to the powers and the nature of 
 man, and was equally contemplated when those powers 
 were given him. 
 
 If this supposition be too extravagant to be admitted, 
 as it appears to be, it remains then that man, intended, 
 as we have already seen from his structure and properties, 
 to be a discoursing, social being, acting under the in- 
 fluence of affections, desires, and purposes, was also 
 intended to act under the influence of a sense of duty ;
 
 157 
 
 and that tbe acknowledgment of the obligation of a 
 moral law is as much part of his nature, as hunger or 
 thirst, maternal love or the desire of power ; that, there- 
 fore, in conceiving man as the work of a Creator, we 
 must imagine his powers and character given him with, 
 an intention on the Creator's part that this sense of duty 
 should occupy its place in his constitution as an active 
 and thinking being : and that this directive and judiciary 
 principle is a part of the work of the same Author who 
 made the elements to minister to the material functions, 
 and the arrangements of the world to occupy the indi- 
 vidual and social affections of his living creatures. 
 
 This principle of conscience, it may further be ob- 
 served, does not stand upon the same level as the other 
 impulses of our constitution by which we are prompted 
 cr restrained. By its very nature and essence, it pos- 
 sesses a supremacy over all others. ♦' Your obligation 
 to obey this law is its being the law of your nature. 
 That your conscience approves of and attests such a 
 course of action is itself alone an obligation. Conscience 
 does not only offer itself to show us the way we should 
 walk in, but it likewise carries its own authority with 
 it, that it is our natural guide : the guide assigned us by 
 the author of our nature,"* That we ought to do an 
 action, is of itself a sufficient and ultimate answer to the 
 questions, why we should do it? — how we are obliged io 
 do it? The conviction of duty implies the soundest 
 reason, the strongest obligation, of which our nature is 
 susceptible. 
 
 We appear then to be using only language which is 
 
 well capable of being justilied, when we speak of this 
 
 irresistible esteem for what is right, this conviction of a 
 
 rule of action extending beyond the gratification of our 
 
 • Butler. Scrm. 3.
 
 158 
 
 irrcflcctlvc impulses, as an impress stamjieil upon the 
 human mind by the Deity himself ; a trace of His natur(> ; 
 an indication of His will ; an announcement of II is puv-* 
 ])oso ; a promise of His favour ; and though this faculty 
 may need to be confirmed and unfolded, instructed and 
 assisted by other aids, it still seems to contain in itself 
 a sufficient intimation that the highest objects of man's 
 existence are to be attained, by means of a direct and 
 intimate reference of his thoughts and actions to the 
 Divine Author of his being. 
 
 Such tlicn is the Deity to which the researches of 
 Natural Theology point ; and so far is the train of reflo^i- 
 tions in which we have engaged, from being merely 
 speculative and barren. With the material world we 
 cannot stop. If a superior Intelligence have ordered 
 and adjusted the succession of seasons and the structure 
 of the plants of the field, we must allow far more tlian 
 this at first sight would seem to imply. We must admit 
 still greater powers, still higher wisdom for the creation 
 of the beasts of the forest with their faculties ; and higher 
 wisdom still and more transcendent attributes, for tlie 
 creation of man. And when we reach this point, wc 
 find that it is not knowledge only, not power only, not 
 foresight and beneficence alone, which wo must attribute 
 to the Maker of the World ; but that we must] consider 
 him as the Author, in us, of a reverence for moral purity 
 and rectitude ; and if the author of such emotions in us, 
 how can we conceive of Him otherwise, than that these 
 fjualities are parts of his nature ; and that he is not only 
 wise and great, and good, incomparably beyond our 
 highest conceptions, but also conformed in his purposes 
 to the rule which he thus impresses upon us, that is, 
 Holy in the highest degree which Me can image to our- 
 bclvcs as possible. Whewell.
 
 159 
 
 THE ALTAR'S SIMPLICITY, 
 
 "And if thou -wilt make me an altar of stone, tliou 
 shalt not buLltl it of hewn stone : for if thou lift up thy 
 tool upon it, thou hast polluted it." — Exodus, xx. 2j. 
 
 Lord ! may the precept still impart 
 Its import to the Christian's heart. 
 And teach us, as vre look to Thee, 
 Thy worship's true simplicity. 
 
 If thus, 'raid ancient forms, the aid 
 Of human art thy word forbade, 
 Choosing for altar of thine own 
 Unhewn, and unpolluted stone : — 
 
 By more than emblematic speech 
 Thy Spirit now this truth would teach 
 Altars of flesh, like those of stone, 
 3Mu6t be prepar'd by Thee alone. 
 
 If now to Thee we build no more 
 An outward shrine as heretofore, 
 That in the heart, if truly thine, 
 Must yet be rear'd by power divine. 
 
 The meddling touch of human will 
 Would make that shrine polluted still ; 
 The utmost stretch of human powers 
 \Vou!d leave the fabric onlv ours.
 
 160 
 
 Thine it shoultl bo ; in mercy dpign 
 To build — what we but build in vain. 
 And when the work by Thee is done 
 Accept its incense through thy Son. 
 
 BaetoX, 
 
 DISCUSSION ON THE PUNISHMENT OF DEATH, 
 FOR MURDER, BY THE CHIEFS OF THE 
 ISLAND OF TAHITI. 
 
 The punishment for murder. — This main question, which 
 was to determine whether, in any case, man's blood was 
 to be shed under the sanction of laws made by a Chris- 
 tian legislature, unfettered either by antiquated usage 
 or prejudices, occupied many hours of the first and 
 st'cond day's sittings ; — death, or perpetual banishment 
 to some uninhabited island, being the alternatives pro- 
 posed. At length, it was unanimously resolved that the 
 latter should be adopted. 
 
 To shew the spirit and candour, as well as good sense 
 with which the discussions were conducted, we shall 
 furnish a sketch of some of the principal speeches 
 delivered on the first and second day, in reference to 
 death or banishment for murder. 
 
 On the question being proposed, Ilitoti, the principal 
 chief of Papeete stood up, and, bowing to the President 
 and the persons around him, said: "No doubt this is a 
 good law," — the pi-oposcd punishment was exile for life 
 to a desolate island, — "but a thought has been growing 
 in my heart for several days, and when you have heard 
 my little speech you will understand what it is. The
 
 161 
 
 laws of England, from which country we have received 
 so much good of every kind — must not they be good ? 
 And do not the laws of England ijunish murderers by 
 death ? Now, my thought is, that as England does so, 
 it would be well for us to do so. That is my thought." 
 
 Perfect silence followed; — and it may be observed 
 here that, during the whole eight days' meetings of this 
 Parliament, in no instance were two speakers on their 
 legs at the same time ; there was not an angry word 
 tittered by one against another ; nor did any assume the 
 possession of more knowledge than the rest. In fact, 
 none controverted the opinion of a preceding speaker, 
 or even remarked upon it, without some respectful com- 
 mendations of what appeared praiseworthy in it ; while, 
 for reasons which he modestly but manfully assi^^Ticd, 
 he deemed another sentiment better. 
 
 After looking round to see whether any body were 
 already up before him, Utani, the principal chief of 
 Buanaauia, rose and thus addressed the president ; 
 " The chief of Papeete has said well, that we have 
 received a great many good things from the kind Chris- 
 tian people of England. Indeed, what have we not 
 received from Beretane ? Did they not send us (area) 
 the gospel ? — But does not Hitoti's speech go too far ? 
 If we take the laws of England for our guide, then must 
 wc not punish with death those who break into a house \ 
 — those who write a wrong name ? — those who steal a 
 sheep ? And will any man in Tahiti say that death 
 should grow for these ? — No, no ; this goes too far; so 
 I think we should stop. The law, as it is ^vritten, I 
 think is good; perhaps I am wrong; but that is my 
 thought." 
 
 After a moment or two of stillness, Upuparu, a noble, 
 intelligent, aud stately chief, stood forth. It waa * 
 
 T
 
 162 
 
 pleasure to look upon his animatod countenance an3 
 frank demeanour, without the smallest affectation either 
 of superiority or condescension. He paid several grace- 
 ful compliments to the former speakers, while, accord- 
 ing to his thought, in some things each was right, and 
 each was wrong. "My brother, Ilitoti, who proposed 
 that we should punish murder with death, because Eng- 
 land does so, was wrong, as has been shewn by Utarai. 
 For they are not the laws of England which are to guide 
 us, though they are good ; — the Bible is our perfect 
 guide. Now, Mitti Trulu (the Missionary Crook) was 
 preaching to us on (naming the day), from the Scripture, 
 * He that sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood 
 be shed;' and he told us that this was the reason of the 
 law of England. My thought, therefore, is not with 
 Utami, but with Hitoti (though not because the law of 
 England, but because the Bible, orders it), that we ought 
 to punish with death every onefoundguilty of murder." 
 There was a lively exchange of looks all through the 
 assembly, as if each had been deeply struck with the 
 sentiments of the speaker, especially when he placed 
 the ground of the punishment of death, not upon English 
 precedent, but Scripture authority. Another chief fol- 
 lowed, and " rising, seemed a pillar of state," one whose 
 aspect, and presence, and costume of dress (richly native) 
 made the spectators forget even him who had just sat 
 down. His name was Tati ; and on him all eyes were 
 immediately and intensely fixed, while, with not less 
 simplicity and deference to others than those Mho had 
 preceded him, he spoke thus : " Perhaps some of you 
 may be surprised that I, who am the first chief here, and 
 next to the royal family, should have held my peace so 
 long. I wished to hear what my brethren would say, 
 that I might gather what thoughts bad grown iu their
 
 163 
 
 breasts on this i^reat question. I am glad that I waited, 
 because some thoughts are now growing in my own 
 breast which I did not bring with me. The chiefs, who 
 have spoken before me, have spoken well. But is not 
 the speech of Upuparu like that of his brother, Hitoti 
 — in this way ? If we cannot follow the laws of England, 
 in all things, as Hitoti's thoughts would perhaps lead 
 us, because they go too far, — must we not stop short of 
 Upuparu, because his thought goes too far likewise ? 
 The Bible, he says, is our perfect guide. It is. But 
 what does that Scripture mean, ' He that sheddeth man's 
 blood, by man shall his blood be shed.' Does not this 
 go so far that we cannot follow it to the end, any more 
 than we can follow the laws of England all the way? I 
 am Tati ; I am a judge ; a man is convicted before me ; 
 he has shed blood ; I order him to be put to death ; I 
 shed his blood ; then who shall shed mine ? Here, 
 because I cannot go so far, I must stop. This cannot be 
 the meaning of those words. But, perhaps, since many 
 of the laws of the Old Testament were thrown down by 
 the Lord Jesus Christ, and only some kept standing 
 upright, — perhaps, I say, this isoneof those which were 
 thrown down. However, as I am ignorant, some one 
 else will shew me, that, in the New Testament, our 
 Saviour, or his Apostles, have said the same thing con- 
 cerning him that sheddeth man's blood as is said in the 
 Old Testament. Shew me this in the New Testament, 
 and then it must be our guide. 
 
 Much cordial approbation was evident at the conclu- 
 sion of Tati's speech, and its evangelical appeal seemed 
 to remove some difficulty and doubt respecting the true 
 scriptural authority applicable to the case. 
 
 Next rose Pati, a chief and a judge of Eimco, formerly 
 a high-priest of Oro, and the first who, at the hazard of
 
 164 
 
 his life, had abjured idolatry. " ]My breast," be ex- 
 claimed, " is full of thought, aud surprise, and delight. 
 When 1 look round at this fare bare ra (house of God) 
 in which we are assembled, and consider who we are 
 that take sweet counsel together here, it is to me all mea 
 hum e (a thing of amazement,) and meafaa oaoa teaau 
 (a thing that makes glad my heart.) Tati has settled the 
 question ; for is it not the gospel that is our guide ? and 
 who can find directions for putting to death ? I know 
 many passages which forbid, but I know not one which 
 commands, to kill. But then another thought is grow- 
 ing in my breast, and, if you will hearken to my little 
 speech, you shall know what it is. Laws, to punish 
 those that commit crime, are good for us. But tell me, 
 •why do Christians punish ? Is it because we are angry, 
 and have pleasure in causing paiu ? Is it because we 
 love revenge, as we did when we were heathens ? None 
 of these : Christians do not love revenge ; Christians 
 must not be angry ; they cannot have pleasure in causing 
 pain. Christians do not, therefore, punish for these. 
 Is it not that, by the suffering which is inflicted, we may 
 prevent the criminal from repeating his crime, and 
 frighten others from doing as he has done to deserve the 
 like ? Well, then, does not every body know that it 
 would be a greater punishment to be banished for ever 
 from Tahiti, to a desolate island, than just, inaraoment, 
 to be pu'- to death 1 And could the banished man com- 
 mit murder again there? And would not others be 
 more frightened by such a sentence than by one to take 
 away his life ? So my thought is, that Tati is right, and 
 the law had best remain as it has been written." 
 
 One of the taala rii, or little men, a commoner, or 
 representative of a district, now presented himself, and 
 was listened to with as much attcutioa as had been givea
 
 1G5 
 
 to the lordly personages who preceded him. lie said : 
 '•As no one else stands up, I will make my little speech, 
 because several pleasant thoughts have been growing in 
 my breast, and 1 wish you to hear them. Perhaps every 
 thing good and necessary has been said already by the 
 chiefs ; yet, as we are not met to adopt this law or that 
 law, because one great man or another recommends it, 
 but as we, the taata rii, just the same as the chiefs, are 
 to throw all our thoughts together, that out of the whole 
 heap the meeting may make those to stand upright 
 which are best, whencesoever they come — this is my 
 thought. All that Pati said was good ; but he did not 
 mention that one reason for punishing (as a Missionary 
 told us, when he was reading the law to us, in private) 
 is, to make the offender good again if possible. Now, 
 if we kill a murderer, how can we make him better ? 
 But if he be sent to a desolate island, where he is all sx)li- 
 tary, and compelled to think for himself, it may please 
 God to make the bad things in his heart to die, and good 
 things to grow there. But, if we kill him, where will 
 his soul go?" 
 
 Othei-s spoke to the same purport, and, in the result, 
 it was unanimously determined that banishment, not 
 death, should be inflicted on murderers. It followed, 
 of course, that the extreme exercise of magisterial power, 
 to take away life, was excluded from every other case. 
 
 Tyeeman & Bennet's Travels.
 
 166 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 What art thou, Mighty One ! and where thy scat 
 Thou broodcst on the cahn that cheers the lauds. 
 And thou dost bear within thine awful hands 
 
 The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet ; 
 
 Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind. 
 Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon. 
 Or, on the red wing of the fierce Monsoon, 
 
 Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. 
 
 In the drear silence of the polar span 
 Dost thou repose ? or in the solitude 
 
 Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan 
 
 Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ? 
 
 Vain thought ! the confines of his throne to trace. 
 
 Who glows through all the fields of boundless space. 
 
 KiBKE WhITB. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN VirvGIN'S ADDRESS TO HER 
 ArOSTATE LOVER. 
 O! LOST to faith, to peace, to Heaven ! 
 
 Canst thou a recreant be 
 To Him whose life for thine was given. 
 
 Whose Cross endured for thee ? 
 Canst thou for earthly joys resign 
 A love immortal, pure, divine. 
 Yet link thy plighted truth to mine. 
 
 And cleave unchanged to me ? 
 
 Thou canst not — and 'tis breathed in vain— 
 The sophistry of love ; —
 
 167 
 
 Though not in pride or cold disdain 
 
 Thy falsehood I approve ; — 
 Inly my heart may bleed — but yet 
 Mine is no weak, no vain regret; 
 Thy wrongs to me I might forget — 
 
 But not to Him above. 
 
 Cease then — thy fond impassion'd vow. 
 
 In happier hours so dear ; 
 (No virgin pride restrains me now) 
 
 I must not turn to hear ; 
 For still my erring heart might prove 
 Too weak to spurn thy proffer'd love ; 
 And tears, though feign'd and false, might move. 
 
 And prayers, though insincere. 
 
 But no ! the tie so firmly bound 
 
 Is torn asunder now ; 
 How deep that sudden wrench may wound. 
 
 It recks not to avow ; 
 Go thou to fortune and to fame ; 
 I sink to sorrow — suff ring — shame — 
 Yet think, when Glory gilds thy name, 
 
 I would not be as thou. 
 
 Thou canst not light or wavering deem 
 
 The bosom all thine own ; 
 Thou know'st in Joy's enlivening beam. 
 
 Or Fortune's adverse frown. 
 My pride, my bliss had been to share 
 Thy hopes ; to sooth thine hours of care; 
 "With thee the Martyr's cross to bear. 
 
 Or wiu the Martyr's crown.
 
 168 
 
 'Tis oVr ; but never from my heart 
 
 Shall Time thine image blot ; 
 The dreams of other days depart; 
 
 Thou Shalt not be forgot ; 
 And never in the suppliant sigh 
 Pour'd forth to Ilim who sways the shy. 
 Shall mine own name be breathed on high. 
 And thine remcmbcr'd not. 
 
 Farewell ! and ! may He whose love 
 
 Endures though Man rebel, 
 In mercy j-et thy guilt reprove; 
 
 Thy darkening clouds dispel: 
 Where'er thy wandering steps incline, 
 My fondest prayers — nor only mine ; — 
 The aid of Israel's God be thine ; 
 
 And in His name — Farewell ! 
 
 Dale. 
 
 AUTHORITY OF THE CONSCIENCE. 
 With respect to the authorily which properly belongs 
 to Conscience as a director of individual conduct, it 
 appears manifest alike from reason and from scripture, 
 that it is great. "When a man believes, upon due delibe- 
 ration, that a certain action is right, that action is right 
 to him. And this is true, whether the action be or be 
 not required of mankind by the moral law.* The fact 
 that in his mind the sense of obligation attaches to the 
 
 * By Conscience, all men are restrained from inten- 
 tional ill — it infallibly directs us to avoid guilt, but is not 
 intended to secure us from error, — Advent. No. 91.
 
 169 
 
 act, and that he has duly delibcratod upon the accuracy 
 of his judgment, makes the dictate of his Conscience 
 upon that subject an authoritatite dictate. The individual 
 is to be held guilty if he violates his Conscience — if he 
 does one thing, whilst his sense of obligation is directed 
 to its contrary. Nor, if his judgment should not be 
 accurately informed, if his sense of obligation should not 
 be connected %vith a proper subject, is the guilt of vio- 
 lating his conscience taken away. "Were it otherwise, a 
 l)erson might be held virtuous for acting in opposition to 
 his apprehensions of duty ; or guiltj', for doing M'hat he 
 believed to be right. " It is happy for us that our title 
 to the character of virtuous beings, depends not upon 
 the justness of our opinions or the constant objective 
 rectitude of all we do, but upon the conformity of our 
 actions to the sincere convictions of our minds."* Dr. 
 Furneaux says, " To secure the favour of God and the 
 rewards of true religion, we must follow our own con- 
 sciences and jud,'ments accorch'n'j to the best light we 
 can attain." t And I am especially disposed to add the 
 testimony of Sir "William Temple, because he recognizes 
 the doctrine which has just been advanced, that our 
 judgments arc enlightened by superhuman agency. "The 
 way to our future happiness must be left, at last, to the 
 iiiiprcsaiuns made upon every man''s hclic-f and conscience, 
 either by natural or supernatural arguments and means. ' '\ 
 Accordingly, there appears no reason to doubt that some 
 will stand convicted in the sight of the Omniscient Judge, 
 for actions which his moral law has not forbidden ; and 
 that some may be uncondemncd for actions which that 
 law does not allow. The distinction here is the same as 
 that to which we have before had occasion to alludc', 
 
 * Dr. Price. + Essay on Toleration. \ Works, vol. 1. p. 55, 
 z
 
 170 
 
 ■between the desert of the agent and the quality of the 
 act. Of this distinction an illustration is contained ia 
 Isaiah x. It was the divine will that a certain specific 
 course of action should be pursued in punishing the 
 Israelites. For the performance of this the king of 
 Assyria was employed : " I will give him a charge to 
 take the spoil, and to take the prey, and to tread them 
 down like the mire of the streets," This charge the 
 Assyrian monarch fulfilled ; — he did the will of God. 
 But then his intention was criminal ; he " meant not 
 so:" and therefore, when the " whole work " is per- 
 formed, " I will jninish," says the Almighty, " the fruit 
 of the stout heart of the king of Assyria and the glory of 
 his high looks." 
 
 But it was said, that these principles respecting the 
 authority of Conscience were recognized in scripture. 
 " One belie veth that he may eat all things; another 
 who is weak eateth herbs. One man esteemeth one day 
 above another, another esteemeth every day alike." 
 Here then are differencies, nay contrarieties of conscien- 
 tious judgments. And what are the parties directed 
 severally to do ? " Let every man be fully persuaded 
 in his own mind ; " that is, let the full persuasion of his 
 own mind be every man's rule of action. The situation 
 of these parties was, that one perceived the truth upon 
 the subject and the other did not ; that in one the sense 
 of obligation was connected with an accurate, in the 
 other with an inaccurate, opinion. Thus again; "/ 
 know and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus that nothing 
 is unclean of itself ; " — therefore, absolutely speaking, 
 it is lawful to eat all things : " but to him that esteemeth 
 any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean." The 
 question is not whether his judgment was correct, but 
 what that judgment actually was. To the doubter, the
 
 171 
 
 uncleannpss, that is the xin of oatini^, was certain thoiif^h 
 the act was right. Again ; "All things indeed are pure, 
 but it is evil fur that man who eiiteth with offence." 
 And again as a general rule ; " He that doubteth is con- 
 demned if he eat, because he cateth not of faith, for 
 vrhatsoever is not of faith, is sin." 
 
 And here we possess a sufiicient answer to those who 
 affect to make light of the authority of Conscience, and 
 exclaim, "Everyman pleads his conscientious opinions, 
 and that he is bound in conscience to do this or that : 
 and yet his neighbour makes the same plea and urges 
 the same obligation to do just the contrary." But what 
 then? These persons' judgments differed: that we 
 might expect, for they are fallible ; but their sense of 
 obligation was in each case really attached to its subject, 
 and was in each case authoritative. 
 
 One observation remains ; that although a man ought 
 to make his conduct conform to his conscience, yet he 
 may sometimes justly beheld criminal for the errors of 
 his opinion. Men often judge amiss respecting their 
 duties, in consequence of their own faults : some take 
 little x^ains to ascertain the truth, some voluntarily exclude 
 knowledge; and most men would possess more accurate 
 perceptions of the moral law if they sufficiently endea- 
 voured to obtain them. And therefore, although a man 
 may not be punished for a given act which he ignorantly 
 supposes to be lawful, he may be punished for that 
 ignorance in wbich his supposition originates. Which 
 consideration may perhaps account for the expression, 
 that he who ignorantly failed to do his master's will, 
 " shall be beaten with few stripes." There is a degree 
 of wickedness, to the agents of which God at length 
 " sends strong delusion" that they may " believe a lie." 
 In this state of strong delusion, they perhaps may, with-
 
 172 
 
 out violating any sense of ohlijation, do many wicked 
 actions. The principles -which have been here delivered, 
 vould lead us to suppose that the punishment which 
 awaits such men, will have respect rather to that inten- 
 sity of wickedness of which delusion was the conse- 
 quence, than to those particular acts which they might 
 ignorantly commit under the influence of the delusion 
 itself. This observation is offered to the reader because 
 some writers have obscured the present subject by spe- 
 culating upon the moral deserts of those desperately bad 
 men who occasionally have committed atrocious acts 
 under the notion that they were doing right, 
 
 Dymond. 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF THE HEART. 
 {From the German of .Martin Luther. J 
 
 Act but the gentle Infant's part, 
 Give up to love thy willing heart; 
 No fondest parent's melting breast 
 Yearns, like thy God's, to make thee blest : 
 Taught its dear mother soon to know. 
 The tendevest babe its love can show ; 
 Bid thy base servile fear retire. 
 This task no labour will require. 
 
 The Sovereign Father, good and kind, 
 ■\Vants to behold his child rcsign'd ; 
 "Wants but thy yielded heart — no more — 
 With his large gifts of grace to store : 
 He to thy soul no anguish brings. 
 From thy owu stubborn will it springs ;
 
 173 
 
 But crucify that cruel foe. 
 
 Nor pain, nor care thy breast shall know. 
 
 Shake from thy soul, o'er^vhelm'd, opprest, 
 Th' encumbering load that galls thy rest. 
 That wastes thy strength in bondage vain ; 
 — With courage break th' enthralling chain : 
 Let prayer exert its couriuering power, 
 Cry in the tempted, trembling hour, 
 " My Ood, my Father, save thy son !" 
 'Tis heard, and all thy fears are gone. 
 
 M. Browne, 
 
 CONVICTION AND PARDON. 
 
 If ever thou hast felt another's pain. 
 
 If ever when he sigh'd has sigh'd again. 
 
 If ever on thy eyelid stood the tear. 
 
 That pity had engender'd, drop one here. 
 
 This man was happy — had the World's good word, 
 
 And with it every joy it can afford; 
 
 Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, 
 
 Which most should sweeten his untroubled life : 
 
 Politely Icarn'd, and of a gentle race. 
 
 Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, 
 
 And, whether at the toilette of the fair 
 
 He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there. 
 
 Or if in masculine debate he shared, 
 
 Ensured liim mute attention and regard. 
 
 Alii:?, how chanj:edl Expressive of his mind. 
 
 Ilia eyes aio sunk, arms folded, head reclined ;
 
 174 
 
 Those awful Pj-llablos, holl, doath, and sin, 
 Though whispcr'd, plainly toll -what -works within ; 
 T4iat Conscience there performs her proper part. 
 And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart; 
 Forsaking, and forsaken of all friends. 
 He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends. 
 Hard task ! for one who lately knew no care. 
 And harder still as learnt beneath despair ; 
 His liours no longer jiass unmark'd awaj-, 
 A dark importance saddens every daj' ; 
 He hears the notice of the clock perplex'd. 
 And cries, " Perhaps Eternity strikes next ;" 
 Sweet music is no longer music here, 
 And laughter sounds like madness in his car : 
 His grief the World of all her power disarms, 
 Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms : 
 God's holy word, once trivial in his view. 
 Now by the voice of his experience true. 
 Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone 
 Must spring that hope he pants to make his own, 
 
 Now let the bright reverse be known abroad, 
 Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 
 As when a felon, whom his country's laws 
 Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause. 
 Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears. 
 The shameful close of all his mispent yeai-s-; 
 If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, 
 A tempest usher in the dreadful morn. 
 Upon his dungeon-walls the lightnings play, 
 The thunder seems to summon him away ; 
 The warder at the door his key api)lies. 
 Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies : 
 If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost. 
 When Hope, long lingering, at last yield's the ghost.
 
 175 
 
 The sound of pardon pierce his startled oar, 
 lie drops at once his fetters and his fear ; 
 A transport glows in all he looks and speaks. 
 And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks, 
 Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs 
 The comfort of a few poor added days. 
 Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul 
 Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. 
 'Tis heaven, all heaven, descending on the wings, 
 . Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 
 'Tis more — 'tis God diffused through every part, 
 'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. 
 O welcome now the sun's once hated light, 
 His noonday beams were never half so bright ! 
 Not kindred minds alone are called t' employ 
 Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy; 
 Unconscious nature, all that he surveys, 
 Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his praise. 
 
 CoWi'EK. 
 
 ON RELIGIOUS CONVICTIONS. 
 
 My dear , 
 
 The interest excited in my mind by our late conversa- 
 tion, makes mc anxious to fulfil my promise of writing 
 without delay. 
 
 The present is an eventful period in your life ; upon 
 it, for aught we know to the contrary, hang the issues of 
 life and death — life and death eternal. The convictions 
 and desires which now occupy your mind, are manifest 
 proofs that the Spirit of God is striving with your spirit, 
 drawing you secretly, but I hope, strongly also, to sur-
 
 17G 
 
 Tondor yourself wholly and cheorfnlly, to hi*! sorvicp and 
 his guidance. The "w aters are troubled, I would hope, 
 preparatory to your everlasting healing ; and light has 
 dawned upon your heart, in order, I trust, that it may 
 "shine more and more unto the perfect day;" that so, 
 you may become a child of light, and walk in light, and 
 no more stumble in darkness. Beware, then, how you 
 check or slight these gracious influences, lest he who 
 waits to be to you the comforter, be grieved, and depart 
 and hide himself for a while, or perhaps for ever. 
 Cherish these good desires and sacred emotions, that 
 they may not terminate in mere desires and emotions. 
 Seek earnestly that they may " strike root downwards, 
 and bear fruit upwards," even "the fruits of the 
 Spirit," in season and in abundance. If a single seed 
 of grace has fallen into your heart, ask him who is the 
 great husbandman of the soul, to " watch over and water 
 it every moment, lest any hurt it;" lest the deceit fulness 
 of earthly delights impede its growth ; lest vain imagi- 
 nations, or idle habits, devour it ere it spring up ; or, 
 lest after shooting forth iu green and vigorous strength, 
 temptations, like the scorching sun, wiiher it for ever. 
 It is no light matter to be a christian. Nothing, not the 
 union of all earthly power and human advantages, can 
 make, or keep you one. It requires an exercise of 
 omnipotent strength, the strength of him who called 
 light out of darkness, and brought water from the llinty 
 rock. Fear, therefore, continually for yourself, but 
 look to God and fear nothing. From the first moment 
 of his pilgrimage to the last, the christian has but one 
 point of safety, one rock of refuge, one place of shelter, 
 and its name is " Constant Dependence." Your task 
 is, ever to look upwards, and inwards, that so you may 
 bo proiuvvcd from presumption aiul de-pair. Never,
 
 177 
 
 surely, was any one more happily placed for becoming 
 " vrise unto salvation." Spiritual instruction is, indeed, 
 very nigh ; and counteracting influences are removed 
 very far. God, by his dispensations, seems saying to 
 you, " Only incline your ear, hear, and your soul shall 
 live. I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way that 
 thou Shalt go. I will guide thee with mine eye. Be ye 
 not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no under- 
 standing. Ask me, and I will shew thee great and 
 mighty things which thou knowest not." 
 
 I would advise you to store your memory, as oppor- 
 tunity offers, with various petitionary passages of scrip- 
 ture, especially from the Psalms, that in the intervals of 
 occupation, in your walks, aud in your retirements, you 
 may be furnished with prayers indited by that Spirit 
 who knew the necessities and temptations of the human 
 heart. You will find this habit of silent, momentary, 
 ejaculatory petition, a great means of preserving that 
 sedateness of feeling and quietness of deportment, which, 
 even in the vivacity of youth, should characterise the 
 christian. 
 
 Dear , I do hope God will strengthen you, that 
 
 you may be able to stand, and at once and for ever turn 
 your steps towards this narrow but pleasant path, which 
 issues in rest eternal aud glorious. "What better can you 
 do ? Is it not, indeed, a reasonable service ? Is not the 
 present the best time to engage in it? Only think of 
 the different retrospect you will have on a death-bed. 
 Supposing (fearful supposition!) that your present desires 
 wear off, and that, notwithstanding, you should be saved 
 at a ninth or an eleventh hour, think of the remorse 
 prevented, the active good effected, the privileges enjoyed, 
 the blessings diffused, by those who walk with God 
 " from youth even to hoar hairs." Think of the temp' .-
 
 tions thc-y escape, the sorrows they never feol, all 
 suffered, and all felt, by those who enter the vineyard 
 ill later life. Think again of the fearful uncertainty 
 which involves the future, and resolve, determine, act — 
 now. Ask God to enlarge your heart, and set you in 
 the way of his commandments ; tell him you have no 
 might, but plead his promise "to increase strength;" 
 to " strengthen the spoiled against the strong ;" to tread 
 down your ^iritual enemies under your feet ; to arm 
 you with the whole armour of God, aud then teach you 
 how to use it. Never fear that his gi-aoious ear will be 
 wearied with the tale of your sins, your wants, and your 
 weaknesses. May he lead you into all truth, enable you 
 to walk humbly, and therefore surely, and now, in these 
 the bright and joyous hours of life, unite you to himself 
 in that bond which can never be broken ; which gives 
 power over the vicissitudes of time and the world, and 
 even over death aud hell I May he enable you not 
 merely to begin, but to end well ; that having overcome 
 through faith, you may inherit all those royal promises, 
 the fulfilment of which, if completed in heaven, com- 
 mences here below. One thing is certain ; of vacillation 
 you will assuredly repent, of decision, never. You may 
 twine your affections round the reeds of earth, and build 
 towering hopes upon the sand, and seek after worldly 
 vanities as after hid treasure, but the end of these things 
 is sure — disappointment and destruction. , And the end 
 of a contrary conduct is sure also — glory, honour, immor- 
 tality — all comprised in one weighty expression — eternal 
 life 1 May God, who is, I trust, beginning a good work 
 in you, bless and keep you by the glorious working of 
 his effectual Spirit ! 
 
 jEWSBrRY.
 
 170 
 
 THE INFANT'S DREAM. 
 
 CE.VDLE me on thy knee, mamma. 
 And sing me the holy strain 
 
 That soothed me last, as you fondly press'd 
 INIy glowing cheek to your soft white breast ; 
 For I saw a scene, when I slumber 'd last. 
 
 That I fain would see again, mamma. 
 
 That I fain would see again. 
 
 And smile as you then did smile, mamma, 
 
 And weep as you theii did weep ; 
 Then fix on me thy glistening eye. 
 And gaze, and gaze, till the tear be dry ; 
 Then rock me gently, and sing, and sigh, 
 
 Till you lull me fast asleep, mamma. 
 
 Till you lull me fast asleep. 
 
 For I dreamed a heavenly dream, mamma. 
 
 While slumbering on thy knee. 
 And I lived in a land where forms divine, 
 In kingdoms of glory eternally shine : 
 And the world I would give, if the world were mine. 
 
 Again that land to see, mamma. 
 
 Again that land to see. 
 
 1 fancied we roamed in a wood, mamma. 
 And we rested us under a bough; 
 
 ■\Vhen near me a butterfly flaunted in pride, 
 Aud I chased it away through the forest wide ; 
 13ut tlie night came on — I Lad lost my guide. 
 
 And I knew not what to do, mamma, * 
 
 And I knew not what to do.
 
 180 
 
 My heart grew sick with fear, mamma, 
 
 And loudly I wept for thee ; 
 But a white robed maiden appeared in the air, 
 And she flung back the curls of her golden hair. 
 And she kissed me softly ere I was aware, 
 
 Saying " Come, pretty babe, with me," mamma, 
 Saying " Come, pretty babe, with me." 
 
 My tears and fears she quelled, mamma, 
 
 And she led me far away ; 
 We entered the door of a dark, dark tomb, 
 And we passed through a long, long vault of gloom ; 
 Then opened our eyes in a land of bloom, 
 
 And a sky of endless day, mamma. 
 
 And a sky of endless day. 
 
 And heavenly forms were there, mamma, 
 
 And lovely cherubs bright : 
 They smiled when they saw me ; but I was amazed ; 
 And, wondering around me, gazed and gazed ; 
 While songs were heard, and sunny robes blazed. 
 
 All glorious in the land of light, mamma. 
 
 All glorious in the land of light. 
 
 But soon came a shining throng, mamma. 
 
 Of Avhite robed babes to me ; 
 Their eyes looked love, and their sweet lips smiled. 
 For they marvelled to meet with an earth-born child, 
 For they gloried that I from the.earth was exiled, 
 Sajing " Here ever blessed shalt thou be, 
 
 pretty babe," 
 Saying " Here ever blessed shalt thou be."
 
 181 
 
 Then I mixed with the heavenly throng, mamma. 
 
 With cherubim and serajjhim fair ; 
 And I saw, as I roamed in the regions of ijeace. 
 The spirits who liad fled from the world of distress. 
 And theirs were the joys no tongue can express ; 
 
 For they knew no sorrow there, mamma. 
 
 For they knew no sorrow there. 
 
 Do you mind when sister Jane, mamma. 
 
 Lay dead — short time gone ; 
 And you gazed on the sad but lovely wreck. 
 With a full flood of woe that you could not check. 
 And your heart was so sore, that you wished it would 
 break. 
 
 But it lived, and your eye sobbed on, mamma. 
 But it lived, and your eye sobbed on. 
 
 But oh ! had you been with me, mamma. 
 
 In the realms unknown to care. 
 And seen what I saw, you ne'er had cried. 
 Though they buried pretty Jane in the grave wlivu 
 
 she died ; 
 For, shiniiig with the blest, and adorned like a bride. 
 My sister Jane Avas there, mamma. 
 Sweet sister Jane was there. 
 
 Do you mind of the silly old man, mamma. 
 
 Who came late, late, to our door. 
 When the night was dark, and the tempest loud : 
 Oh 1 his heart was meek, but liis soul was proud ; 
 And his rajged old mantle served for his shroud. 
 Ere the midnight watch was o'er, manu uv, 
 Ere the mi(lui'j,ht walcli was o'et.
 
 182 
 
 And Ihinlv what a weight of vrr.o, mamma, 
 
 Made licavy each long-di-awn sigli. 
 As the {rood man sat on papa's old chair, 
 While the rain dropped down from his thin grey hair, 
 As fast as the big tear of speecldess care. 
 
 Ran down from his glazuig eye, mamma, 
 
 Ran down from his glazing eye. 
 
 And think what a hcaven-wavd louk, mamma, 
 
 Flashed through each trembling tear, 
 As he told how he went to tlie Baron's strong hold — 
 Saying " Oh let me in, for the night is cold ;" 
 But tlie rich man cried " Go, sleep in the wold ; 
 
 " Tor we shield no beggars here, old man, 
 
 " For we shield no beggars here." 
 
 ^VoIl, he was in glory too, mamma. 
 
 As happy as the blest can be : 
 lie needed no alms in the mansions of light. 
 For he mixed with the Patriarchs clothed in white. 
 And there was not a seraph had a crown more bright. 
 
 Or a costlier robe than ho, mamma, 
 
 Or a costlier robe than he. 
 
 Now sing, for I fain would sleep, mamma. 
 
 And dream as I dreamed before ; 
 For,sound was mj' slumber, and sweet was my rest, 
 While my spirit in the kingdom of light w as a guest ; 
 And the heart that lias throbbed in the climes of the 
 blest. 
 
 Can love this world no more, mamma. 
 Can love this world uo more.
 
 183 
 
 " IT IS GOOD TO BE HERE." 
 
 Methixks it is good to lie here, 
 If thou wilt, let us build— but for whom ? 
 
 Nor Elias, nor Moses appear. 
 But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, 
 The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb. 
 
 Shall we build to Arpbition ? Ah! no ; 
 Affrighted he shrinketh awaj- ; 
 
 For see I they would pin him below 
 To a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, 
 To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. 
 
 To Beauty ? Ah ! no ; she forgets 
 The charms which she wielded before : 
 
 Nor knows the foul worm that he frets 
 The skin which, but yesterday, fools could adore 
 For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. 
 
 Shall we build to the purple of Pride, 
 The trappings which dizen the proud * 
 
 Alas ! they are all laid aside. 
 And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd. 
 But the long winding sheet and the fringe of the shroud. 
 
 To Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain, 
 T\'ho hid in their turns have been hid ; 
 
 The treasures are squander'd again ; 
 And here in the grave are all metals forbid. 
 But the tinsel that shone on the dark colHu liih
 
 184 
 
 To the Pleasures which mirth can afford, 
 The revel, the laugli, and the jeer ? 
 
 Ah ! here is a plentiful board, 
 But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer. 
 And none but the worm is a reveller here. 
 
 Shall we build to Affection and Love? 
 Ah ! no ; they have wither'd and died, 
 
 Or fled with the spirit above, — 
 Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side. 
 Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. 
 
 Unto Sorrow ? the dead cannot grieve. 
 Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear. 
 
 Which compassion itself could believe ; 
 Ah ! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love or fear ; 
 Peace, peace, is the watchword, the only one here. 
 
 Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow t 
 Ah! no ; for his empire is known. 
 
 And here there are trophies enow ; 
 Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone. 
 Arc the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. 
 
 The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, 
 And look for the sleepers around us to rise ; 
 
 The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd ; 
 And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, 
 "Who bequeath'd us them both when He rose to the 
 skies. 
 
 H. Knowles.
 
 185 
 
 EXEMPLIFICATION OF THE WAY IN WHICH 
 NATURAL RELIGION BEARS UPON CHRIS- 
 TIANITY. 
 
 The most important exemplification of the way in which 
 natural religion bears upon Christianity, is furnished by 
 the question of a sinner's acceptance with God. Natural 
 religion can suggest to man the apprehension of his 
 guilt ; for however dim her objective view of the Deity, 
 there is no such dimness in her ethical notion of what 
 is due even to an uncertain God. Without having 
 seriously resolved the question, we may stand convicted 
 to our own minds of a hardened and habitual carelessness 
 of the question. If our whole lives long have been spent 
 in the midst of created things, without any serious or 
 sustained efibrt of our spirits in quest of a Creator — if, 
 as our consciences can tell, the whole drift and practical 
 earnestness of our thoughts are towards the gifts, with 
 but a rare and occasional anxiety towards the Giver — if 
 the sense of Him touch but lightly on our spirits, and 
 we, by our perpetual lapses from the sacred to the secu- 
 lar, prove that our gravitation is to earth, and that in 
 truth our best-loved element is atheism — if the notices 
 of a God, however indistinct wherewith we are sur- 
 rounded, instead of fastening our regards on this high 
 contemplation, do but disturb without at all influencing 
 the general tenor of our engagements — these are things 
 of Avhich the light of Nature can take cognizance ; and 
 these are things because of which, and of their felt 
 imworthiness, nature is visited by the misgivings both of 
 remorse and of terror. She has data enough on which 
 to found the demonstration and the sense of her own 
 unworthincss ; and hence a general feeling of insecurity 
 2 B
 
 186 
 
 among all spirits, a secret but strong apprehension that 
 all is not right between them and God. 
 
 This is not a matter of mere sensitive and popular 
 impression ; but in strict accordance with the views of 
 a calm atid intelligent jurisprudence. It enters into 
 the very essence of our conception of a moral govern- 
 ment, that it must have sanctions — which could not have 
 place, were there either to be no dispensation of rewards 
 and punishments ; or were the penalties, though de- 
 nounced with all the parade and proclamation of law, to 
 be never executed. It is not the lesson of conscience, that 
 God would, under the mere impulse of a parental fond- 
 ness for the creatures whom He had made, let down the 
 high state and sovereignty which belong to Him ; or 
 that He would forbear the infliction of the penalty, 
 because of any soft or timid shrinking from the pain it 
 would give to the objects of His displeasure. There is 
 nothing either in history or nature, which countenances 
 such an imagination of the Deity, as that, in the relent- 
 ings of mere tenderness. He would stoop to any weak or 
 unworthy compromise with guilt. The actual sufferings 
 of life speak loudly and experimentally against the sup- 
 position ; and when one looks to the disease and the 
 agony of spirit, and above all the hideous and unsparing 
 death, with its painful struggles and gloomy forebodings, 
 whicli are spread universally over the face of the earth — 
 we cannot but imagine of the God who presides over 
 such an economy, that He is not a being who will falter 
 from the imposition of any severity, which might serve 
 the objects of a high administration. Else all steadfast- 
 ness of purpose, and steadfastness of principle were 
 fallen from. God would stand forth to the eye of His 
 own creatures, a spectacle of outraged dignity. And He 
 of whom we image that He dwells in au uuviolablc sauc-
 
 187 
 
 tuary, the august monarch of heaven and earth — with a 
 law by subjects dislionourcd, by the sovereign una- 
 venged — would possess but the semblance and the 
 mockery of a throne. 
 
 Such a conception is not only a violence to the appre- 
 hensions of nature, but is even acknowledged at times 
 by our academic theists, as a violence to the sound philo- 
 sophy of the subject. The most striking testimony to 
 this effect is that given by Dr. Adam Smith, on the first 
 appearance of his " Theory of Moral Sentiments ; " nor 
 does it detract from its interest or its value, that he after- 
 wards suppressed it, in the subsequent editions of his 
 work. — " All our natural sentiments," he says, " prompt 
 us to believe, that as perfect virtue is supposed neces- 
 sarily to appear to the Deity as it does to us, as for its 
 own sake and without any further view, the natural and 
 proper object of love and reward, so must vice of hatred 
 and punishment. That the gods neither resent nor hurt 
 was the general maxim of all the different sects of the 
 ancient philosophy ; and if by resenting, be understood 
 that violent and disorderly perturbation which often dis- 
 tracts and confounds the human heart ; or if by hurting, 
 be understood the doing of mischief wantonly, and 
 without regard to propriety or justice, such weakness is 
 undoubtedly unworthy of the divine perfection. But if 
 it be meant that vice does not appear to the Deity to be 
 for its own sake the object of abhorrence and aversion, 
 aad what for its own sake, it is fit and reasonable should 
 be punished, the truth of this maxim can by no means 
 be so easily admitted. If we consult our natural senti- 
 ments we are apt to fear lest before the holiness of God, 
 vice should ajjpear to be more worthy of punishment, 
 than the weakness andimpcrfectionof human virtue can 
 ever seem to be of fcward. Man when about to appear
 
 188 
 
 before a Being of infinite perfection, can feel but little 
 confidence in hi^ own merit, or in the imperfect pro- 
 priety of his own conduct. In the presence of his fel- 
 low creatures he may often justly elevate himself, and 
 may often have reason to think highly of his own cha- 
 racter and conduct, compared to the still greater imper- 
 fection of theirs. But the case is quite different, Avhen 
 about to appear before his infinite Creator. To such a 
 Being, he can scarcely imagine, that his littleness and 
 ■weakness should ever appear to be the proper objects 
 cither of esteem or of reward. But he can easily con- 
 ceive how the numberless violations of duty, of which 
 he has been guilty, should render him the proper object 
 of aversion and punishment; neither can he see any 
 reason why the divine indignation should not be let 
 loose, without any restraint, upon so vile an insect as he 
 is sensible that he himself must appear to be. If he 
 would still hope for happiness, he is conscious that he 
 cannot demand it from the justice ; but he must entreat 
 it from the mercy of God. Repentance, sorrow, humi- 
 liation, contrition at the thought of his past misconduct, 
 are upon this account the sentiments which become him, 
 and seem to be the only means which he has left, for 
 appeasing that wrath which he knows he has justly pro- 
 voked. He even distrusts the efficacy of all these, and 
 naturally fears lest the wisdom of God should not, like 
 the weakness of man, be prevailed upon to spare the 
 crime by the most importunate lamentations of the cri- 
 minal. Some other intercession, some other sacrifice, 
 some other atonement, he imagines must be made for 
 him, beyond what he himself is capable of making, before 
 the purity of the divine justice can be reconciled to his 
 manifold offences. The doctrines of revelation coincide 
 ill every respect with these origiual anticipations of
 
 189 
 
 nature ; and as thoy teach us how little we can depend 
 u^ion the imperfection of our own virtue, so they show 
 us at the same time that the most powerful intercession 
 has been made, and that the most dreadful atonement 
 has been paid, for our manifold transgressions and 
 iniquities." 
 
 This interesting passage seems to hare been written 
 by its author, under a true apprehension of that dilemma, 
 in which the world is involved. lie admits a moral 
 government on the part of God. He admits a universal 
 delinquency on the part of man. And his feeling is, 
 that the government would be nullified by a mere act of 
 indemnity, which rendered no acknowledgment to the 
 justice which had been violated, or to the authority of 
 that law which had been trampled on. In these circum- 
 stances, he casts about as it were for an adjustment ; 
 and puts forth a conjectural speculation; and guesses 
 what the provision should be, which, under a new eco- 
 nomy, might be adopted for repairing a defect, that is 
 evidently beyond all the resources of natural theism ; 
 and proposes the very expedient of our profest revelation, 
 for the resolving of a difficulty which had been else 
 impracticable. We deem it a melancholy fact, that this 
 noble testimony to the need of a gospel, should have 
 disappeared in the posterior editions of his work — 
 revised and corrected as they were by his own hand. 
 It is not for men to sit in the chair of judgment; and 
 never should they feel a greater awe or tenderness upon 
 their spirits, than when called to witness or to pronounce 
 upon the aberrations of departed genius. Yet when one 
 compares the passage he could at one time have written, 
 with the memoir that, after an interval of many years, 
 he gave to the world of David Hume, that ablest cham- 
 pion of the infidel cause — one fears lest, under the cou-
 
 190 
 
 tagion of a near and witherinp; intimacy with him, his 
 spirit may have imbibed of the kindred poison ; and he 
 at length have become ashamed, of the homaje that he 
 once had rendered to the worth and importance of 
 Christianity. 
 
 This notwithstanding remains one of the finest exam- 
 ples of the way, in which the Natural bears upon the 
 Christian theology ; and of the outgoings, by which, the 
 one conducts to a landing-place in the other. We hold 
 that there are many such outgoings ; that at the uttermost 
 margin of the fonner there is a felt want, and that in 
 accurate counterpart to this, the latter has something to 
 offer in precise and perfect adaptation thereto. Now 
 the great error of our academic theism, as commonly 
 treated, is that it expresses no want ; that it reposes in 
 its own fancied sufticiencj-; and all its landing-places 
 are within itself, and along the uttermost limits of its 
 own territory. It is no reproach against our iihiloso- 
 phical moralists, that they have not stepped beyond the 
 threshold of that peculium, which is strictly and appro- 
 priately theirs ; or not made incursion into another 
 department than their own. The legitimate complaint 
 is, that, on taking leave of their diiciples, they warn, 
 them not, of their being only yet at the outset or in the 
 prosecution of a journcj', instead of having reached the 
 termination of it. They in fact take leave of them, in 
 the middle of an unprotected highway — when they 
 should have reared a finger-post of direction to the 
 places which lie beyond. The paragraph which we have 
 now extracted, was just such a finger-post — though 
 taken down, we deeply regret to say, by the very hand 
 that bad erected it. Our veneration for his name must 
 not restrain the observation, that, by this, he undid the 
 best service which a professor of moral science can
 
 191 
 
 render to humanity. Along the confines of its domain, 
 there should be raised, in every quarter, the floating sig- 
 nals of distress, that its scholars, instead of being lulled 
 into the imagination that now they may repose as in so 
 many secure and splendid dwelling places, should be 
 taught to regard them only as towers of observation — 
 whence they have to look for their ulterior guidance and 
 their ulterior supplies, to the region of a conterminous 
 theologj-. 
 
 There is a difficulty here in the theism of nature, 
 within the whole compass of which, no solution for it 
 can be found. It will at least afford a specimen of the 
 way in which the one bears upon the other, if we state 
 the method of escape from this difficulty that has been 
 provided in the theism of Christianity. The great moral 
 problem which under the former waits to be resolved, 
 is to find acceptance in the mercy of God, for those who 
 have braved His justice, and done despite to the autho- 
 rity of His law ; and that without any compromise of 
 truth or dignity. By the offered solution of the New 
 Testament, a channel has been opened up, through a 
 high mediatoiship between God and man, for the descent 
 of a grace and a mercy the most exuberant on a guilty 
 world ; and through it, the overtures of reconciliation 
 are extended unto all ; and a sceptre of forgiveness, but 
 of forgiveness consecrated by the blocdof a great atone- 
 ment, has been stretched forth, even to the most polluted 
 and worthless outcasts of the human family ; and thus 
 the goodness of the divinity obtained its fullest vindica- 
 tion, yet not a goodness at the expense of justice — for 
 the affront done to an outraged law, has been amply 
 repaired by the homage to its authority of an illustrious 
 sufferer, who took upon himself the burden of all those 
 jicnaltics which we should have borne; and, in the
 
 192 
 
 spectacle of ■whose deep, and mysterious sacrifice, God's 
 hatred of moral evil stands forth in most impressive 
 demonstration. So that, instead of a conflict or a con- 
 cussion between these two essential attributes of His 
 nature, a way has been found, by which each is 
 enhanced to the uttermost, and a flood of most copious 
 and convincing illustration has been poured upon them 
 both, 
 
 Chalmers. 
 
 THE WOELD IN THE HEART. 
 
 Are there not portions of the sacred word, 
 So often preach'd and quoted, read and heard. 
 That, though of deepest import, and desigii'd 
 With joy or fear to penetrate the mind. 
 They pass away with notice cold and brief. 
 Like drops of rain upon a glossy leaf] 
 Such is the final sentence, on that day, 
 When all distinctions shall be done away 
 But what the righteous Judge shall bring to light. 
 Between the left-hand millions and the right. 
 Here in his word, in beams of light, it stands. 
 What will be then demanded at our hands ; 
 Clear and unclouded now the page appears. 
 As even then illumed by blazing spheres. 
 
 The question is not, if our earthly race 
 
 Was once enlightened by a flash of grace ; 
 If we sustained a place on Zion's hill. 
 And call'd him Lord, — but if we did his will. 
 What if the stranger sick and captive lie, 
 Naked and hungry, and we pass them by I
 
 193 
 
 Or do but somp extorted pittance throw. 
 To save our credit, not to ease their woe ! 
 Or strangers to the charity whence springs 
 The liberal heart devising liberal things. 
 We, curabcr'd ever with our own pursuits. 
 To others leave the labour and its fruits ; 
 Pleading excuses for the crumb we save. 
 For want of faith to cast it on the wave ! 
 — Shall we go forth with joy to meet our Lord, 
 Enter his kingdom, reap the full reward? 
 — Cart such his good, his faithful servants be. 
 Blest of the Father ? — Read his word and see. 
 
 "What if, in strange defiance of that rule. 
 Made not in Moses' but the Gospel school. 
 Shining as clearly as the light of heaven, 
 "They who forgive not, shall not be forgiven." 
 We live in anger, hatred, envy, strife, 
 Still firmly hoping for eternal life ; 
 Arid where the streams of Christian love should flow, 
 Tlie root of bitterness is ;eft to grow ; 
 Ixesis'iing evil, indisposed to bi-ook 
 A word of insult or a scornful look ; 
 And speak the language of the world in all 
 Except the challenge and the leaden ball ! 
 
 What if, mistrustful cf its latent worth. 
 We hide our single talent in the earth! 
 And what if self is pamper'd, not denied! 
 V\hat ii the fle-jh is never crucified! 
 AVhat if the world be hidden in the heart, — 
 Will it be " Come, yc blessed/" or '^ Di'part ."'' 
 
 Who then shail conquer ? who maintain the fight J 
 Even they that walk by faith and not by sight; 
 Wiio, liaving w;u.h'd their robes and made them white, 
 '2 c
 
 194 
 
 Press tow'rds the mark, and see the promised land. 
 Not dim and distantly, but near at hand. 
 — We are but marching down a sloping hill, 
 Without a momenl's time for standing still ; 
 Where every step accelerates the pace, 
 More and more rapid till we reach the base; 
 And then, no clinging to the yielding dust ! 
 An ocean rolls below, and plunge we must. 
 What plainer language labours to express. 
 Thus metaphoric is allow'd to dress ; 
 And this but serves on naked truth to throw 
 That hazy, indistinct, and distant glow. 
 Through which we wish the future to appear, 
 Not as it is indeed — true, awful, near. 
 
 And yet, amid the hurry, toil and strife. 
 The claims, the urgencies, the whirl of life, — 
 The soul — perhaps in silence of the night — 
 Has flashes — transient intervals of light ; 
 When things to come, without a shade of doubt, 
 In terrible reality stand out. 
 Those lucid moments suddenly present 
 A glance of truth, as though the heavens were rent; 
 And through the chasm of pure celestial light. 
 The future breaks upon the startled sight ; 
 Life's vain pursuits, and Time's advancing pace. 
 Appear, with death-bed clearness, face to face ; 
 And Immortality's expanse sublime. 
 In just proportion to the speck of time : 
 \Miile Death, uprising from the silent shades. 
 Shows his dark outline ere the vision fades ; 
 In strong relief against the blazing sky. 
 Appears the shadow as it passes by : 
 And, though o'erwhelming to the dazzled brain. 
 These are the moments when the mind is sane ;
 
 105 
 
 For then a hope of heaven, a Saviour's cross, 
 Seem what they are, and all things else but loss. 
 Oh ! to be ready — ready for that day. 
 Would vrc not give earth's fairest toys away ] 
 Alas ! how soon its interests cloud the view. 
 Rush in, and plunge us in the world anew. 
 
 The quiet chamber where the Christian sleeps, 
 And where from year to year he prays and weeps ; 
 Whence, in the midnight watch his thoughts arise 
 To those bright mansions where his treasure lies, 
 — How near it is to all that Faith can see ! 
 How short and peaceful may his passage be I 
 One beating pulse, — one feeble struggle o'er. 
 May open wide the everlasting door. 
 Yes, for that bliss unspeakable, unseen. 
 Is ready, and the veil of flesh between 
 A gentle sigh may rend, — and then display 
 The broad full splendour of an endless daj-. 
 — This bright conviction elevates his mind ; 
 He presses forward, leaving all behind ; 
 Thus from his throne the tyrant foe is hurl'd, 
 — This is the faith that overcomes the world. 
 
 Jane Tayloe. 
 
 WAR. 
 
 " Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the king- 
 dom of heaven :" (Matt. V. 3). By which poorness of 
 spirit is to be understood a disposition of mind, meek, 
 humble, submissive to power, void of ambition, patient 
 of injuries, and free from ail resentment. This was so 
 new, and so opposite to the ideas of all Pagan moralists,
 
 196 
 
 that they thought this temper of mind a criminal anci 
 contemptible meanness, which must induce men to 
 sacrifice the glorj^ of their country, and their own honour, 
 to a shameful pusillanimity; and such it appears to 
 almost all who are called Christians even at this day, 
 who not only reject it in practice, hut disavow it in 
 principle, notwithstanding this explicit declaration of 
 their Master. We see them revenging the smallest 
 affronts by premeditated murder, as individuals, ou 
 principles of honour ; and, in their national capacities, 
 destroying each other with fire and sword, for the low 
 considerations of commercial interests, the balance of 
 rival powers, or the ambition of princes. We see them 
 with their last breath animating each other to a savage 
 revenge, and, in the agonies of death, plunging with 
 feeble arms their daggers into the hearts of their oppo- 
 nents: and, what is still worse, we hear all these bar- 
 barisms celebrated by historians, flattered by poets, 
 applauded in theatres, approved in senates, and even 
 sanctified in pulpits. But universal practice cannot 
 alter the nature of things, nor universal error change 
 the nature of truth. Pride was not made for man, but 
 humility, meekness, and resignation ; that is poorness of 
 spirit, was made for man, and properly belongs to his 
 dependent and precarious situation; and is the only 
 disposition of mind, which can enable him to enjoy ease 
 and quiet here, and hai:piness hereafter. Yet was this 
 important precept entirely unknown, until it was pro- 
 mulgated by him, who said, " Suffer little children to 
 come unto me, and forbid them not ; for of such is the 
 kingdom of heaven : Verily I say unto you, whoever 
 shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, 
 he shall not enter therein," (Matt. x. 14.) 
 
 Another precept, equally new and no less excellent,
 
 197 
 
 is forgiveness of injuries : " Yo liare heard," says Christ 
 to his disciples, " Thou slialt love thy neighbour, and 
 hate thine enemy : but I say unto you, love your ene- 
 mies; bless them that curse you, do good to them that 
 hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, 
 and persecute you." (Matt. v. 43.) This was a lesson 
 so new, and so utterly unknown, until taught by his 
 doctrines, and enforced by his example, that the wisest 
 moralists of the wisest nations and ages represented the 
 desire of revenge as a mark of a noble mind, and the 
 accomplishment of it as one of the chief felicities attend- 
 ant on a fortunate man. But how much more magnani- 
 mous, how much more benetlcial to mankind, is forgive- 
 ness ! it is more magnanimous, because every generous 
 and exalted disposition of the human mind is requisite 
 to the practice of it : for these alone can enable us to 
 bear the wrongs and insults of wickedness and folly with 
 patience, and to look doAvn on the perpetrators of them 
 with pity, rather than indignation ; these alone can 
 teach us, that such are but a part of those sufl'erings 
 allotted to us in this state of probation, and to know, 
 that to overcome evil with good, is the most glorious of 
 all victories : it is the most beneficial, because this 
 amiable conduct alone can put an end to an eternal 
 succession of injuries and retaliations ; for every retalia- 
 tion becomes a new injury, and requires another act 
 of revenge for satisfaction. But would we observe 
 this salutary precept, to love our enemies, and to 
 do good to those who despitefully use us, this obsti- 
 nate benevolence would at last conquer the most 
 inveterate hearts, and we should have no enemies 
 to forgive. How much more exalted a character there- 
 fore is a Christian martyr, suffering with resignation, 
 and praying for the guilty, than that of a Pagan hero.
 
 198 
 
 breathing revenge, and destroying the innocent! Yet 
 noble, and useful as this virtue is, before the appearance 
 of this religion it Avas not only unpractised, but decried 
 in principle as mean and ignominious, though so obvious 
 a remedy for most of the miseries of this life, and so 
 necessary a qualification for the happiness of another. 
 
 SoAME Jenyns. 
 
 RACHEL.— A TRUE STORY. 
 
 The following affecting incident was commu7iicated tothc 
 Author during his residence at Rome; and since he 
 returned, confirmuiivn of the fact has appeared from 
 several quarters. JVothing is added in the Poem to 
 the real Narrative : the simple truth has been adhered 
 to throughout, 
 
 "WiuKE rolls Ohio's widening wave 
 
 Through wa-tes of i)athlcss wood, 
 A lone majestic mansion pave 
 
 Its shadow o'er the flood. 
 
 Bright was the roof, when morning smil'd, 
 
 And woke the sleeping gale : 
 Grey rose the walls, when evening mild 
 
 Let fall her starry veil. 
 
 A stranger chose the wild retreat, 
 
 And there assayed to find. 
 If ought in solitude were sweet 
 
 To soothe an aching mind.
 
 199 
 
 He lov'd the lofty'eliff to climb ; 
 
 Or saunter hours away, 
 Where headlong cataracts sublime 
 
 Bounded in sheets of spray. 
 
 From crag to crag, and rock to rock, 
 
 Lost in the yawn below ; 
 While groves that trembled at the shock, 
 
 Frown'd o'er their foainiug snow ! 
 
 lie thought he might in Nature trace 
 
 The ichole of Nature's God ; 
 Yet ne'er had known the Saviour's face. 
 
 Who bought him with his blood : 
 
 For he was one of JuJah's tribe. 
 
 The Lord of Life who slew ; 
 Nor wealth could wiu, nor beauty bribe, 
 
 The worship of the Jew. 
 
 Ilis heart ador'd an only child 
 Bright as the morning flower. 
 
 Whose mother faded e'er she smil'd — 
 The parent of an hour; 
 
 Yet this sweet gage of love was left, 
 And grew a matchless maid ; 
 
 For oft in her the sire bereft. 
 Beheld her mother's sliade. 
 
 Her form Avas moulded as her mind, 
 And that like heav'n was fair ; 
 
 Yet nought of this her heart divin'd. 
 Nor knew a charm was there.
 
 200 
 
 As silvery clouds at eventide 
 
 Float on the balmy gale. 
 Nor seem to heed the stars they hide 
 
 Behind their fleecy veil ; 
 
 So modest sense of humble worth, 
 Fresh beauties o'er her threw; 
 
 For she least conscious seem'd on earth 
 Of all the i)raise she drew. 
 
 Now thrice five years, with silent flii^ht, 
 
 Unmark'd had pass'd away, 
 "VVheii, lo ! a ray of heav'nlj- light 
 
 Turn'd darkness into day. 
 
 For all the forms that beauty gilds, 
 
 Shall fade, and die, and cease ; 
 And 'tis the heart, when chang'd that yields 
 
 The fruits of joy and peace. 
 
 She heard a Saviour's name, and felt 
 
 That all beside was dross ; 
 Then wash'd her soul, and left its guilt 
 
 Suspended on his cross. 
 
 ■ 'Tv, as well ; for now Consumption's worm 
 
 Had l.ush'd her warbling lay, 
 Vv'ither'd the freshness of her form. 
 
 And snatch'd its bloom away. 
 
 Yet oft a feverish hectic flash 
 
 Its silent sign betray'd. 
 Like roses o'er a tomb that b'ush 
 
 And m.jck the grave thoy sl-ude.
 
 201 
 
 One evening, when the dart of death 
 
 Seem'd pointed at her breast, 
 His Rachel, ere had ceas'd her breath, 
 
 Her father thus address'd ! — 
 
 " My father ! dost thou love me now ?" 
 
 And Mhile the sufferer spake, 
 A gathering cloud o ercast his brow. 
 
 As if his heart would break, 
 
 " Say, dost thou love me ?" — deep he sigh"' 
 
 Then wept and sigh'd again ; 
 For grief had like a torrent's tide 
 
 Gulph'd him in speechless pain. 
 
 And yet, once more, like Peter's Lord, 
 
 Whom Peter thrice denied, 
 A third time she pronounc'd the word; 
 
 A third time, thus applied — 
 
 *' Forg;ve me, father, dost thou love 
 
 Me, thine unworthy child .'" 
 Amazement chok'd his voice, and drove 
 
 His soul with anguish m ild : 
 
 Till vords a channel found, and flow'd, 
 
 Oppress'd with rising tears — 
 " For thee." he cried, " my all bestow'd 
 
 Too small a price appears. 
 
 "Ask what thou wilt : thy last request 
 
 1 never can deny !" 
 The promise seem'd to soothe her breail. 
 
 And won her meek reply. —
 
 203 
 
 " Dark is the hour of dcatli to those 
 
 VN'ho feel no Saviour near : 
 His smile alone affords repose, 
 
 And dries tlie latest tear. 
 
 " His name is Jesus ? and He died 
 
 Upon the Cross for you : 
 The God— the Man— the Crucified— 
 
 For Gentile and for Jew. 
 
 " And oh ! my father, give that love 
 
 Thou hast afforded me, 
 To him wlio intercedes above 
 
 And jjave his blood for thee ! 
 
 " I know but little ; yet that word, 
 
 Jesus, to me is sweet : 
 I go to call this Saviour, Lord, 
 
 And worsliip at liis feet. 
 
 " So shall we meet, when time is o'er. 
 
 In his eternal home ; 
 That blissful and celestial shore, 
 
 Where parting ne'er shall come !" 
 
 Her voice had fail'd ; yet still her tongue 
 
 Faulter'd the holy name. 
 Until she join'd the glorious song 
 
 Of Moses and the Lamb ! 
 
 Her father too, ere long, shall reach 
 
 The sacred choirs above : 
 For grace, which every heart can teach 
 
 Has chang'd the Jew's to love.
 
 COS 
 
 No more he sighs, because bcrcav'd 
 
 Of Tier he soon shall see : 
 But joys to have at last rcceiv'd 
 
 The faith of Calvary '. 
 
 Matthew Bridges. 
 
 THE IMAGE OF HIS CREATOR IN MAN. 
 
 Tins 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 tlunk 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 reaching for- 
 ward, 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 fancy 
 a ^d delight his hopes. Visions of celestial 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, aud un-
 
 204 
 
 profitable." And what is the fact 1 Let every man 
 iudge himself how his natural heart shrinks from the 
 contemplation of a future state of being ; how he shud- 
 ders to look into eternity, as into some dreary and bot- 
 tomless pit. "What a cold and dismal thing does immor- 
 tality appear ; and what a refreshment it is to his spirits 
 to withdraw 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 from week to week, or for one 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, aiid this Utile 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 for- 
 gotten. 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 beyond which it 
 must not dare to pass ; — every animal knows the horrie 
 that kind nature has provided — "the ox knoweth his
 
 205 
 
 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 OUT 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 house. 
 This naked expectation of immortality, while we see no 
 beauty in it, that we should desire it — while we are feed- 
 ing on ashes, and have lost our relish for immortal food 
 — is one of the fragments of God's image ; it shows that 
 it once existed, and that it now is broken. 
 
 But look again, and observe all the astonishing facul- 
 ties of man ; his leason, 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 
 ingenuity he can invent and contrive ; with what judg- 
 ment 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 drunken- 
 ness of which brutes are incapable ; nay, sometimes 
 "glorying in his shame," and boasting of having thus 
 spoiled the good work of God I Observe him next, in- 
 flamed with lust, and plunged into profligacy and de- 
 bauchery, and making the eternal soul, that has been 
 armed with such glorious faculties, the servant and slave
 
 206 
 
 of his perishable body. Observe him rioting in hatred, 
 malignity, and revenge, and admitting the dark passions 
 of an evil spirit into the soul that ihe Almighty had made 
 to be an habitation for himself. 
 
 Measure now this creature -with himself; the Avon- 
 derful 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 Avild 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 inhabitant, unwilling 
 to leave even the ruins of the palace which he once had 
 occupied; a voice that " reasons of righteousness, tem- 
 perance, and judgment to come;" that sometimes 
 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 murmurs 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 caii 
 never be recovered, of au 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 axiA 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 arc treading ; it 
 cannot fill us with heavenly dispositions ; it cannot make
 
 207 
 
 us look forward ^vith delight to scones of future gloiy. 
 Alas ! this is beyond the power of conscience ; it serves 
 to reproach, but cannot restore; — it is but a ghost 
 among the ruins, — but a voice among the tombs ; it is 
 a poor remnant 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-creatures. 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 hallelujalis. Then hear the 
 falsehood, the deceit, the prevarication issuing through 
 the channel where truth should for ever fio\^ ; then hear 
 the impure 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 bru- 
 talise it withui ; then listen to the scandal, the malice, 
 the invective, and the recrimination, upon the tongue to 
 which God gave the eloquence of affection and benevo- 
 lence, and the music of pity and consolation ; then attend 
 to the lips that can be eloquent and voluble on every 
 subject but one, — that can descant 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 
 fiue-spuu sentiment of the miad ; but if the great God
 
 208 
 
 intrudes into conversation, his ways or his dispensations, 
 his mercies and his loving-kindnesses, 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 magnificent /;-ao- 
 ment of that illustrious image ; enough to shew that it 
 once existed, and that now it is shivered and broken. 
 
 Wolfe. 
 
 ON SCEPTICAL LEVITY IN MATTERS OF 
 RELIGION. 
 
 I WOULD aifoctionately warn young men of the dan- 
 gers which attend a sceptical temper of mind. At no 
 time have we more reason than at present to dread the 
 desolating effects of such a tendency, and to lift up a 
 warning voice against it. We live in an age of light 
 and of science, and of great mental improvement. Intel- 
 lect has made, and is making, rapid advances. Science 
 is no longer confined to a privileged few. Its gates are 
 opened to the admission of all ; and our schools of arts, 
 and our institutions of philosophy, and our universities of 
 varied and expansive literature, are severally preferring 
 their claims with unexampled zeal and with astonishing 
 success. Do we deplore ? Do we hold that ignorance is 
 essential to civil obedience ? or that in the things of God 
 it is the mother of devotion ? Far from it. "V\'e can 
 never regret the zeal with which the gifts of God are 
 improved by man ; nor do we cherish any suspicion lest 
 too much intellect should be embarked iu the scale of 
 pity. Our fear is, lest knowledge should be separated 
 from religion : and we know not a more dan^rerous
 
 209 
 
 iTpapon in the hands of a fallen creature than unsancti- 
 fied knowledge. Our anxiety is, lest the religious 
 improvement of the age should not keep pace with its 
 improvement in science ; and hence the hazard to which 
 young minds are exposed, when set afloat on the tide of 
 speculation without the regulating compass of enlight- 
 ened and steady principle- 
 After all, we have perhaps more to fear from the 
 grossness of vulgar infidelity than from the speculative 
 scepticism of science. By no feature has the aspect of 
 our times been more painfully characterised than by the 
 bold and reckless hostility of ungodly men to all the 
 sacreduess and all the purity of the Gospel. Boasting 
 of a freedom from ordinary prejudices, they are them- 
 selves the victims of a prejudice the most determined 
 against the holy mysteries and the lofty precepts of reve- 
 lation. And hence it is that in place of argument we 
 have ridicule. Instead of cool and impartial reasoning, 
 ^ve have scoffs and jeers at religion and its ministers. 
 Instead of a comprehensive and accurate survey of the 
 whole matter, we have a few difficulties magnified into 
 impossibilities ; the suggestions of ignorance and pre- 
 sumption swelled into the discoveries of enlightened 
 science; or the failings of Christian professors blazoned. 
 fvvth as irresistible conclusions against the truth of the 
 system which they profess to embrace. Were men 
 actuated by a sincere wish to discover the truth, it would 
 become a matter of pleasant duty to give a profound 
 attention to this objection, and to satisfy, if possible, 
 their scruples. But we fear that the enemies with 
 whom we have chiefly to deal, are, for the most part, 
 *' seated in the chair of the scornful ;" and therefore it 
 is, we warn the young against sceptical levitj- as alto- 
 gether opposed to soberness of niiud. Could we do 
 2 B
 
 210 
 
 nofhing moTO for Christianity than simply appeal to tho 
 host of great, and learned, and eminently worthy men, 
 •who, in all ages, have lived and died in the faith, andiu 
 the hope of it, this of itself should he sufficient to 
 silence the scoffs of small wits in the present day ; and 
 •we should deprecate that rash and unbecoming presump- 
 tion which can treat with contempt, or even indilTerence, 
 a scheme of doctrine which such mighty masters in 
 science as Newton and Locke, and Bacon and Boyle, 
 received and gloried in as "the pearl of great price." 
 But have we not a still surer ground of appeal in the 
 ■uncontradicted miracles of the Saviour and his apostles; 
 — in the train of connected prophecy most exactly ful- 
 filled, and yet fulfilling before our eyes ; — in the unex- 
 ampled success which attended the labours of the fisher- 
 men of Galilee ; — in the sublimity and purity of the 
 apostolic doctrine ; — in the great moral change which it 
 has produced on the world ; — and in the practical expe- 
 rience of its power and efficacy as displayed in the cha- 
 racters and lives of good men ? In opposition to all 
 this, and much more, shall the minds of young men be 
 perverted by the poisonous breath of infidelity ? and 
 shall that be termed freedom of thinking, in which 
 there seems to be no thinking at all ? " Young men, we 
 exhort you to be sober minded." Take a calm and cool 
 survey of the evidences of truth. Acquaint yourselves 
 accurately with the whole scheme of revelation. Search 
 the Scriptures diligently, comparing one part of thera 
 with another ; and marking, as you go along, the proofs 
 they exhibit of their divinity. Let your course of 
 religious reading, and even of your general reading, be 
 such as will furnish you with information that may 
 satify your own minds, and enable you to satisfy the 
 enquiries of others. Avoid the company and conveisa-
 
 211 
 
 tiou of such as scoff at sacred things, and profanp the 
 name, and the day, and the ordinances of God. Prize 
 the sacred season of Sabbath, as the most precious oppor- 
 tunity of at once enlarging your understandings and 
 improving your hearts, "Forsake not the assembling 
 of yourselves together," as the manner of too many is. 
 Listen to the ministers of religion and modesty, and a 
 desire of improvement. Devote the evenings of the 
 Lord's day to religious reading, meditation on -what you 
 have heard, spiritual converse, and private devotion. 
 Embrace the varied opportunities, which the Sabbath 
 schools, the pastoral classes, and the congregational and 
 school libraries present, for the enlargement of your 
 knowledge. Seek the company and the fellowship of 
 those who fear God, and who are sober and steady iu 
 their habits. Cherish a profound sense of the majesty 
 of God and the grandeur of eternity. Thus will you be 
 sobered in your views of things ; and thus will you be 
 enabled, by the agency of grace, to grow, "as trees 
 planted by rivers of water, and which bring forth fruit 
 in their season." 
 
 Dr. R. Burns. 
 
 'V\ISDOM, DIVINE AND HUMAN. 
 
 If we come to human wisdom and divine, we find 
 them, so far from agreeing as such, opposed to each 
 other both in principles and practice; — in origin as well 
 as iu fruits. 
 
 For we either admit that there is a wisdom which 
 comes immediately from God, or we do not: If it be 
 not admitted, there is an end of all argument, so far as
 
 213 
 
 the rule and authority of Scripture, as a basis of reason- 
 ing, is concerned. If we admit it, we must believe, 
 that this wisdom is of a very different nature from that 
 ■which is earthly or natural, the product of human 
 reason. And the distinction is proved by their fruits. 
 
 The one is short-sighted, vain, contentious, and pre- 
 sumptuous. It puffs up the mind, and produces a lofti- 
 ness of deportment, which overlooks the unassuming 
 characteristics of a better wisdom: The fruits of divine 
 wisdom are meekness, gentleness, humility, peace, 
 mercy, charity, and brotherly kindness. 
 
 Between such opposite fruits there can be no possible 
 agreement. And we are told distinctly, the one is of 
 earth and the other from above. Consequently, the 
 increase of one is the decrease of the other. Now if it 
 be argued, that such opposite kinds of wisdom are iden- 
 tified in their source, and differ only in degree ; is it not 
 easy to perceive that every manifestation of Divine 
 truth will be in danger of being rejected, which does not 
 come in the form of a regular proposition, or strike the 
 mind with that clearness of outward evidence, which, 
 we are told, every one is bound to receive, before he 
 gives his assent? 
 
 For if the outward evidence seem weak, and the ap- 
 pearance mean, as did that of Christ to the Jews, the 
 lordly powers of reason may be expected to dismiss the 
 humble visitant with something like this declaration, 
 ^' we will not have this man to rule over us." And, it 
 is clear, if divine light should ever insinuate itself into 
 the soul of man, by gentle approaches, without any 
 ostentatious display, it must inevitably be withstood by 
 these arrogant centinels, who thus constitute themselves 
 watchmen duly authorised to challenge every unexpected, 
 intrusion, and to admit none but a special ambassador.
 
 213 
 
 tearing his credentials in hisrh state. Some have taught 
 us to believe that the situation of mind best fitted to 
 receive this heavenly visitation and to profit by it, is 
 that of humble adoration, and meek dependence on the 
 mercy of providence, in which the wisdom of man is 
 laid prostrate in the presence of divine power; so that 
 the mind is made willing to receive, as a free boon of 
 grace, the smallest testimonial of the Almighty ruler's 
 compassionfate regard : — But, between this oi)inion and 
 that previously stated, the difference is wide indeed. 
 
 From all that has been said, therefore, I think it must 
 be evident, that the mind, when livingly and effectively 
 employed in seeking divine truth, and appropriating 
 it to true spiritual union, is placed in a situation very 
 different from that in which it is thought to be best 
 qualified to collect, arrange, and establish, the jirinciples 
 of speculative knowledge 0/ any i-mc7. Its powers are 
 differently engaged, and the immediate effect of this 
 knowledge is to fill the head, instead of adding true 
 spiritual substance, which can alone produce the fruit 
 of righteousness in the meekness of tcisdom. 
 
 In the one case there appears to be more of intellectual 
 passiveness than activity : In the other more of crea- 
 turely activity. Yet the mind itself is not wholly passive ;■ 
 for the spiritual senses are awakened and exercised in 
 warm and living aspirations to the source of wisdom. It 
 is only those active principles which would oppose the 
 admission of this heavenly messenger into the mind that 
 must be silenced. And human wisdom was never yet 
 freely disposed to open the gate in submissive meekness 
 to that wisdom which is from above. It is naturally 
 too curious and inquisitive, and suspicious, and withal 
 too self-important for such an ofRce. For it is not the 
 nature of this diviuc wisdom to make it3 cutrauoo Milh
 
 211 
 
 clisplay and pomp and great assumption of authority. 
 It comes in humility, and in humility must be received, 
 or it quickly departs, 
 
 "What man may attain by his own po^ve^, he claims as 
 his own right; and is too apt to look upon the faculties 
 by which he makes discoveries and ascertains physical 
 and moral laws, in their exercise at least, as if they Avere 
 independent of his Maker. But if the grace and spirit 
 of God be a free gift, — an unconstrained illumination 
 which is vouchsafed according to certain dispositions in 
 the moral agent, — a fact we must believe, if we believe 
 the Scripture, then it is impossible for man to attain it 
 by his own power and to claim it as his own right. For 
 the sum of all his learning, even if it were to consist of 
 unmixed speculative truth in divine mysteries, could 
 amount to no more than this ; that he had a knowledge 
 of his duties, of the object of his being, of his Maker's 
 attributes, and of some of the revealed glories of the 
 heavenly kingdom, of his natural infirmites, and of the 
 divine assistance on certain conditions being freely 
 offered him. After the attainment of all this knowledge, 
 it would still be incumbent upon him to put so much of 
 it as concerned him in practice, to the very letter, in his 
 own individual experience, and to exhibit, in " the 
 meekness of wisdom," the /rw^Y* of peace and righte- 
 ousness. 
 
 It is therefore a high attainment of reason to know 
 that it is not by arguments, however clear and just, and 
 unanswerably deduced, that man can succeed in reaching 
 heaven. Though reason may teach him to know the 
 way, he must tread the path by another guide. A man 
 may study the principles of navigation in his closet, he 
 may know the latitude of different places, and the course 
 he ought to steer,, and after much traverse sailing; be pre-
 
 215 
 
 pared to find his exact situation. But when laundicd on 
 the ocean, if he does not keep an ever-watchful and steady 
 eye upon his compass — an instrument which he may 
 not have occasion to see when learning the science — 
 mysterious and inexplicable in its movements, yet, with 
 some trifling exceptions, an unerring guide — he will 
 run a thousand risks of utter destruction. And thus it 
 it is when launched on the ocean of life ; though the 
 mind may have been prepared with a knowledge of the 
 right course and of its many difficulties, nothing but 
 vigilant attention to an interior guide can preserve it 
 from ruin. So that, as the pointings of this guide do 
 not wholly supersede the outward knowledge ; on the 
 other hand, the acquirements of outward knowledge 
 do not supersede this invisible direction. For as the 
 animal powers, however perfect, do not in man super- 
 sede the use of the intellectual faculty, so this faculty, 
 however perfect, does not supersede the exercise of the 
 animal powers. The head cannot say to the foot, I have 
 no need of thee ; nor reason to sense, I have no need of 
 thee ; nor the spiritual faculty to reason, I have uo need 
 of thee. 
 
 But Reason, in its vanity of research, and capacity 
 of comprehension, is ever seeking to know more of divine 
 mysteries than God has seen meet to reveal. As a power 
 purely speculative, it is always soaring above the meek 
 testimony with which divine truth gently solicits the 
 humble mind. Hence, by its very constitution, it is 
 disposed to rival, as it were, and set itself against. 
 Omniscience. 
 
 If reason, or the unassisted powers of human re- 
 search, had been sufficient for the highest duties of our 
 moral nature ; no revelation, whether ordinary or extra- 
 ordinary, natural or supernatural, hud been necessary.
 
 216 
 
 But an extraordinary revelation having unquestionably 
 teen made, to say nothing of ordinary, it follows that 
 reason is not to be considered, and was not, sufficient. 
 
 Therefore, as it was not sufficient, and yet may have 
 its uses, it would be very desirable to know the precise 
 limits within which its lawful interference is circum- 
 scribed, according to that saying of Bacon, " Here, 
 therefore, I note this deficience, that there hath not been 
 to my understanding sufficiently inquired and handed, 
 the true limits and use of reason in spiritual things. " 
 At the same time it is not likely that they can be clearly 
 defined; when we consider what delicate distinctions 
 the natural use, lawful use, and necessary use, of any 
 faculty which God has given to man, necessariij- involve. 
 And when we come to that, which, ever restless in its 
 inquiries, presumes even to search into the secret coun- 
 sels of the Almighty, and compare it with the meek 
 intelligencer of the heart, it is no wonder that we should 
 find many persons unwilling to abate of its pretensions, 
 and ready to undervalue the intimations of an instructor 
 so very opposite. It is no wonder that the relation of 
 knowledge to practical piety, though in themselves en- 
 tirely distinct, should be thought to approximate so 
 close as to establish an indissoluble affinity ; and tliat 
 the attainment of one should be thought an indis- 
 pensable help to the exercise of the other. But, though 
 they are distinct, the attempt to establish an ex- 
 clusive exercise either way, in the present state of 
 man — as wholly on the side of reason, or wholly on 
 the side of revelation — is only another instance of thai 
 disposition to extremes to which we are so generally 
 prone, — a disposition which is not satisfied with adopt- 
 ing a simple truth, but supposes the adoption of it must 
 infer the rejection of another truth: because there have
 
 217 
 
 been superficial reasoners, -who have contended with 
 each other, in a spirit of opposition, as the avowed advo- 
 cates of each opinion exclusively. 
 
 The human mind without knowledge, is in the state 
 of the brute animal : and again. Piety without know- 
 ledge is a state almost inconceivable ; for he that cometh 
 to God must know that he exists. To be operated upon 
 by the power of the Deity without knowing it, and to 
 be unconscious of design, harmony, and order, is the* 
 state of l)lind impulse or instinct, analogous to that of 
 the stone, vegetable, and wonder-working insect. 
 
 It is, however, certain, that reason, which is properly 
 the instrument of human knowledge, cannot be more 
 nobly or usefully employed, than in directing the view 
 of the mind to that which was sent as a better guide to 
 aid its natural imbecility. 
 
 "When the divine author of the christian religion pro- 
 mulgated his doctrines to the world, he referred his 
 disciples to the power and operation of his own spirit 
 in their hearts, and the multitude he taught in parables. 
 He taught them by analogical reasoning; because, it 
 seemed that no pure and spiritual truths, free from 
 earthly admixture, could be comprehended by any other 
 mode of explanation, or find so easy an entrance through 
 1 heir benighted reason, to the spark of divinity, almost 
 'iiothered as it was in the heap of traditions, customs, 
 !.;itional prejudices, and ceremonies. Ketold them "the 
 kingdom of heaven was within them," but he told them 
 by similes, which, unless thej' had been rational beings, 
 competent to perceive the relations of things, they could 
 not have understood. 
 
 Though conveyed with heavenly wisdom, and divinely 
 illustrated, and confirmed by mighty wonders, how 
 ixardl y did the light of his truth pierce the veil even in 
 2 F
 
 218 
 
 the hearts of his followers ; and how impenetrable were 
 the obstacles by which his wisdom and authority, and 
 miracles, were withstood, in the minds of the great, and 
 noble, and wise of this world ! Their reasonings were 
 interposed like a dark cloud between them and the sun 
 of righteousness ; and a thousand vague objections were 
 urged as arguments against his divine mission. Hence, 
 because they would neither see, nor hear, nor under- 
 stand, with their spiritual senses, though they saw and 
 heard, and reasoned, with their natural faculties, he 
 rejected them ; and chose the simple to confound the 
 wise, and the weak to confound the mighty. For he 
 counted the wisdom of the world as foolishness ; for as 
 much as the tcorld by its icisdom could not knoio God. 
 Wise as they were, these master-builders were rejected ; 
 they did not even know tJie cldef stone of the corner. 
 And we have many master-builders in the present day, 
 to whom this corner stone, elect and precious, is "a 
 stone of stumbling and rock of offence," as it appeared 
 formerly to the great Sanhedrim of the Jews — as much 
 perhaps, because its humble manifestation offends their 
 reason, as because the discipline of the cross, which it 
 enjoins, is a stumbling block in their way. 
 
 Here, then, we have two examples ; one in which reason 
 was employed, and another in which it was rejected. As 
 the outward senses were emploj-ed as inlets to the under- 
 standing, reason was only employed as an assistant in 
 opening the spiritual eye to perceive the excellence of the 
 precepts, value of the doctrines, the force and beauty of 
 divine truth ; as far as they could be seen through the 
 medium of outward things. As John pointed to the 
 ^Messiah, reason pointed to the Truth, the pure witness 
 in every then partially awakened soul. It instructed 
 the disciples as they had never berore been instructed,
 
 219 
 
 in the knov-lc(l!;e of a gift, which, through the matchless 
 favour of God, they themselves, and every living mortal, 
 possessed, in their own bosoms, — in the knowledge of a 
 seed implanted by the Creator, the foundation on which 
 they were to build their faith. It led them to the light, 
 but it was unable to do more : it could not impart to 
 them a ray, much less fill them with its glory : and it 
 left to them its guidance, — to self-denial, obedience, 
 faith, resignation, thanksgiving, prayer, and adoration. 
 It was employed as a meek and humble minister, Avhea 
 passion was still, and vain-glory was laid asleep, and 
 every talent was devoted to the Great Master's service. 
 
 Let us, on the other hand, consider under what cir- 
 cumstances, the reason, or prudence, or wisdom of man, 
 unenlightened by a divine teacher, was rejected. 
 
 It was rejected, when it presumed on learning and 
 tradition to know the way of salvation better than Truth 
 it-eif; to proscribe to its Author the terms, and mode, 
 and circumstance of his coming, on which alone it would 
 be pleased to admit the heavenly messenger. It was 
 rejected when it did not approach for divine instruction 
 i.i the docile state of a little child, or in the prostrate 
 attitude of a supplicant ; when it puffed up the soul with 
 vide, instead of bowing it with contrition. It was 
 : ■ ected when it put itself forth as the only instrument 
 of knowing divine things, and only medium of attaining 
 to heavenly virtue ; and closed up the narrow way to 
 that Seed of life and power in every heart, which could 
 only be quickened by the supernatural influence of the 
 San of Pvightcousucss himself. 
 
 T. Hancock.
 
 320 
 
 BRIDAL GREETINGS. 
 
 Ocean and land the globe divide ; 
 
 Summer and winter share the year ; 
 Darkness and light walk side by side ; 
 
 And earth and heaven are always near. 
 Though each be good and fair alone. 
 
 And glorious in its time and place. 
 In all, when fitly paired, is shown. 
 
 More of their Maker's power and grace. 
 
 Then may the union of young hearts. 
 
 So early and so well begun. 
 Like sea and shore, in all their parts, 
 
 Appear as twain, but be as one. 
 Be it like summer, — may they find 
 
 Bliss, beauty, hope, where'er they roam 
 Be it like winter, when confined, — 
 
 Peace, comfort, happiness, at home. 
 
 Like day and night — sweet interchange 
 
 Of care, enjoyment, action, rest; 
 Absence nor coldness e'e estrange 
 
 Hearts by unfailing love possest ; 
 Like earth's horizon be their dream 
 
 Of life, a rich and various ground ; 
 And whether lowering or serene, 
 
 Heaven all above it and around! 
 When land and ocean, day and night, — 
 
 When j-ears and nature cease to be, — ■ 
 May thoir inheritance be light, 
 
 Theii- union one eternity ! 
 
 MOXTGOMERY.
 
 221 
 
 A THOUGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE. 
 Beyond, beyond that boundless sea. 
 
 Above that dome of sky, 
 Further than thought itself can flee. 
 
 Thy dwelling is on high : 
 Yet dear the awful thought to me. 
 
 That thou, my God, art nigh : — 
 
 Art nigh, and yet my labouring mind 
 
 Feels after Thee in' vain. 
 Thee in these works of powevto find. 
 
 Or to thy seat attain. 
 Thy messenger, the stormy wind. 
 
 Thy path, the trackless main ; — 
 
 These speak of Thee with loud acclaim ; 
 
 They thunder forth thy praise. 
 The glorious honour of Thy name. 
 
 The wonders of Thy ways : 
 But Thou art not in tempest-flame. 
 
 Nor in day's glorious blaze. 
 
 We hear thy voice, when thunders roll. 
 Through the wide fields of air ; 
 
 The waves obey Thy dread control, 
 Yet still Thou art not there. 
 
 Where shall I find Him, O my soul. 
 Who yet is every where ? 
 
 O, not in circling depth, or hoii:ht, 
 
 But in the conscious broa^t. 
 Present to faith, though veilM from sight. 
 
 There does His Spirit rest. 
 O come, thou Presence Infinite, 
 
 And miike thy creature blcit, <'>
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 
 WiiE>' tliou art in thj- chamber, and thy knee 
 Is bow'd in love to the Omnipotent, 
 And when thy soul before his throne is bent, 
 
 Ask not for prosi^erous things; but pray, tliat ho 
 Will purify thee with the chastisement 
 Of earthly woe and trouble, which arc seat 
 
 To fit the high soul for etcrnily. 
 
 It is not in the summer tide of life 
 
 That the heart hoards its trcasuios : it is when 
 The storm is loud, and the rude hurricane 
 
 Of sorrow is abroad ; — when solemn strife, 
 Such as may move the souls of constant men. 
 Is struiu^iin r in our bosoms, it is then 
 
 Tho l,.;i. I r l-Ct'ts her stores with wisdom rife. 
 
 For sadness teaches us the truth of things 
 
 "Which had been hid beneath the crown of flowers 
 Which gladness wears ; and the few silent hours 
 
 Of quiet, heavenward tiimi lit which sorrow brings. 
 Are better than a IL o's bowers. 
 
 Drinking the poiso.:, ,. -.-_/.■- j which she pours. 
 
 To quench our heavenlicr spirits' murmurings. 
 
 Seelc thou the storms of life ; fly not the trial 
 
 That binds the conqueror's wreath upon thy brow ; 
 And faint not, though the tears of anguish flow, 
 
 And though upon thy head the angry vial 
 
 Of fate be pour'd : but with the conscious glow 
 Of honourable thought and deed below, 
 
 Look to that Power who watch'd thy self-denial. 
 
 II. R.
 
 223 
 
 HYMN OF THANKSGIVING FOR TUB 
 CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 
 
 Lord, thou art the God of time : thou art also the God 
 of eternity ! I will sing a joyous song to thy praise ; 
 I ^yill celebrate thy holy name. A year is about to 
 finish its course : to what do I owe the continuation of 
 my existence ? It is to thy grace alone, and to thy pa- 
 ternal love ! 
 
 Being of beings, receive my adoration ! Thou art 
 immutable : thcu hast been, thou art, and shalt be 
 through all eternity ! Thy love endures from gene- 
 ration to generation ; and each morning brings a renewal 
 of thy goodness ! 
 
 Thou hast led me by thy paternal care through the 
 year that is now ending: when my heart was preyed 
 upon by care and sorrow, thou visitedst it by thy con- 
 solation and assistance. I will praise thee and exalt 
 thee from the depths of my soul, and again commit my- 
 self to thy wise and unerring guidance. 
 
 Pardon, O my God, those innumerable errors, which 
 I have committed against thee in the days that are past ; 
 and let me again experience, for Jesus Christ's sake, 
 thy paternal support. Toach me to do thy will and thy 
 Iilcasure all the days of my life ! 
 
 The wor'.d passes away, audits pleasures disperse: it 
 is not in these, therefore, that I am to seek my happi- 
 ness. Even here below I may aspire to nob'er joy>:. 
 I am allied to angels, and heaven is my patrimony : — ■ 
 Grant, God, that I may ince.:sautlv aspire afr.-r :'. !
 
 H. SCOTT, PraXTER, ENGLISH STREET, CARLISLE.
 
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