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FRAGMENTS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 STUDY OF A PASTOR 
 
 BY 
 
 GARDINER SPRING, 
 
 PASTOR OF THE BRICK PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH TN THE CITY 
 OF NEW YORK. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 JOHN S. TAYLOR, 
 
 THEOLOGICAL AND SUNDAY SCHOOL BOOKSELLER, BRICK 
 CHURCH CHAPEL, 
 
 1838 
 

 Entered according to the Act of Congress in the year 1833, by John 3 
 Taylor, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United Slates, for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 

 CO NTE NTS. 
 
 No. I. The Church in the Wilderness. 
 
 No. II. Reflections on the New Year. 
 
 No. III. The Inquiring Meeting. 
 
 No. IV. Letter to a Young Clergyman. 
 
 No. V. The Panorama. 
 
 No. VI. Moral Gradation. 
 
 No. VII. The Useful Christian. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Every minister of the gospel who indulges himself in the 
 use of his pen beyond his weekly preparations for the 
 pulpit, has probably found no small amount of matter 
 unexpected 'y accumulating upon his hands, which 
 though inappropriate to the services of the Sanctuary, is 
 in his partial judgment too valuable to be thrown away. 
 The writer of this little volume challenges for it nothing 
 more than what it purports to be. — " Fragments from the 
 study of a Pastor." They are truly parts broken off 
 from the mass — small detached portions, collected by an 
 occasional employment of those leisure hours, and frag- 
 ments of time which have remained after the more 
 serious duties of the week have been discharged. 
 
 The taste of the age is too obviously unfitted for 
 heavy reading and continuous thought. And yet, it 
 has been the wish of the author that these pages should 
 present important truth. And he will feel not a little 
 gratified, if the event should justify the conclusion that 
 religious instruction is here conveyed to some minds to 
 which it might otherwise have no access. 
 
 Some of the pieces here presented will be recognized 
 by those who belong to the author's pastoral charge. 
 The first and third were publicly read, several years 
 
VI. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ago, at his weekly lecture of a Thursday evening- 
 He was solicited at the time to publish them. They 
 have since been revised, and however imperfect, are, he 
 hopes, better adapted to do good. 
 
 The " Inquiring meeting" is substantially founded in 
 fact, so far as it regards the instances of religious im- 
 pression. With some exceptions, of the reality of which 
 the writer has the most satisfactory evidence, they have 
 all fallen under his own immediate observation. With 
 all their incidents, they may be confided in as a true 
 narrative. The letter to a young clergyman was sug. 
 gested by a correspondence with one of his junior 
 brethren in the ministry, and was subsequently thrown 
 into the form of an address to the students of the 
 Theological Seminary at Princeton, at their semi-annual 
 examination in the Spring of the present year. 
 
 The whole is submitted to the public eye with hesita- 
 tion, yet with some hope that it may be useful. If a single 
 child of God should hereby be refreshed and comforted; 
 if any poor Prodigal should be induced to return to his 
 Father's house where there is bread enough and to spare ; 
 if any of the lambs of the flock that have been driven 
 away should be restored, or any sick healed; these frag- 
 ments will not have been gathered up in vain. 
 
 New York, July 1838. 
 
No. I 
 
 THE CHURCH IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 I was crossing a narrow strip of land which 
 lies upon the frontiers of France and Italy, where 
 the Alps, without losing their loftiness and sub- 
 limity, begin to incline toward the Mediterranean, 
 and occasionally put on an appearance of fresh- 
 ness and verdure. I had resolved, if possible, to 
 ascend Mont Viso. Though not so high as Mont 
 Blanc, yet from its solitary and isolated position, 
 it presents a more imposing appearance of gran- 
 deur. It stands almost alone ; and like a colossal 
 pyramid, rises high above the various crests, and 
 peaks, and ridges which surround its base. It 
 presented to my mind the aspect of some huge 
 beacon towering amid the storm ; and the strange 
 irregularity of the scenery gave strength to the 
 impression. It seemed as though the heaving, 
 angry ocean had been here arrested in the ex- 
 treme fury of its tempest, and as if the power 
 
8 THE CHURCH 
 
 which had caused, had suddenly stilled its ter- 
 rors, and bound it in solid and enduring chains. 
 Inconstancy and change seemed strongly repre- 
 sented in constant and changing forms — the very 
 emblem of mutability fixed as it might seem im- 
 mutable. 
 
 Already had I ascended far up the mountain, 
 and all the beautiful plain of Italy was spread out 
 before me. That immense reservoir of waters, 
 that well-known extent of gardens and cities, of 
 wealth and splendour, which the heroes of ancient 
 and modern times pointed out to their soldiers as 
 the reward of perseverance and victory, glittered 
 upon my eye. At the foot of the mountain, on 
 the one side, had once stood the elephants of 
 Hannibal and the armies of Francis the First ; on 
 the other, the forces of Caesar, Charlemagne, and 
 Napoleon. So vivid was my fancy, it almost 
 seemed that I could hear the sullen tramp of their 
 legions ; and the rushing of the streams around 
 me seemed disturbed by the fording of their 
 thronging cavalry, and all the tumult of a hurried 
 march. I looked almost to see the Roman eagle 
 hovering over their steps, or the lillies of France 
 trembling to the mountain air. 
 
 The continued and almost unbroken stillness of 
 the scene recalled me from this vision of the past. 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 9 
 
 All this glory and greatness had departed. Sooner 
 will the first drops which issued from these torrents, 
 come back from the vast ocean in which they are 
 mingled, and flow again from their source, than 
 aught of all this life and renown return, to trouble 
 or astonish the scene on which they once played 
 so conspicuous and interesting a part. Yet I 
 dwelt long, and with singular pleasure on the 
 names of those illustrious heroes. And who does 
 not, as he crosses the Alps 7 
 
 It was with a feeling of self-reproach that I 
 turned at last to think of others. The glory and 
 splendour of this world had first taken possession 
 of my mind, while true worth and piety had also 
 their monuments near me. I was standing in the 
 retreat of the ancient Vandois. 
 
 " Few remember them. They lived unknown, 
 
 " Till persecution dragged them into fame, 
 "And chased them up to heaven." 
 
 From the eminence from which I surveyed them, 
 four beautiful vallies spread themselves before me 
 something in the form of a fan, converging from 
 the distance, and terminating almost in a point 
 near the spot where I stood. I had heard of this 
 asylum of the faithful as the region of barrenness 
 
10 THE CHURCH 
 
 and ice. I had read of it as a desert environed 
 with frightful precipices, and protected by eternal 
 snows. But such was not the scene on which I 
 gazed. A beautiful sky spread its blue arch 
 above. The verdure was springing- from the sides 
 of the mountain, scantily it is true, but for that the 
 more welcome. The valley below seemed spread 
 with a carpet of rich emerald, wrought in with 
 the brightest flowers. Nor were the light and life 
 of civilization wanting to complete the picture. 
 Scattered villages and villas were seen at intervals, 
 and every where the vine and the fig tree enriched 
 the plain. The Po and the Dora too, with their 
 almost innumerable branches were wildly urging 
 their waters down the rocks and through the 
 crevices of the mountains, till you might see them 
 quietly stealing to the vallies and mingle with the 
 streams below. 
 
 I stood gazing, sometimes at the naked and bar- 
 ren cliffs of some distant promontory ; sometimes at 
 mountains that lifted their snowy summits where 
 the eagle is never seen to soar ; and sometimes at 
 the enchanting plain beneath. And are these the 
 rocks, said I, which looked down upon those san- 
 guinary persecutions ? Are these the mountains 
 whence vibrated those songs of salvation that 
 indicated to the foe the retreut of the faithful ? 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 1L 
 
 Are these the streams once stained with the blood 
 of the saints 7 Are these the v allies from which 
 ascended in many a mingled column the flames 
 of the faggot^ the supplications and sighs of the 
 martyrs, and the fiend-like exultation of their 
 destroyers ? I felt as though I .were surveying 
 the monuments of deeds in which one scarce 
 knows which had the pre-eminence, — the faith 
 and constancy of the victims, or the fury of their 
 fierce persecutors. Here once dwelt a small, poor, 
 forgotten people ; a people, weak indeed, but full 
 of that faith which wrought righteousness, ob- 
 tained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, 
 escaped the edge of the sword. Here dwelt a 
 people whose glory shone brightest in their tribu- 
 lations, and to whom it was entrusted to preserve 
 the purity of the faith through centuries of dark- 
 ness, when barbarous nations ravaged and de- 
 stroyed all around them, making no distinction 
 between what was sacred and what was profane. 
 And here still dwelt the descendants of that same 
 people, in all the peculiarity of their language, 
 habits and manners, as well as in all the integrity 
 of that faith which has survived the revolution of 
 empires, and which is still destined to travel down 
 the descent of time, and as successive ages roll on, 
 
 2* 
 
12 THE CHURCH 
 
 exert a reforming and purifying influence over the 
 world. 
 
 And can this be the place, thought I, where the 
 "Woman, described in the Apocalypse, hath a 
 place prepared of God, where she is nourished 
 for a time, and times, and half a time, from the 
 face of the Serpent ? While this inquiry was 
 passing through my mind, I was lost in contem- 
 plation. My thoughts became irregular and wild. 
 My imagination wandered, I knew not whither. 
 Whether it were that sleep overtook me on the 
 mountain, and what followed was the fancy of a 
 dream, or whether a waking vision occupied my 
 senses, I am unable to tell. 1 seemed raised in 
 spirit above the world ; and yet my hopes and 
 fears were strangely connected with its spiritual 
 welfare and prosperity. A subject upon which I 
 had thought, and read, and conversed often, 
 weighed upon my bosom, and filled it with deep 
 and serious reflection. My anxious mind brooded 
 over it, as some busy, restless fancy, waking to 
 the roar of the tempest, pictures to itself evils 
 which nothing can remedy or relieve. 
 
 I trembled for the Ark of God. Errors, deeply 
 ruinous in doctrine and practice, were inducing 
 desolation and decay. A smooth theology had 
 taken the place of those wholesome truths which 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 13 
 
 have in every age been the wisdom of God, and 
 the power of God to salvation. The meekness of 
 wisdom was superseded by a vaunting and arro- 
 gant spirit ; and means and measures were making 
 progress in the church, which threatened to burn 
 over her fairest borders, and leave them like a 
 land that could not be tilled, or sown, or eared, or 
 harvested for generations to come. I saw col- 
 lisions of sentiment distracting: the minds and di- 
 
 CD 
 
 viding the counsels of those who were once 
 joined together in the same mind and the same 
 judgment. I saw also chilling alienations among 
 those who once loved as brethren ; while the 
 peaceful spirit who had so long hovered over this 
 fair land, was just about to spread his pinions and 
 fly away. Already, the ways of Zion mourned 
 because few came to her solemn feasts. Already 
 the streams of mercy seemed to be drying up, 
 which have for so long a period been refreshing 
 our heritage and bearing on their bosom the bles- 
 sings of salvation to distant lauds. From the 
 daughter of Zion all her beauty was departed. 
 Her princes were become like harts that find no 
 pasture ; and they were gone without strength 
 before the pursuer. I thought of her in the days 
 of her captivity and reproach, when she hung her 
 harp upon the willows, and wept. I remembered. 
 
14 THE CHURCH 
 
 and could not forbear uttering aloud, that affecting 
 lamentation of the Prophet, How hath the Lord 
 covered the daughter of Zion with a cloud in his 
 anger, and cast down from heaven unto earth 
 the beauty of Israel, and remembered not his 
 footstool in the day of his anger. 
 
 Such were the thoughts which occupied me in 
 my reverie. And they were not without close 
 connexion and sympathy with those which had 
 often disturbed me in my hours of waking reflec- 
 tion. The day seemed dark and gloomy like one 
 in November. The sun was enveloped in clouds, 
 and the rough north wind roared around me. I 
 was by the side of a lofty, weather-beaten moun- 
 tain. Its top seemed to support the heavens, and 
 its brow frowned over a deep, expansive wilder- 
 ness, impervious to the eye, and immeasurable in 
 extent. It appeared at first view as one vast 
 desert, where was no trace of human footsteps, 
 and where no man dwelt. 
 
 As I was walking to and fro with a mind almost 
 as cheerless as the rugged cliffs around me, sud- 
 denly a chorus of superhuman voices filled the 
 air. The words of their song fell distinctly upon 
 my ear, clear and sweet as from instruments of 
 silver. They chanted, Who is this that cometh up 
 from the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved ? 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 15 
 
 As I turned to look toward the desert, I beheld 
 a female form of distinguished attractions and 
 beauty, leaning on One like unto the Son of 
 Man. Her countenance was expressive of intelli- 
 gence and sweetness. Her mien was humble, yet 
 a peculiar dignity shone in her every action, and 
 her entire appearance seemed pre-eminently fitted 
 to please and captivate. I had heard of One 
 dwelling in the wilderness, whom the tongues of 
 inspired men and angels had represented as clothed 
 with celestial comeliness and decked with beauty 
 from the skies — a wanderer in the desert, but not 
 alone ; hand in hand with One more powerful 
 than herself, she had her course through its strife 
 and temptations. As my eye rested upon her for 
 the purpose of scanning her person more carefully, 
 that I might satisfy myself if this were indeed she 
 of whom I had heard, I saw that she was envel- 
 oped in a dense and hazy atmosphere, through 
 which a pale light beamed from her countenance 
 and clothed her form, and seemed every where 
 struggling to dart forth its rays. For the moment 
 it seemed doubtful whether she would not be mer- 
 ged in the obscurity ; but the mist was soon dissi- 
 pated, a&d she looked forth like the moon walking 
 in her brightness, luminous in her entire form, 
 
16 THE CHURCH 
 
 and, like the angel standing in the sun, con- 
 spicuous to the world. 
 
 I observed that her features were in part covered 
 with a veil. She had an humble, lowly spirit, 
 and though in the full power of youth and beauty, 
 seemed utterly unconscious of her attractions. 
 She had no desire of superiority or distinction ; 
 no undue assumption of dignity ; no spirit of am- 
 bition or rivalry. She did not court applause, nor 
 was she offended at rebuke. She sought not the 
 eye of the world, neither delighted in its bustle 
 and confusion ; but rather in the shade and 
 stillness of some beloved retreat, open only to the 
 observation, and consecrated only by the presence 
 of her Lord and Husband. At times she instinct- 
 ively shrunk from his inspection, and hid her face 
 in confusion. Nor was there in this any affecta- 
 tion of modesty, but a deep and ingenuous impres- 
 sion of her unworthiness that oppressed her, and 
 often indeed found its way to her lips. Look not 
 upon me, she would exclaim, Look not upon me, 
 because the Sun hath looked upon me ! One of 
 her loveliest characteristics, as it seemed to me, 
 was this humble, meek, and retiring spirit. Her 
 progress was often rapid, yet was it noiseless and 
 silent as the dew of heaven. Wherever she took 
 a false step, she herself was the first to detect it, 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 17 
 
 and prompt and faithful in her self-reproach. 
 Rather than feel that she was worthy to be the 
 object of admiration, many a time would she lay 
 her hand upon her mouth and exclaim, Behold I 
 am vile ! There was a lowliness of demeanor 
 exemplified in her progress that reminded me of 
 the spirit of genuine piety. She seemed at such 
 a remove from the haughty, overbearing temper 
 of the world, that I concluded she belonged to 
 another race of beings. For nothing did I envy 
 her so 'much as for this unearthly spirit. 
 
 And can this be she, thought I, of whom I have 
 so often read, that was cast out into the open 
 field to the loathing of her person, in the day 
 that she was born 1 If so, nothing could be more 
 striking than the contrast between her orio-inal 
 condition, her debased parentage, and her present 
 elevation and prospects. She was like one who 
 had sustained a moral transformation, and had 
 been, as it were, recreated and born anew. Once 
 poor and miserable, and blind and naked, she 
 was now clothed with embroidered work, girded 
 about with fine linen, covered with silk, and 
 decked with ornaments. Though her birth and 
 nativity were of the land of Canaan; though 
 her father was a Hittite and her mother an Amo- 
 rite ; yet she was now allied to a family that parti- 
 
18 THE CHURCH 
 
 cipates the riches and royalty of a nobler world, 
 and her renown went forth among the nations 
 for her beauty. She was the child of God — the 
 adopted daughter of the king of heaven. Her 
 second birth traced her lineage to the skies ; — 
 born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, 
 nor of the will of man, but of God. She 
 had no unborrowed splendor, yet was she coi 
 with righteousness as with a garment, and 
 prepared as a bride adorned for her / 
 band. Though once soiled and blemished by 
 her native servitude ; though abject in her occupa- 
 tion and associates ; yet was she now as the 
 wings of a dove covered with silver and her fea- 
 thers with yellow gold. My own impressions of 
 her loveliness were confirmed by what I distinctly 
 heard from the lips of her royal husband. Behold, 
 said he, thou art fair, my love, behold thou art 
 fair. My dove, my undejiled is but one ; she is 
 the only one of her mother ; she is the choice one 
 of her that bare her. Sometimes he spoke of the 
 tenderness of her attachment ; sometimes of her 
 purity and faithfulness ; and sometimes breaking 
 forth in the language of gratified joy, he exclaimed, 
 Thou art all fair, my love, there is no spot in thee! 
 Filled with admiration, I could not but again 
 exclaim, Who is this ?— so depraved in her na- 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 19 
 
 tivity, and yet so exalted in her adoption — so im- 
 pure in her original, and yet so pure in her trans- 
 formation — so heaven born, so acknowledged and 
 endeared to higher worlds, and yet in her own 
 view so worthless ? The answer was quickly 
 upon my lips. Who but the church of the First 
 Born ! — the spiritual Jerusalem from God out of 
 heaven — the Bride, the LamVs Wife ! Who 
 but that complex, ornate and lovely Personage, 
 who is a lively emblem, a typical designation of 
 the virtuous of every age and name, here embodied 
 and personified by the daughter of Zion travelling 
 in the greatness of her sirengtlu 
 
 This amiable and fair being I beheld far from 
 the abodes of men, in the waste, howling desert. 
 She had no continuing city. She was away 
 from home, often afflicted, tossed with tempest, 
 and not comforted. The place where she so- 
 journed was a place of vicissitude and woe. 
 There were no sorrows like her sorrows, and a 
 stranger did not intermeddle with her joy. Here 
 she stretched forth her hands unto God, and her 
 soul thirsted for him, as a thirsty land for the 
 grateful and ever welcome rain. Here she met 
 with delays, hindrances, and vexations. The 
 powers of darkness were leagued against her, 
 combining their strength and subtlety to perplex 
 
 3 
 
20 THE CHURCH 
 
 and embitter her mind, to retard her progress, and 
 effect her destruction. She was passing through 
 an enemy's land, and had put on the whole ar- 
 mour of God. Without were fightings, and 
 within w> ere fears. External foes, and indwelling 
 sins, distracting cares, painful bereavements, and 
 a subtle adversary often filled her with despon- 
 dency, and spoiled her every earth-born hope. 
 
 I observed that she did not always know how 
 to explore her path, and that she sometimes for- 
 sook her guide and wandered from the way. 
 Then she was depressed and discouraged, and in^ 
 stead of going cheerfully forward, would stray up 
 and down in the wilderness. And then her 
 courage faltered, her strength languished, and her 
 beauty withered. Many a time, at such seasons, 
 would she sit down and weep with abundant sor- 
 row, and exclaim as though all hope had deserted 
 her, My heart is overwhelmed within one ! All 
 thy waves and billows are gone over my soul ! 
 The wilderness too was long, and she was often 
 wearied by the length of the way. Sometimes she 
 trembled, and seemed on the point of fainting or 
 falling ; and then again she would press forward, 
 now with a bold, and now with a doubtful step. 
 
 Here she wandered amid the gloom and dark- 
 ness of the desert. Here she had a place pre- 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 21 
 
 pared for her by God. With his own hands, he 
 spread a table for her. The rock supplied her, 
 and the manna descended. She fed on ano-el's 
 food, and ate the bread of life. The pillar and 
 the cloud moved before her. The God of Israel 
 himself was with her, — a friend in need, a refuge 
 in times of trouble. In his mercy and care, in his 
 power and faithfulness, she had resources which 
 never failed. She sometimes grieved him, but he 
 never abandoned her. He seemed to have no 
 employment so delightful to his heart, as to care 
 for her. He would watch her every step. He would 
 often throw around her the arms of his protection 
 to save her even from imaginary harm. He 
 would spread his banner of love over her, and 
 support her from step to step in all her course. I 
 heard him say to her, I gave Egypt for thy ran- 
 som, Ethiopia and >Seba for thee. /Since thou 
 wast precious in my sight, I have loved thee ; 
 therefore will I give men for thee, and people for 
 thy life. It seemed to me that he would blot out 
 all the nations, that he would crush a thousand 
 worlds, before one hair of her head should fall to 
 the ground. 
 
 And yet there were sensible alternations in her 
 spirit and condition. Sometimes she looked for 
 light, and beheld darkness, and for good, and 
 
22 THE CHURCH 
 
 behold trouble and vexation ; and then again, 
 her most chilling fears were turned into hopes, 
 and her deepest sorrows into joy. Sometimes 
 her" prospect was gilded by all the varied tints 
 of Spring, and all the rich maturity of Autumn ; 
 while sometimes the snows of Winter swept 
 along her path, and night enshrouded it with 
 gloom. At times, the skies above her were soft and 
 serene ; at times, they were black and heavy, 
 — lowering with tempest, and dark with in- 
 dignation. Her path now lay through beds of 
 spices, and along the fruits of the valley, which 
 the forest enriched with its softest foliage ; where 
 the murmur of the running streams, and the light 
 breezes cheered and refreshed her, and every 
 odour, charged with fragrance, brought pleasure to 
 her senses ; and again she was constrained, amid 
 the wildness of the precipices and the roar of the 
 tempest, to pass along the liorts dens and the 
 mountains of the leopards. 
 
 As I was attentively observing her, a beam of 
 light fell on her path, at a moment when the 
 darkness had increased around her, and when de- 
 spondency seemed almost to overwhelm her soul. 
 All at once her countenance became bright, 
 and though still pensive, she pursued her course 
 with revived strength and freshness. Something 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 23 
 
 had roused her from her depression and put new 
 courage into her heart. It was the voice of her 
 Beloved. A multitude of conflicting emotions 
 seemed for a moment to agitate her bosom. 
 They were emotions of surprise, of joy, and of 
 grief. Rise up, my love, my fail* One, said he, 
 and come away ! For lo, the Winter is past, 
 the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear 
 on the earth ; the time of the singing of birds is 
 come, and the song of the turtle is heard in 
 our land. Arise, my love, my fair one, and 
 come away ! At this well-known voice, a tear 
 stood in her eye. She looked on him whom she 
 had pierced and mourned. I heard her confes- 
 sions of folly, and promises of faithfulness, and 
 felt that I could make them my own. My soul 
 melted within me, and flowed forth in her every 
 tear. Never shall I forget when she hid herself 
 from his sight, as though fearful of his reproaches, 
 and bewailed her departures from him whom her 
 soul loved. Then it was that I heard him say, 
 O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, let 
 me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice , 
 for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is 
 comely ! Then it was that he allured her and 
 spake comfortably unto her, and gave her the 
 valley of Achor for a door of hope, and she sang 
 
24 THE CHURCH 
 
 there as in the days of her youth. There did he 
 wipe away the tears from her cheeks, and cheer 
 her with the promise of his favour ; while she. 
 animated and buoyant with warm affection and 
 eager hopes, was once more like a roe, or young 
 hart upon the mountains of Bether. For the mo- 
 ment, she forgot that she was in the wilderness. 
 She remembered not that she was far from her 
 destined home, so much did the presence of him 
 she thus loved smooth her path along the desert, 
 and render her sojourn amid its wilds a season of 
 happiness and security. 
 
 This endured not long. Dark clouds again en- 
 folded her, the scene put off its charms, and the 
 way before her was curtained with its wonted 
 gloom. There was nothing here to allure her 
 stay, nothing suited to her large desires, nothing 
 that could become the source of her blessedness, 
 or the place of her repose. Nor was she 
 either alarmed or surprised by the oft-repeated ad- 
 monition, Arise, and depart hence, for this is not 
 your rest, because it is polluted ; for as often did 
 she herself respond, O that I had wings like a 
 dove, for then xoould I fly away and be at rest ! 
 To her hallowed mind, the place of her pilgrimage 
 presented nothing but a wilderness, which she 
 longed to leave behind her. Communion with 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 25 
 
 her Lord had rendered it at times a place of de- 
 lightful remembrance ; but she well knew that a 
 higher abode was awaiting her. where she should 
 enjoy his presence uninterruptedly and forever. 
 There was her treasure,, and there her heart, 
 Her conversation was there. Her ardent desires, 
 her highest good was there. Heaven absorbed her 
 attention, awakened her highest affections and 
 passions, and exhausted the vigour of her mind. 
 Her very sorrows and griefs indicated the aspi^ 
 rations and tendencies of her mind. Like the mag- 
 netic needle, amid all the variations of a transient 
 conflict, or passing storm, her heart exhibited a 
 trembling agitation till it reposed in one unchang- 
 ing point of rest. There were moments when her 
 faith, with more than ordinary vividness, realised 
 the unseen world, when a hope full of immortality 
 shed its fragrance over her spirits, and made her 
 long for the promised land. And then, habitually 
 watchful of the pillar and the cloud, regardless of 
 obstacles and fearless of danger, onward she went 
 from conquering to conquer. The circuities and 
 vicissitudes of her path might at times bewil- 
 der her ; the grandeur of the scenery, or its soft- 
 ness and beauty might for a moment allure her ; 
 but her aim was fixed, — the object single to 
 which she aspired. Forgetting the things that 
 
26 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 were behind, and reaching forth to those which 
 were before, she pressed toward the mark for 
 the prize of the high calling of God in Jesus 
 Christ. It was the way to the Heavenly City, 
 and she could not turn back. It was the only 
 way, and she could not forego the expectation of 
 that imperishable inheritance. 
 
 I stood awhile wondering at her zeal and sted- 
 fastness, but my wonder ceased when I recollected 
 that she was not alone. She leaned on One who 
 seemed more than mortal. 
 
 "In his side he bore, 
 " And in his hands and feet the cruel scars," 
 
 He it was who bore her griefs, carried her sorrows, 
 and even made her sins his own. It was her 
 Lord — her Husband — her Life — her Sacrifice. It 
 was he who liveth and was dead, and is alive for 
 evermore, to succour and bless his church when all 
 the nations die. I saw the secret of her strength. 
 Her life was hid with Christ in God. Though 
 she was perfect weakness, she had omnipotence to 
 lean upon. Experience had taught her her own 
 insufficiency, and she lived by faith in hint who 
 loved her, and gave himself for her. I was not a 
 little interested in this view of her progress. 
 Literally did she come up from the ivilderness, 
 leaning upon her Beloved. She did not move 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 27 
 
 a step without him. She did not wait for him to 
 lead her, but went forward leaning upon him. 
 When she stood still, she always stood alone. 
 Once I saw her so depressed and weary, that she 
 sunk, to the earth ; and then he took her up in his 
 arms and carried her like a lamb in his bosom. 
 Thus she pursued her way — for the most part 
 wakeful, active, persevering, — and yet ever lean- 
 ing upon him. The influence under which she 
 acted, seemed a sort of charm upon her will, and 
 drew her with the cords of love as with the bands 
 of a man. It was her joy, as well as her strength. 
 It gave buoyancy to her hopes, and inspired her 
 with the confidence that he would keep her 
 from falling and bear her safely through. When 
 by some strong temptation, she lost sight of 
 her dependance, most bitterly was she made to re- 
 pent of her self-confidence and folly. Then it was 
 that her time was spent in retracing and recover- 
 ing the ground she had lost, and bemoaning her sad 
 condition. Many a time has she then exclaimed, 
 O that it were with me as in months past, ivhen 
 the candle of the Lord shone upon my head ! 
 But these seasons of self-reproach and pensiveness 
 were comparatively few. Habitually she looked 
 beyond all created things, felt herself to be his 
 creature and child, subject to his guidance and 
 
28 THE CHURCH 
 
 control, dependant on his strength and grace. 
 Never did she delight in her dependance more, 
 than during the seasons of her greatest vigor, her 
 most rapid progress. Never could she say with a 
 more comforted confidence, than in her most suc- 
 cessful victories, My soul, wait thou upon God, 
 for my expectation is from him ! 
 
 I thought I saw the heavenly axiom verified, / 
 love them that love me. By nothing was her 
 guide and patron more distinguished than his love 
 for her, and by nothing was she more distinguished 
 than her love to him. In strains sweet as angels 
 use, I often heard her sing, My beloved is the 
 chief among ten thousands ! Yea, he is alto- 
 gether lovely ! On him she placed her fondest 
 affection, and reposed her every hope. Her love 
 was confiding and unsuspicious ; her confidence 
 filial and even childlike. Sometimes you might 
 see her reclining under the shadow of his favour 
 with great delight ; sometimes lamenting his 
 absence and watching for his return ; sometimes 
 traversing with him the loftiest mountains, and 
 sometimes exploring the vineyards to see if the 
 vine flourish and the tender grape appear. If 
 difficulties opposed, or dangers threatened, or ene- 
 mies stood ready to devour ; his grace was suf- 
 ficient for her, his strength ivas made perfect in 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 29 
 
 her iveakness, his presence was her chief joy. 
 Leaning on him, she escaped the dangers of the 
 wilderness, ascended the steepest mountains, stood 
 safe on the brink of the angry precipice, penetrated 
 hideous forests, resisted and overcame the fiercest 
 beasts of prey. With her eye on him and all her 
 trust in him, she continued her course. And 
 while the youth became faint and ivere weary ', and 
 the young men had utterly fallen, she renewed 
 her strength; in heavenly contemplation, she 
 mounted up with wings as an eagle, and through 
 all her course of duty and of trial, she ran 
 and was not weary, and walked and did not 
 faint. While others were intimidated by dangers, 
 or discouraged by difficulty, or lost sight of their 
 Leader ; she pressed forward, because her courage 
 was inspirited from above, and her exertion had 
 a spring, a source, an energy not her own. The 
 dangers and trials of the wilderness were gradually 
 left behind her, and remembered only to enhance 
 her gratitude and perpetuate her praise. 
 
 I observed, that in leaning upon her Beloved, 
 she was often led in a way that she knew not, and 
 in paths that she had not known. She seemed 
 to be under a sort of discipline, designed to subdue 
 her will to an unconditional acquiescence ill his : 
 to chastise her self-confidence, and teach her to 
 
30 THE CHURCH 
 
 walk by faith and not by sight. Like the Father 
 of the faithful, she went forth not knowing 
 whither she went. She knew not whither she 
 was going the next hour, the next moment, the 
 next step. It was her province to follow, not to 
 lead ; to obey, not to dictate. Her hopes and fears 
 were both subject to disappointment. She was 
 journeying in a weary land, and beheld the way 
 stretching out almost immeasurably before her 
 and lengthening as she proceeded. Often was 
 she conducted by a very diversified course — some- 
 times amid scenes of mercy, and sometimes amid 
 scenes of judgment — now amid well watered 
 meadows, and now over dry and barren lands — 
 now to mountains whence she caught a glimpse of 
 her promised inheritance, and now to some low 
 valley where the light of heaven scarcely pene- 
 trated. Her path was chequered and variable, like 
 the path of human life. It was perpetually chang- 
 ing — rousing her attention when she was care- 
 less — reminding her of her obligations when she 
 was ungrateful — recalling her confidence when 
 she had placed it upon creatures. Her disposition 
 was thus tried, and her character formed. Many 
 a time what she thought her best seasons, proved 
 her worst ; and what she thought her worst, 
 proved her best ; till, by an alternately painful and 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 31 
 
 joyful experience, she learned to repose all her 
 confidence in her Redeemer, and to have no will 
 but his. I had not seen such a spirit among men. 
 The storms of life had driven her to this wilder- 
 ness ; there to live eminently above the world and 
 walk with God. There was a tenderness, a meek- 
 ness, and submission, a love, a gratitude, a cheer- 
 fulness which evinced that she was not long to be 
 an inhabitant of earth. 
 
 I could not help exclaiming, What a glorious 
 object is this which I behold! The church of the 
 First Born struggling through this world, — this 
 moral wilderness, — is a spectacle to God,to angels 
 and men. This humble and lovely Personage, 
 thought I, may well be the object of concern, of 
 solicitude, of admiration. While this reflection 
 was passing in my mind ; a multitude of voices, 
 issuing I knew not whence, repeated the song, 
 Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, 
 leaning upon her Beloved ? I turned to ascertain 
 who they were that spoke, and it seemed to me 
 that the atmosphere around and above her was fil- 
 led with living beings. They were of various des- 
 criptions and orders, very dissimilar in their ap- 
 pearance, but all deeply interested in the progress 
 and condition of this daughter of Zion. There 
 was a peculiarity about her person, her professions, 
 
 4 
 
32 THE CHURCH 
 
 her claims, her prospects, that attracted the attention 
 of the inhabitants of this lower world. She dis* 
 claimed the authority of its maxims and usages. 
 She declined its pleasures, and all participation in 
 its unhallowed amusements. And she would not 
 needlessly, even intermingle with its society. She 
 came out and was separate, that all might know 
 what immunities she challenged, and of what in- 
 heritance she was the expectant. 
 
 She was like a city set on an hill. None could 
 help seeing her ; none could view her with indif- 
 ference. Good men beheld her, as identified with 
 the glory of the Redeemer, as identifying their 
 own happiness and glory with hers, as embodying 
 the best interests of mankind in this world and 
 that which is to come. Though now depressed, 
 they saw that soon she was to be triumphant, soon 
 to behold her sons coming from far, and her 
 daughters from the end of the world; and though 
 still bearing the marks of imperfection and servi- 
 tude, e'er long to share the kingdoms of this world 
 with her Prince, and wear a diadem of gold. 
 
 Bad men beheld her, sometimes to wonder at 
 the peculiarity of her condition — a feeble woman 
 coming up from the wilderness, leaning upon her 
 beloved ! Sometimes to admire her beauty, for she 
 was comely as Jerusalem, and the fairest among 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 33 
 
 women ; sometimes to acknowledge her influence 
 and power, for she was terrible as an army with 
 banners ; sometimes to feel the reproach of her 
 example, for though shining in borrowed splendor, 
 yet was she the light of the world ; sometimes to 
 be envious at her allotment, for the smile of hea- 
 ven played upon her countenance, and the solitary 
 place was glad for her: And sometimes to hate 
 her with perfect hatred, to vex and injure her, to 
 persecute, and if possible destroy her. 
 
 I saw also a multitude of living spirits hovering 
 over her path and near her person. They were 
 messengers from a higher world — an exalted order 
 of beings, and seemed to have come from the pre- 
 sence of God. Their countenances were like 
 lightning, and their raiment white as snow. They 
 possessed wonderful power and activity, and mo- 
 ved with the swiftness of the wind. They were 
 beautiful also beyond a parallel — clothed with 
 unfading and immortal youth, and glowing with 
 the energy and ardour of truth and love. I saw 
 them lifting up their hands — spreading forth their 
 wings — and apparently in sweet discourse with 
 one another as they watched her progress. Now, 
 they would stoop down and bend their faces to- 
 wards the ground to observe her. Again, they 
 would fly through the air and return, as though 
 
34 THE CHURCH 
 
 from some unknown region whither they had 
 gone to tell of her conquests. At times, they 
 would range themselves in throngs and companies, 
 and strike their lyres and tune their hymns of 
 praise One particularly, I observed, of elevated 
 mein and resplendent countenance, who hovered 
 around her head, so near indeed that the vivid 
 light that enveloped her, coloured and tinged his 
 form, covering both as with a mantle of celestial 
 splendour. With his finger he pointed towards 
 Heaven and said, Eye hath not seen, nor ear 
 heard, nor hath entered into the heart of man the 
 things that God hath prepared for them that 
 love him ! 
 
 I saw too dark and benighted spirits, irritated 
 with malignity, corroded with envy, and scarred 
 by God's indignation, come up as it were out of 
 the earth, and alight about her. I trembled for 
 her safety, for it seemed to me they came with 
 great wrath, as though they knew they had but 
 a short time. I was reassured however by the 
 calm and confident mein with which she looked 
 around, as though certain of protection from One 
 mightier than they. And then I heard the clash- 
 ing of arms, and saw the rushing of battle. In 
 the tumultuous conflict which ensued, I could 
 distinguish voices of fiend-like rage and despair, the 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 35 
 
 answer of exulting, indignant courage mingled 
 together, and at times the startling cry of some 
 wounded, fallen combatant, resounding faint and 
 fainter, as though borne and hurried down to earth's 
 very centre. With what deep interest did I await 
 the result ! Yet I did not fear for it. Soon the noise 
 of strife gave place to shouts of victory. And 
 from the sweet notes of praise — praise to him who 
 is seated upon the throne, — I knew they were 
 from the victorious company who are ministering 
 spirits to them that shall be heirs of salvation, 
 and to whom the church was the object of unre- 
 mitting care. 
 
 I saw also, that God her mighty Maker regarded 
 her. More than all things else, did she illustrate 
 his ineffable glory. He beheld her clothed with his 
 own loveliness. He rejoiced over her with joy ; 
 he joyed over her with singing. As a bridegroom 
 rejoiceth over his bride, so did her God rejoice 
 over her. God her Redeemer was with her — her 
 shelter and shade, her glory and the lifter up of 
 her head. God her Sanctifier too had his dwell- 
 ing within her heart, and made her his Temple ; 
 while the ever blessed and glorious Trinity, 
 through her, made impressive and augmenting 
 discoveries of his own excellence. 
 
 4* 
 
36 THE CHURCH 
 
 Next to her glorious Lord, no object so well de- 
 served, or might so well attract attention, as this 
 pilgrim in the desert. I looked upon her with 
 more than admiration. And while I gazed on her, 
 as in her beauty and her might she pursued her 
 course, I could not help repeating the vow I had 
 made in my youth, — If I forget thee, O Jerusa- 
 lem, let my right hand forget her cunning ! — 
 let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if 
 I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy ! 
 
 Inexpressibly happy, thought I, is the Church 
 of God ! Where is there in the world so amiable 
 and lovely a character — where a community so 
 favoured as this ! Many a time, when she has 
 had no resting place, and has been hunted like a 
 partridge upon the mountains, has the Shepherd 
 and Stone of Israel provided safety and repose for 
 her, and kept her as the apple of his eye. Often 
 when she has been driven from among men, and 
 perdition like a flood has chased her, has he him- 
 self been her dwelling place, and nourished and 
 brought her up as an only child. Her ignorance 
 he has instructed ; her languor and depression he 
 has changed into hope and rejoicing ; her solitude 
 he has sweetened by his presence ; her danger he 
 has driven far away. He has been her refuge 
 and her strength. To the multiplied mischiefs 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 37 
 
 that have passed through the earth, he has said, 
 Touch not mine anointed and do my people no 
 harm ! He has beautified and enlarged her. He 
 has caused her to look forth like the morning. 
 He has made her head like Carmel, and the hair 
 of her head UkeLeba7ion.. He has set Iter as a seal 
 upon his heart, as a seal upon his arm. Nor 
 will his purposes of love toward her be accom- 
 plished, till he has purified her from all her imper- 
 fection, decked her with majesty and excellency, 
 and in the day of her celestial espousals, presented 
 her to himself a glorious church, not having 
 spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing. 
 
 While this train of thought was passing through 
 my mind, I cast my eyes once more towards the 
 wilderness. No longer was it a desert, but rather 
 an expanse of cultivated fields, and gardens of 
 richest shrubbery, every where interspersed with 
 beautiful villages, towering palaces, lofty turrets, 
 and living men. The corn, and the vine, the 
 olive and the palm flourished. Instead of the 
 thorn, was the fir tree, and instead of the briar ; 
 the myrtle and the rose. Waters broke out in the 
 desert. The way through this verdant territory 
 seemed a high way. No tedious, intricate pil- 
 grimage was it now. Enemies had disappeared. 
 No lion was there, neither any ravenous beast 
 
38 
 
 THE CHURCH 
 
 went up thereon, it was not found there. And 
 the pilgrim had now thrown aside that veil which 
 obscured her, and put on her most splendid attire. 
 A voice reached her from the heavens, Arise, 
 shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the 
 Lord is risen upon thee. She looked forth now 
 as the effulgence of the world. She seemed as it 
 were, clothed with the Sun ; the moon was under 
 her feet, and upon her head was a crown of 
 txoelve stars. There was a halo of glory encir- 
 cling her, that reminded me of the Shekinah that 
 stood over the ancient tabernacle. She was near 
 to the Deity, encompassed with glory, and living 
 within the comprehension of his smile. Kings 
 and Princes were allured by her brightness, and 
 the wondering people came bending to her. The 
 Kings of Tarshish and the isles brought her 
 presents ; the kings of Sheba and Seba offered 
 her gifts. No longer did she falter in her course, 
 or turn her eye backward. She was clothed with 
 a divine panoply, and went forth more than con- 
 queror through him that loved her. A banner 
 waved over her of the purest gold, on one side of 
 which was set in rich enamel, The Lord know- 
 eth them that are his ; and on the other, 
 Let every one that nameth the name of 
 Christ depart from iniquity. At her ap- 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 39 
 
 proach, every false system of religion was arrested 
 in its progress ; all mist and darkness, error and 
 delusion, sin, shame and woe fled before her. 
 Streams of light and salvation flowed every where 
 around her, and sent forth their blessings to every 
 land. In her hand she carried a scroll, or parch- 
 ment, which she unfolded before the nations, and 
 by which she turned them from darkness unto 
 light, and from the power of Satan unto God. 
 Wonderful was the transformation that attended 
 and followed her brilliant career. Iniquity fell 
 before her. Tyranny and oppression and un- 
 righteousness were blasted by her breath. Misery 
 and despair were together chased away by the 
 light of her countenance. Every valley was ex- 
 alted, and every mountain and hill was made 
 low ; the crooked ivas made straight, and the 
 rough places plain ; and the glory of the Lord 
 tvas revealed, and all flesh saw it together. 
 
 "O scenes surpassing fable and yet true • 
 " Scenes of accomplished bliss, which who can see 
 "Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
 " His soul refresh'd with foretastes of the joy !" 
 
 The mountains and the hills broke forth before 
 into singing, and all the trees of the field clapped 
 their hands. The Spirit was poured from on 
 
49 THE CHURCH 
 
 high, and the world appeared to be turning to the 
 service and favour of the true God. Every revo- 
 lution of this diurnal sphere beheld her triumphs 
 from the rising of the Sun to his going down. 
 
 " Distant, barbarous climes, 
 "Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun 
 " Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
 " Flames on the Atlantic isles, 
 
 alternately became the scenes of her perpetuated 
 victories. Distant continents and islands, wan- 
 dering tribes and collected empires, though once 
 shrouded in deepest gloom, now beheld and re- 
 flected the brightness of her rising. 
 
 " One song employs all nations, and all cry 
 " Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us ! 
 " The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
 " Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
 "From distant mountains catch the flving joy. 
 " Till nation after nation taught the strain, 
 " Earth rolls the rapt'rous hosannah round." 
 
 My reverie continued, but the gloom and de- 
 pression which at first pervaded it passed away. 
 Instead of a dark day in November, it appeared to 
 my gratified imagination like the loveliest in 
 May. Brown Autumn had fled. Winter had been 
 chased away by the softness and beauty of Spring. 
 
IN THE WILDERNESS. 41 
 
 The sun was just descending in his gayest 
 chariot, and throwing his light from pole to pole. 
 The rough north wind had yielded to the fragrant 
 zephyr. The rugged mountain had become like 
 the verdant lawn. The unclouded sky, the balmy 
 air, the rich foliage of the forest, the fragrant 
 flowers were but faintly emblematical of the un- 
 broken serenity I felt within. The birds were 
 chanting their songs of joy, and all nature was 
 vocal with praise and blossoming with hope. 
 The bow of promise threw its arch over the 
 eastern sky, and as the sun went down, he cast 
 forth the signals of a still brighter day. 
 
 New York, January, 1838. 
 
No. II. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 Can it be that another year has fled ? With all 
 its joys and trials, all its sins and duties, all its in- 
 structions and privileges, — is it fled? Yes, it is 
 gone. It has terminated the lives of millions, and 
 like an irresistible current, has borne them on to 
 the grave and the judgment. It has gone. Like 
 a dream of the night, it has gone ! 
 
 Amid the rapids of time, there are few objects 
 a man observes with less care and distinctness 
 than himself. To one standing on the shore, the 
 current appears to pass by with inconceivable 
 swiftness ; but to one who is himself gliding down 
 the stream, the face of this vast extent of waters is 
 unruffled, and all around him is a dead calm. It 
 is only by looking toward the shore, by discerning 
 here and there a distant landmark, by casting his 
 eye back upon the scenery that is retiring from his 
 view, that he sees he is going forward. And how 
 
REFLECTIONS ON THE NEW YEAR. 43 
 
 fast! The tall pine that stands alone on the 
 
 mountain's brow, casts its shade far down the 
 
 valley ; while the huge promontory throws its 
 
 shadow almost immeasurably on the plain below. 
 
 It is but a few years, and I was greeting life's 
 
 opening day. But yesterday. I thought myself 
 
 approaching its meridian. To-day I look for those 
 
 meridian splendours, and they are either wholly 
 
 vanished, or just descending behind the evening 
 
 cloud. I cannot expect to weather out the storms 
 
 of this tempestuous clime much longer. A few 
 
 more billows on these dangerous seas, perhaps a 
 
 few days of fair weather is the most I can look 
 
 for, before I am either shipwrecked, or reach my 
 
 desired haven. 
 
 Why fly these years so rapidly ? It is in anti- 
 cipation rather than retrospect, that men put too 
 high an estimate upon earthly things. I have 
 been wandering to day in the grave yard. I have 
 trodden softly on the place of my fathers' sepul- 
 chres. I have been playing with the willow and 
 the cypress that weep over their dust. The gene- 
 rations of men dwell here. Yes, here they are. 
 Those whom I have loved, and still love, and 
 hope to love, are here. The fashion of this 
 world passeth away. The fair fabric of earthly 
 good is built upon the sand. It rocks and falls 
 
 5 
 
44 REFLECTIONS ON 
 
 under the first stroke of the tempest. Man, at his 
 best estate is altogether vanity. It is well that it 
 is so. Were it otherwise, we should put far off 
 the evil day, and live as if we flattered ourselves 
 with immortality on the earth. When the Duke 
 of Venice shewed Charles the Fifth the treasury 
 of St. Mark, and the glory of his princely palace, 
 instead of admiring them, he remarked, " These 
 are the things that make men so loth to die." 
 
 On what rapid wings has this last year sped its 
 course ? How sure and certain an approximation 
 to the close of this earthly existence ! Every 
 year adds to what is past and leaves less to come. 
 What is your life ? It is even as a vapour that 
 appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth 
 away. What is it, when compared with the 
 amount of labour to be accomplished, and the 
 magnitude of the interests at stake ? What is it, 
 compared with the facility with which it may be 
 interrupted, and the ten thousand causes of decay 
 and dissolution it is destined to encounter 7 
 What is it, compared with the ever enduring 
 existence to which it is an introduction ? How 
 fugitive ! how frail ! Hardly has the weary tra- 
 veller laid himself down to rest, when he is sum- 
 moned away to pursue his journey, or called to 
 his everlasting home. We spend our years as a 
 
THE NEW YEAR. 45 
 
 tale that is told. The flying cloud, the evanes- 
 cent vapour, the arrow just propelled from the 
 string, the withering grass, the flower whose 
 beauty scarcely blooms e'er it is faded, and whose 
 fragrance is scarcely perceptible e'er it is gone, are 
 apt similitudes of the life of man. 
 
 I am but a wanderer, a pilgrim, a sojourner on 
 the earth. Though every thing is cheerful about 
 me, I feel to day exiled and alone. A thousand 
 recollections crowd upon my mind to remind 
 me of the past, to premonish me of the future, 
 and to lead me to some just conceptions of the 
 present. This world is not my home. I have 
 made it my resting place too long. I hear a voice 
 to-day, in accents sweet as angels use, whis- 
 pering to my lonely heart, Arise and depart hence^ 
 for this is not your rest ! I am away from my 
 Father's house. I have felt vexations and trials. 
 I have experienced disappointments and losses. I 
 have known the alienation of earthly friends. I 
 am not a stranger to dejected hopes. I know 
 something of conflicts within. But now and then 
 I have a glimpse of the distant and promised in- 
 heritance, which more than compensates me for 
 all. It is no grief of heart to me that I have no 
 enduring portion beneath the sun. I am but a 
 passing traveller here. T would fain feel like one 
 
46 REFLECTIONS ON 
 
 who is passing from place to place, and going 
 from object to object, with his eye fixed on some 
 long-wished for abode beyond; while every succes- 
 sive scenebrings me nearer to theendof my course, 
 and ail these earthly vicissitudes endear to me the 
 hopes of that final rest. To live here, however 
 happily, however usefully, however well, must 
 not be my ultimate object. I was born for eter- 
 nity. Nay, I am the tenant of eternity even now. 
 Time belongs to eternity. It is a sort of isthmus, 
 or rather a little gulph, with given demarcations, 
 set off and bounded by lines of ignorance ; but it 
 mingles with the boundless flood — it belongs to 
 eternity still. A great change indeed awaits us. 
 We must drop this tabernacle and go into a world 
 of spirits. But we shall be in the same duration. 
 I must live for eternity. 
 
 In entering on another year, I know not from 
 what unexpected quarter, or at what an unguarded 
 hour, difficulties and dangers may come. O that 
 I could enjoy more of the favour of God, more 
 of the presence of the Saviour, more of the sealing 
 of the ever blessed Spirit ! O for more of a calm, 
 approving conscience, and more of the delightful 
 influence of the peace-speaking blood of Jesus 
 Christ ! From some cause, or other, I begin this 
 year with a trembling heart. I fear I may loose 
 
THENEWYEAR. 47 
 
 my way. I am afraid lest I should turn aside 
 from the straight path ; lest I may repose in the 
 bower of indolence and ease ; lest I may sleep on 
 enchanted ground ; lest I should be ensnared, if 
 not destroyed by an unhallowed curiosity ; lest I 
 should be betrayed by my own presumption and 
 self-confidence. I can remember some who have 
 forsaken the way and fallen into snares ; and the 
 sad memorials of their folly are strewed along my 
 path. Why should I hope to pass unwatched or 
 unmolested ? The enemy is not asleep. Many 
 a time have I been baffled by his artifices. Rest 
 where I will, and rise when I may, he is always 
 at my side. And shall I dream of peace ? Shall I 
 not watch and pray ? Will not presumption and 
 sloth cost me dear ? Blessed God ! hold thou me 
 up, and I shall be safe ! Pity thy erring crea- 
 ture. Forgive thy wandering child. Keep, and 
 with the bounties of thy grace, bless thy poor sup- 
 pliant. Preserve him another year. Let him not 
 be conformed to this world. Give him a warm 
 and humble heart. Let nothing interrupt, or re- 
 tard his progress toward the Zion above ! 
 
 I would live another year, if it be my Heavenly 
 Father's will. And yet I would not live to sin, 
 and fall, and reproach my Saviour and his blessed 
 cause. Better die than live to no good purpose ! 
 
48 REFLECTIONS ON 
 
 I would live till my work is done — cheerful when 
 it is most arduous, and grateful for strength accord- 
 ing to my day. But I would not be afraid to die. 
 Shall the child desire to be away from his Fathers 
 house ? Shall the traveller, already weary, choose 
 to have his stay in the wilderness prolonged? 
 It were a sad sight to see a Christian die with re- 
 gret — to see him go home, as if he were going to 
 a prison ! O let me think much and often of my 
 heavenly home ! 
 
 " Jerusalem, my happy home ! 
 
 " Name ever dear to me ! 
 " When shall my labours have an end, 
 
 " In joy and peace in thee ? 
 
 " Jerusalem, my happy home ! 
 
 " My soul stills pants for thee ; 
 " Then shall my labours have an end, 
 
 " When I thy joys shall see." 
 
 Let me then often climb the mount of contempla- 
 tion, and prayer, and praise, and there try to catch 
 a glimpse of the glory to be revealed^ and get my 
 cold heart affected with a view of its yet distant 
 endearments. Love to God — communion with 
 Qod — devotedness to God, these are the foretastes 
 of heaven. If through the cares and duties of secu- 
 lar life, I cannot preserve an invariable tendency 
 of mind toward that holy world, — let it be a more 
 
THE NEW YEAR, 49 
 
 habitual and frequent tendency ! I feel the sorrows 
 of this guilty insensibility, this languor of spiritual 
 affection, and long for those hallowed moments 
 when the meltings of contrition, the fervours of 
 desire, the vividness of faith, and the hope full of 
 immortality shall shed their sacred fragrance over 
 my spirit, and make me pant for heaven. Nor 
 let it be a transient emotion, kindled by some 
 momentary excitement, or awakened by some 
 impulse of the imagination ; but marked by all 
 the ardour of passion and all the constancy of 
 principle. Spirit of the Redeemer ! shed abroad 
 thine own love in this poor heart of mine, and 
 thus seal it to the day of eternal redemption. Let 
 me greet every truth, every providence, every 
 meditation that shall invite me to more intimate 
 intercourse with heaven. Let me dwell upon 
 the communications sent down from that blessed 
 world to cheer my fainting spirit and revive my 
 courage by the way. Let me welcome those mes- 
 sages of divine providence that are designed and 
 adapted to intercept my constant view of earth, 
 and bring the realities of eternity near. Let me 
 grieve at nothing that makes me familiar with 
 heaven. Let me never mourn when some little 
 stream of comfort and joy is dried up, and I am 
 driven more directly to the Fountain. Let me 
 
50 REFLECTIONS, ETC. 
 
 take a fresh departure for the land of promise 
 from the beginning of this New Year. I would 
 fain look upward with a more stedfast eye, and 
 inarch onward with a firmer step. Nor would I 
 lose sight of the cloud by day, and the pillar of 
 fire by night, but go where it goes, and rest where 
 it rests. 
 
 And who, — who will remain behind ? Who 
 will be content to have his hopes bounded by the 
 narrow scenes of earth ? Go up fellow traveller 
 to eternity, go up to some selected eminence of 
 thought, where the splendours of the Holy City 
 shall break upon your view. This world is not 
 your home any more than mine. It cannot com- 
 fort you, more than it has comforted me. You 
 may be called away from all its scenes as soon 
 as I. Your journey to the grave may be shorter 
 even than mine. Nay, this year, thou mayest 
 die. 
 
 , 
 
No. III. 
 
 THE INQUIRING MEETING. 
 
 " Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 " Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." 
 
 During one of those seasons of religious attention 
 with which the churches in New England have 
 been visited by the Holy Spirit, I employed a few 
 weeks in the interior of the country. It was the 
 month of August. The early harvest still waved 
 in rich and brown luxuriance over hill and vale, 
 and formed a delightful and welcome contrast to 
 the heated walls, burning pavement, and arid atmos- 
 phere of a crowded city. Mountain and river, the 
 vivid verdure and refreshing breezes of a rural sky, 
 the dense, dark forest, with emphasis and sweetest 
 harmony seemed to say, Marvellous are thy works, 
 Lord, God, Almighty, in wisdom hast thou made 
 them all ! 
 
 There was every thing in the scenery that invi- 
 ted to heavenly contemplation. Why, thought I, 
 are not the dwellers in these tranquil and inviting 
 regions all the devoted children of God ? What is 
 there here to allure the soul to fellowship with 
 
52 THE INQUIRING 
 
 earth ? I knew indeed that human nature is the 
 same every where, and that the same general vir- 
 tues and vices are to be found in both city and 
 Gountry. But the febrile excitement, the stimula- 
 ted intercourse, the wealth, luxury and dissipation, 
 the pomps and vanities of the world, the refine- 
 ments of philosophy, and the gross vices which 
 exert so powerful and melancholy an influence in 
 populous cities, seemed here to have no power. 
 The rural christian is placed in circumstances 
 most favourable to his best moral habits and feel- 
 ings. His trains and associations of devoted 
 thought seem to spring up and flow spontaneously, 
 like the stream that flows from a fountain of living 
 water. Love to God — communion with God — 
 devotedness to God seem almost natural to such 
 exemption from care, to the solitude of such re- 
 tirement, to such persuasives to hallowed medita- 
 tion. I was irresistibly reminded of those beauti- 
 ful lines of Cowper, — 
 
 " Far from the world, O God, I flee, 
 
 11 From strife and tumult far ; 
 " From scenes where Satan wages still 
 
 " His most successful war. 
 
 " The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
 
 "With prayer and praise agree ; 
 " And seem by thy sweet bounty made, 
 
 " For those that follow thee." 
 
MEETING. 53 
 
 It was towards the close of the week, and just 
 as the lengthened shadows reminded us that the 
 sun was going down, that we drew near a quiet 
 and lovely village in the county of Berkshire, not 
 far from the luxuriant meadows beautified by the 
 Housatonic river. Every thing was still, except 
 here and there a hurried effort in the field to pre- 
 pare for the approaching Lord's day. We alighted 
 at the village Hotel just as the Sun went down. 
 There was a tranquillity — an air of seriousness 
 about the place to which we had not been accus- 
 tomed even in the best conducted Inns of New 
 England, which led us to congratulate one another 
 in the anticipation of a pleasant Sabbath. And 
 what added not a little to our anticipations, we 
 learned in the course of the evening that our Host 
 was a pious man, and that there was a Revival of 
 Religion in the village of several months standing. 
 
 Our expectations in relation to the approaching 
 day were not disappointed. It was the week of 
 the most powerful influence of the Divine Spirit 
 upon the people, and of this week the Sabbath 
 was the crown. I shall never forget the tender- 
 ness and solemnity of this day. The unbroken 
 silence of the morning — the quietness and decency 
 of the Inn— the respectful deportment of the ser- 
 vants — the delightful season of family worship, 
 
54 THE INQUIRING 
 
 interrupted by no blowing of horns, or arrival and 
 departure of stages — the tears which trickled 
 down the withered cheeks of an elderly lady, more 
 venerable for her piety even than for her years, as 
 we sung, Welcome sweet day of rest — all led us 
 to respond to the sentiments we had just been 
 reading, Surely the Lord is in this place, and I 
 knew it not ! As the first bell was ringing for 
 church, I saw the villagers crossing the plain 
 from every direction, and going into the school 
 house. It was a meeting for prayer. It had 
 caught the eye of Mrs. S. before it had caught my 
 own, and she was just descending from her cham- 
 ber with her bonnet on her arm, to say, Let us not 
 ??iiss the prayer meeting. We hastened across 
 the green and took our seats in a remote corner 
 of the building. It was truly the hour of prayer. 
 Confession, thanksgiving, entreaty — so humble, 
 and yet so confiding — so confiding, and yet so 
 unpresumptuous — so importunate and yet so sub- 
 missive, distinguished their addresses to the throne, 
 that we could not but feel that it was given them 
 to have power with God. At ten o'clock, the 
 meeting quietly dispersed, and we repaired to the 
 church. We were strangers, and yet no eye 
 seemed to wander but our own. And ours not 
 long. The prayers, the praises, the appearance of 
 
MEETING. 55 
 
 assembly, the awful stillness, the deep thoughts 
 and suppressed emotion of the worshippers, told us 
 that it was none other than the house of God and 
 the gate of heaven. I was acquainted with the 
 Pastor, and assisted him in the services of a part 
 of the day. He was one of the staid sons of the 
 Pilgrims — with more sense than sound — and yet 
 knew well how to employ the 
 
 " Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." 
 
 His theme was, how can we escape, if we neglect 
 so great salvation ? He spake not in the enticing 
 words of man's wisdom, but in demonstration of 
 the Spirit and with power. He rose with the sa- 
 credness and grandeur of his subject, till it seemed 
 as though he was handling the consciences of 
 his auditory with his fingers. I had always res- 
 pected and loved him, but never so much as now- 
 It was not the declamation of enthusiasm, but the 
 power of truth. It was logical and yet mingled 
 with ardent and impassioned emotion. When 
 he came to speak of the sinner's perdition, he wept. 
 And who did not weep ? How worthless and in- 
 significant, thought I, are all other interests and 
 claims, when compared with the interests of im- 
 mortal truth, and the claims of eternity ! Such 
 was my old friend the village Pastor. His faithful 
 
 6 
 
56 THE INQUIRING 
 
 reproof — his affectionate spirit — his meekness of 
 wisdom — his gentleness and simplicity — his holy 
 zeal and unostentatious love — his devotedness to 
 the cause of truth and the honour of God — these, 
 thought I, are characteristics in the ambassador of 
 Christ which 
 
 "Allure to brighter worlds, and lead the way." 
 
 The subject of the afternoon discourse was, And 
 when he beheld the city, he wept over it. Nor 
 could I refrain from saying, with the disciples on 
 the mount, Lord, it is good to be here. 
 
 At the close both of the morning and afternoon 
 service, notice was given of a meeting for Prayer 
 in the School House, and a meeting for Religious 
 Inquiry in the Academy, both to be attended in 
 the evening. After church, we accompanied the 
 Pastor and took tea with his family. No sooner 
 were we seated in the parlour, than it was obvious 
 that deep solicitude was felt for the results of this 
 Sabbath, and strong confidence expressed that the 
 gracious Lord had appeared in his glory. Two 
 of the dear children of the family and a female 
 servant had returned from the Sanctuary in deep 
 distress, and with their heads bowed down like a 
 bulrush. The daughter could not suppress her 
 emotions, and exclaimed, O father! how shall I 
 
MEETING. 57 
 
 escape ? We were all affected, and for several 
 moments, none of us could speak. The mother 
 looked towards me, and I took my seat by the 
 side of her weeping child. After some conversa- 
 tion, the father proposed a little family prayer- 
 meeting, during which, after singing the fifty first 
 Psalm, two prayers were offered with a special 
 view of supplicating the divine presence with the 
 exercises of the approaching evening. While 
 seated at the tea table, I inquired of my friend, 
 " Whether there was anything peculiar in the In- 
 " quiring Meeting, or any peculiarity in his manner 
 "of conducting it? — "No," said he, "none at all. 
 "The object of the meeting is to give those persons 
 " in the congregation, who feel an interest in the 
 " subject of religion, and who desire it, the oppor- 
 " tunity of conversing with their pastor. But" 
 added he, " you will attend and assist me in the 
 " exercises." 
 
 While Mrs. H. and Mrs. S. went to the prayer- 
 meeting in the School House, Mr. H. and myself 
 and the children went to the Inquiring meeting 
 in the academy. It was a large hall, and was 
 nearly filled. I should judge there were from 
 one hundred and thirty to one hundred and fifty 
 persons present, — chiefly of those who were from 
 sixteen to thirty years of age, together with a 
 
58 THE INQUIRING 
 
 few in more advanced years, and a few who 
 were children. All were seated — some with their 
 heads leaning upon the railing of the seats — some 
 in a fixedness of look that seemed to say, God and 
 eternity are near — some with a settled gloom and 
 depression of countenance — some few with marks 
 of indescribable anguish — and some with a seren- 
 ity and smile, placid and beautiful as the loveliest 
 sky after a storm. I know not what brought the 
 thought to my mind, but I was instinctively led 
 to dwell a moment, in my reflections, upon that 
 beautiful representation in the Apocalypse, And 
 there was a rain bow round about the throne. I 
 felt that God was holy. I could not look upon 
 the splendour of his unveiled glory. But its blaz- 
 ing splendors were all subdued and softened here, 
 like the blended colouring of the rain bow. It 
 seemed to me that I was within the most Holy 
 Place ; where I had new views of the God that 
 is invisible, and where, amid all that was solemn 
 and fearful, this well known emblem of his cove- 
 nant of peace reflected a beauty and splendor so 
 soft and gentle, that even the most guilty and vile 
 might look upon him and live. This, thought I, 
 is that rain of heaven, and these those dews which 
 descend so plentifully upon the mountains of Zion, 
 that the bow of promise completely encircles the 
 
MEETING. 59 
 
 throne. The meeting was opened by singing the 
 following hymn : 
 
 " Come sacred Spirit from above, 
 
 "And fill the coldest heart with love ; 
 " Soften to flesh the flinty stone, 
 
 "And let thy god-like power be known, 
 
 "Speak, Thou, and from the haughtiest eyes, 
 
 "Shall floods of pious sorrow rise ; 
 "While all their glowing souls are born, 
 
 " To seek that grace which they now scorn. 
 
 " O let a holy flock await, 
 
 " Num'rous around thy temple gate, 
 " Each pressing on with zeal to be 
 
 " A living sacrifice to thee !" 
 
 While this hymn was singing, I observed seve- 
 ral persons drop their heads, and during the short 
 interval of rest between the stanzas, heard now 
 and then a deep sigh, and beheld some in tears. 
 When the hymn was closed, the object of the meet- 
 ing was briefly stated, and all were requested to 
 kneel and unite in a few words of prayer. After 
 prayer, the Pastor himself together with three 
 other gentlemen who as I supposed were offi- 
 cers of the church, dispersed themselves through- 
 out different parts of the room, and entered into 
 conversation with the individuals who were pre- 
 
 6* 
 
60 
 
 THE INQUIRING 
 
 sent. Here and there were clusters of persons with 
 whom they conversed collectively. The conver- 
 sation with individuals was sometimes continued 
 two or three minutes, and sometimes elicited no 
 answer. Sometimes it consisted of a single inquiry 
 and an appended observation or two. And some- 
 times, it continued for eight or ten minutes. So 
 that at the close of the meeting there were none 
 who had not the opportunity of a personal inter- 
 view with their Pastor, or some one of us who 
 assisted him. The conversation was conducted 
 rather in a low tone of voice, and much as it 
 would have been had the parties been alone in a 
 private parlour. Very much of it I heard, and 
 will now narrate with as much accuracy as I can. 
 
 Addressing himself to a middle aged man who 
 sat near us, « Do you feel Sir," inquired the Pas- 
 tor, "any special interest in the subject of reli- 
 gion ?" 
 
 " I know not what to say," was the reply. « I do 
 " not feel as I did a few weeks since. I see that 
 " religion is important, and I know that I cannot 
 " be happy without it. The world looks dark to 
 " me. But I am for the most part very uncon- 
 " cerned. I am ignorant, and wish you to instruct 
 " me, and to deal with me plainly and faithfully." 
 
MEETING, 61 
 
 "Have you ever been sensible/ 7 continued the 
 Pastor, « That you are the enemy of God ? Do 
 " you see for yourself that notwithstanding all his 
 " kindness and love, you are still unwilling to for- 
 " sake your sins, and fall in with the method of 
 " mercy by Jesus Christ." 
 
 "I fear, Sir," said he, "I do not feel this, though 
 il I know it is true. I have no proper conviction 
 " of my sins. My conscience is right, but my 
 " heart is wrong. My conscience tells me that 
 " God would do me no injustice if I should be left 
 " to perish. And yet my heart rises in dreadful 
 " opposition to his justice and sovereignty. I feel 
 " as though I could not submit to such a God." 
 
 " Do you think such feelings are right ?" said 
 his Pastor. « Would it be right for angels to feel 
 " thus toward the Everblessed God ? Would it 
 " be right for saints ? Is it right in you ?" 
 
 "I know it is not right." 
 
 "And will you persist in what you yourself ac- 
 " knowledge to be wrong ?" 
 
 " I know I am wrong ; but what shall I do ?" 
 
 "O what ivould you do, but be reconciled to 
 " God ? The blessed Saviour, who shed his blood 
 " for you ; the Holy Spirit, who is now striving 
 " with you ; your own conscience, which now re- 
 " proaches you ; all require you to cease from 
 
62 THE INQUIRING 
 
 "contending with your Maker. These rebellious 
 " feelings show you what is in your heart. They 
 " show you how unfit you are, with such a spirit, 
 "to enter into the kingdom of God. You must 
 "give them up. Pray, pray for grace to give 
 " them up. They make you miserable here, and 
 " if persevered in, must make you miserable for 
 " ever." 
 
 To a young man who had overheard the pre- 
 vious conversation, the Pastor said, " Can you 
 give me some account of the exercises of your 
 mind, my young friend ?" 
 
 The youth was for a moment too much affected 
 to speak ; when his Pastor, with a tenderness that 
 seemed to forbid reserve, inquired, " When was 
 " your attention first called up to the state of your 
 " own soul ?" 
 
 " The first thing," replied the young man, "that 
 " I saw, was at the lecture, the week before last. 
 " I saw that I was a sinner, and in danger of end- 
 " less punishment. When I went home, I deter- 
 " mined to seek religion. I made a solemn promise. 
 " I read the Bible, and prayed several times a day." 
 
 " And have you found the Saviour ?" 
 
 " No, I cannot find him." 
 
 " And yet he says, Seek, and ye shall find. 
 
MEETING. 63 
 
 " Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast 
 " out. Does it seem to you that Christ is either 
 " unable, or unwilling to save ?" 
 
 " I will tell you," replied the young man, "just 
 " how I have felt. The last Sabbath morning, 
 " you preached from these words, The heart is 
 "full of evil. I thought you were personal in 
 " your remarks. You showed me what a wicked 
 "heart I had, and how full of evil it was. I 
 " thought that all the people were looking at me, 
 n and that you where showing them my wicked 
 "heart. And I was displeased and angry. But 
 " when I went home, I was very much distressed. 
 " My mother said nothing to me, and this distress- 
 " ed me more. I overheard her praying for me 
 " in her chamber,"and this distressed me still more. 
 " I went and tried to pray for myself, and I could 
 " not pray, and this distressed me more still. I 
 " felt that I was lost. I thought I should never 
 " find an interest in Christ. It seemed to me that 
 "I was so wicked, I must perish." 
 
 " And how has it been with you, through the 
 "week ?" 
 
 " Just the same, Sir. When I read the Bible 
 " and try to pray, I feel that God is all the while 
 "angry with me." 
 
 " He is a Holy God, and cannot look on sin." 
 
64 
 
 THK INQUIRING 
 
 "OSir," replied the young man, "I know I 
 " must perish, unless God take away my obstinate 
 "heart, and give me a heart of flesh." 
 
 " It is indeed so," replied his Pastor. " Except 
 " a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom 
 " of GodP 
 
 " I know it sir, I know it. Never can I enter 
 " into that kingdom, with such a heart." 
 
 " No never /" was the reply ; and it was uttered 
 with a tenderness and solemnity with which a 
 father would address a dying child. " And 
 "never, unless God give you up to awful blind- 
 " ness can you be happy any more on earth, with 
 " such a heart." 
 
 " Sometimes," said the young man, "the thought 
 " crosses my mind, that I had rather go back to 
 " my former stupidity, than remain as I am." 
 
 " O my dear young friend," said his Pastor, 
 '• strive and pray against such thoughts as these. 
 " The adversary would tempt you to such thoughts, 
 " and triumph over his poor, deluded victim, if 
 " he could thus stifle these convictions. He 
 " knows you would gain nothing by going back, 
 " but become ten-fold more the child of Hell than 
 " before. You may get rid of this distress, and 
 "lose these convictions ; but believe me, it will 
 " be only for a little while. They will all return. 
 
MEETING. 65 
 
 " either in this world, or another, and in ten-fold 
 " power. And there will be nothing to relieve 
 "them then : — no inviting Saviour — no mercy seat 
 " — no hope of pardon — no mighty healer — no 
 " peace-speaking blood of the cross : — no, nothing 
 " but an angry God, a lost soul, and the most dis- 
 " tressing convictions forever." 
 
 Here, the poor young man looked us both full 
 in the face without uttering a word. The deep 
 lines of sullen dejection were imprinted on his 
 countenance, and he could neither weep nor speak. 
 " O Eternity !" said the Pastor, while a deep sigh 
 involuntarily escaped his bosom. " O Eternity ! 
 Eternity !" responded the youth in a whisper, 
 " there will be no end to eternity !" For a moment 
 we were all silent. I could not help taking his 
 hand, and saying with tears, Is there no balm hi 
 Gilead 7 — He wept. " Balm? said he, "balm for 
 my wounded, guilty soul !" — Here, I observed his 
 Pastor weep, while he distinctly uttered the ejacu- 
 lation, " Lord give us help from trouble /" 
 
 " O Sir," replied the agitated youth, what shall 
 " I do ? I have felt all this week as though I hated 
 " God, and would fain flee out of his hands. I 
 " have been so long in this wretched state of mind, 
 "while so many others have been brought in 
 " rejoicing, that it seems to me as though God 
 
66 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " meant to give me up. It does no good for 
 " me to read, or pray, so long as God is against 
 '•me." 
 
 " So long as you are against God," replied 
 his minister, almost with an air of severity. 
 u God will do you no wrong. He sees you. 
 "He hears you. — And yet he bears with you." 
 " And then with subdued and tender accents, 
 proceeded, " His love is infinite. Nothing but 
 " his patience and long suffering have kept you 
 " out of hell so long. Nor would he have showed 
 " you thus your guilt and danger, if he were 
 '•not willing you should come to repentance. 
 • He wounds that he may heal. He waits 
 " that he may be gracious. There is bread 
 " enough in your Father's house, and to spare. 
 '• O against what love are you uttering these un- 
 " grateful complaints! If you ever become his 
 " child, you will Avonder that you stood out so 
 " long against his love and mercy." 
 
 There was a young lady just behind us, whose 
 countenance wore a very different appearance from 
 that of this unhappy youth. She was peaceful, 
 and yet solemn ; joyful, and yet serious. It seem- 
 ed as though the fountains of consolation were 
 springing up in her mind, and her very visage 
 
MEETING. 67 
 
 shone, I had almost said, like the face of Moses, 
 when he came down from the mount. 
 
 "I perceive," Mary, "said her Pastor," that 
 ''your mind is more tranquil, than when I last 
 " saw you." 
 
 She looked up, and smiled. " I have peace," 
 
 said she, "sweet peace— yet I know not what to 
 
 "think. I fear I am growing stupid. And yet I 
 
 " am happy. I am afraid it is wrong for such 
 
 '" a sinner as I am to feel so happy." 
 
 " What makes you happy ?" said her Pastor. 
 "I do not know, said she," my heart-risings 
 " against God are gone ; and yet I have none of 
 " the love I have heard others speak of." 
 
 " Does it appear to you that you are entitled to 
 the promises of the gospel ?" 
 
 <• Not that I know of," she replied. « I have 
 
 " never asked myself that question. My anxiety is 
 
 " gone ; my fear is that I have lost my convictions." 
 
 " How," said her Pastor, " does God appear to 
 
 you." 
 
 " How ?— God is love. God is in Christ recon- 
 " ciling sinners unto himself. He is glorious in 
 " holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders." 
 
 " Do you love him ?" 
 
 With great simplicity she replied," I think I do 
 " not hate him now. I have been thinking of his 
 
 7 
 
68 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " character and government, and love to think or 
 " them. They do not distress me, as they did 
 " once. You know Sir, they used to distress 
 " me. But I can think of him now as a sin-hating 
 " God, without desiring that he should be less holy. 
 
 " Mary," said her Pastor, distinctly, " does God 
 '< appear glorious in your eyes for being a sin- 
 " hating, sin-avenging God?" 
 
 " He does," said she, u appear glorious." 
 
 " What do you think of yourself as a sinner, 
 Mary ?" inquired her Pastor. 
 
 "I have seen my own extreme vileness, Sir, 
 " and see it more and more ; and yet I no longer 
 wish to run away from God." 
 
 " And what," said her Pastor, " do you think of 
 Christ r 
 
 She simply answered, "His blood cleanseth 
 " from all sin." 
 
 "And can you not believe in him and receive him 
 " as your own Saviour, and say with Thomas, my 
 Lord and my God !" 
 
 "I know if I do not believe in him I must 
 perish." 
 
 " You know too, that God can be just, and 
 "justify every one that believeth. This is the 
 " record, that God hath given us eternal life, and 
 " this life is in his Son. And will you not put 
 
MEETING. 69 
 
 " honour upon God, by believing in him whom 
 "he hath sent?'' 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, I know not what to say. I do not 
 " think I am a christian. I do not disbelieve, nor 
 " distrust God. Nor am I afraid to commit myself 
 " to the hands of the mighty Saviour. But I do 
 " not know that I am accepted of him. And if 
 " not, I cannot complain. I thought this afternoon 
 " of the Saviour's love for sinners, and felt that I 
 could say with Job, Though he slay me, yet will 
 I trust in him." And there was so much meek- 
 ness and humility when she uttered this sentence, 
 that I could not doubt it bespoke her heart. 
 
 It was the sister of Mary, who, as I was after- 
 ward informed, sat next her. These sisters were 
 two of five children who, within a few weeks had 
 been brought out of darkness into God's marvellous 
 light. Elisabeth, of whom I am now speaking, 
 was the «lder. 
 
 " You expressed some relief from your anxiety," 
 said her Pastor, " when you were at the meeting 
 last week, Elisabeth." 
 
 " Yes Sir, I had some hope of having made my 
 " peace with God ; and I think it is stronger since 
 " I saw you." 
 
 Well, Elisabeth, I will leave my friend to con- 
 
70 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " verse with you, while I go to another part of the 
 "room. State your views and feelings to him, with the 
 " same frankness with which you would do to me." 
 
 • ; What induces you to believe," I enquired, 
 •• that you have experienced a change of heart ?" 
 
 " My views and desires, Sir. are very different 
 from what they once were." 
 
 " Pardon me for inquiring, in what particulars 
 they are different." 
 
 " In many particulars, Sir, but especially toward 
 • : God. I usedto care nothing about God. I scarcely 
 ••ever thought of him, and felt and acted much 
 " as I would have done were there no God. But 
 •• now I think of none so much as him. It seems 
 " to me, I see him every where, and every where 
 " enjoy him. 
 
 " Are you sure," said I, " that there is nothing 
 •you prefer above God." 
 
 • l I will not say I am sure, because it is a very 
 " easy thing for me to be deceived. But if my 
 •• heart is set on any thing more than God, I do 
 '-'• not know what it is. I am sure it is not wealth ; 
 " it is not fashion and pleasure ; it is not gay so- 
 • ciety ; it is not fame, nor any earthly good. God 
 • ; is more to me than all." 
 
 " But why do you delight so much in God." 
 
 I was struck with her reply, and wished that 
 
MEETING. 71 
 
 all the world could have heard it — " Why should 
 
 I not delight in him ?" — 
 
 " And is there nothing in God," said I, " that 
 •'displeases you? — no part of his character that you 
 "dislike?" 
 
 " No, nothing. There is nothing that is wrong. 
 " There is no blemish. God is infinitely lovely, 
 " and he does what is right. There is no reason 
 
 II why I, or any body else, should be displeased 
 " with God." And she said this with so much 
 decision and meekness, that I observed it made a 
 deep impression on several persons who sat near us. 
 
 " But," said I, " did you never, my young friend, 
 u look upon God as a hard master, and upon his 
 "Jaw as a hard and severe law ?" 
 
 " I used to think so, she replied, when I thought 
 " at all. I used often to try to banish God from 
 " my thoughts. I used to endeavour to reason 
 " away my obligations to him. I used to think 
 " that as I could not make me a new heart, so 
 "until God performed this work for me, I could 
 " not be bound to love him, nor blamed for not 
 " loving him. In this way I used to contend with 
 " God, though I was not sensible of it at the time. 
 " But I have none of these feelings now." 
 
 " You have been a great sinner then, thus to 
 " contend with God." 
 
7'4 THE INQUIRING 
 
 "01 have been a great sinner. I am a great 
 sinner still. I know if God should punish me 
 according to my ill-desert, I must perish. And 
 if I should perish, I know it would be just. It 
 would be right— exactly right" Here she wept, 
 and said, " O how wonderful is it, that he should 
 " forgive such a sinner !" 
 
 " But how can God forgive? what becomes of 
 his justice ? 
 
 " Sir, you have told us to day. He so loved the 
 "world that he gave his only begotten Son, that 
 " whosoever believeth in him might not perish, but 
 " have everlasting life. The Lord hath laid on 
 " him the iniquity of us all. He who knew no sin 
 " was made sin for us that we might be made the 
 "righteousness of God in him. I have no hopes 
 " but here. 
 
 " But how is this," said I, " and what do you 
 " understand by it ? 
 
 " I do not know that I can tell you, Sir. I 
 " am but a child in knowledge and grace. It is a 
 " very precious truth to me, that Jesus died ; that 
 " he bore my sins, and that his righteousness in 
 " the judgment of God, is counted as mine." 
 
 " But do you suppose that Christ was a sinner !" 
 
 " No ; but he bore my sins." 
 
 A And because his righteousness is imputed to 
 
MEETING, 73 
 
 " you, do you consider yourself less guilty and 
 " ill-deserving ?" 
 
 •'•' In my self , Sir, I am guilty and deserve to 
 " suffer ; but in him I hope to be acquitted from 
 ; ' the punishment I deserve, because he endured 
 " it for me. 
 
 " And how does this method of salvation appear 
 « to you ?" 
 
 u It is just what I need — Christ is my only Sa- 
 " viour. He is a full and complete Saviour. His 
 " cross is my only refuge. O, Sir, I have felt the 
 " worth and tasted the sweetness of the Saviour's 
 u dying love, and long to tell it to the world." 
 
 " Do you recollect that you were ever displeased 
 " with the doctrines of the Bible, and felt offended 
 "when you heard ministers preach on the subject 
 " of depravity 3 decrees, and election ? 
 
 " Often, very often. These doctrines were dis- 
 " pleasing to me. They disturbed me. But I do 
 " not complain of them now," 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I do not know Sir. I cannot say that I under- 
 stand them. But it appears to me that God has 
 " a right to do what he will with his own. We 
 « all deserve to die. He hath mercy on whom he 
 " will have mercy. I know he will do right. 
 
 " There is not a sparrow, or a worm, 
 " But is found in his decrees." 
 
74 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " I leave all this with God. He is of one mind 
 " and none can turn him, and what his soul 
 " desireth that he doeth." 
 
 " And how do you feel toward God's people ?" 
 
 " He loves them, and I love them. Thy people 
 " shall be my people, and thy God my God. 
 
 " How do you feel toward the work of God that 
 " is going on in this place ?'' 
 
 " When it first began, I felt opposed to it. I 
 u thought we should have a gloomy Summer, and 
 " that all my mirth was spoiled. When our dear 
 " father first spoke to us about the revival and about 
 "our own souls / I inwardjy sneered, and thought 
 "all our pleasures were over. But I feel very 
 " differently now. It has been a memorable Sum- 
 " mer to our dear family, and to many precious 
 " souls in this place. It is in my heart to bless 
 " God that I did not leave town, as I thought of 
 " doing, and that I have not been called out of the 
 " world before his b]essed Spirit came down." 
 
 " And who has brought you to this state of 
 " mind, and given you this peace and joy in be- 
 " lieving." 
 
 " None but God. His grace, his almighty and 
 " sovereign grace has done it. There was nothing 
 " in me. 
 
 " Jesus sought me when a stranger, 
 " Wandering from the fold of God," 
 
MEETING. 75 
 
 " I did not take a step till he led me. I with- 
 stood him as long as I could." 
 
 " And what if he had left you and taken other sT 
 ''It would have been right. I was greatly 
 " comforted under a sermon our Pastor preached 
 " from this text. / thank thee O Father. Lord 
 " of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these 
 u things from the wise and prudent and hast 
 " revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father ! for 
 " so it seemed good in thy sight" 
 
 :: It is a sweet thought, I replied. It made the 
 " weeping Saviour rejoice in sjririt" 
 
 " O had he not pitied the state you were in, 
 
 " Your bosoms his love had ne'er felt ; 
 " You all would have lived, would have died too in sin, 
 
 " And sunk with the load of your guilt." 
 
 " What was there in you that could merit esteem, 
 
 " Or give the Creator delight ? 
 " 'Twas Even so Father ! you ever must sing, 
 
 " Because it seemed good in thy sight. 
 
 " Then give all the glory to his holy name, 
 
 " To him all the glory belongs ; 
 *' Be yours the high joy still to sound forth his fame, 
 
 " And crown him in each of your songs ! 
 
 I now rejoined the Pastor. He was just taking 
 his seat near an elderly man whose countenance 
 
76 
 
 THE INQUIRING 
 
 was unmeaning and inexpressive. What thought I 
 can have induced this man to come to the Inquiring 
 meeting ? His Pastor treated him with a great 
 deal of kindness and condescension, and though 
 he was slow to speak, at length elicted the state of 
 his mind in the following conversation. 
 
 " I perceive you are growing old rapidly, my 
 "good friend." 
 
 " Yes Sir, I am sixty eight years of age, a very 
 "ignorant man." 
 
 "Have you ever thought much about your 
 « soul ?" 
 
 " No, Sir, I have not. I have never read the 
 " Bible much. I have not attended church, nor 
 " kept the Sabbath. 
 
 " Have you not thought more of the subject 
 " with a few weeks ? 
 
 " I have been to church of late more than I 
 " used to go, and have been thinking of my sinful 
 "and miserable condition. But I do not know 
 " how to get religion. 1 want to repent and became 
 " a child of God, but do not know how to do it." 
 
 " Does any body prevent your repenting ?" 
 
 « No, Sir." 
 
 " God has done a great deal to lead you to re- 
 " pentance. He has given you the Bible, and you 
 " say, you have neglected it. He has given you 
 
MEETING. 77 
 
 " his Sabbaths, and you have neglected these. He 
 " has given you his Son, and you have neglected 
 " him. He has given you time enough to repent, 
 "and though he has long been grieved with 
 " you, yet has he borne with you these sixty years. 
 " What excuse can you have to offer when God 
 " calls you to his bar, why you have not repented?" 
 
 " I have no excuse, and yet I do not know how 
 " to repent." 
 
 "Well, I will tell you. Think of your sins. 
 " Reflect upon them deeply. Think how many 
 " they are, and how great they are, and how long 
 " you have sinned. Recollect that they have all 
 " been committed against a Great and Holy God ; 
 "a God who has been unspeakably kind to you, 
 "and who has given his Son to die for you ; and 
 "be humbled and abased that you are such a 
 " a sinner." 
 
 " O Sir, I know I ought to feel so." 
 
 " Think too, what evil your sins have done, 
 "Reflect upon your exceeding vileness and 
 " terpitude. See how your sins have grieved the 
 "people of God, and injured his cause, and 
 " ruined your own soul, and the souls of others, 
 " and crucified the Lord of glory ; and then loathe 
 " and abhor yourself and repent in dust and ashes." 
 
 " Ah me ! exclaimed the old man ! what a sinner 
 " I am !" 
 
78 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " Forsake your sins, exclaimed his minister, 
 11 Break off your iniquity by righteousness and 
 " your transgressions by turning to God. And 
 " go with an humble and contrite spirit to the 
 " cross of Christ, and confess all your guilt there, 
 " and ask the God of mercy, if there can be any 
 " hope for you now in this eleventh hour." 
 
 "I wish I could do it. It seems to me 1 
 " would give the world if I knew how to go to 
 Christ." 
 
 '•' I have no doubt you desire to be delivered 
 " from your present burden, you are anxious to 
 " escape from the coming wrath ; but if you saw 
 " the plague and vileness of your heart, you would 
 " see that there is no good thing in it, and that the 
 " sweet exercises of genuine repentance you have 
 " never yet desired. Sure I am, that if you truly 
 " wish to repent, there is nothing in the universe 
 " to keep you from repenting." 
 
 While we were listening to this conversation, 
 the attention of the Pastor was turned to a lady 
 in a remote corner of the room. She was past 
 the meridian of life, the mother of several children 
 and much of a gentlewoman in her appearance and 
 mein. One of her daughters was present, who 
 had already expressed the hope of reconciliation 
 
MEETING. 79 
 
 to God. I perceived that her Pastor addressed 
 her with familiarity, and as though she had often 
 been at the Inquiring meeting before. 
 
 Taking a seat on a bench immediately before 
 her, he said, " Well, madam, I hope you have given 
 " up the controversy, and enjoy peace with God." 
 
 She shook her head, and remained silent. 
 
 " Do you feel willing to be left behind, while so 
 " many are pressing into the kingdom ?" 
 
 She replied, " I do not see that lean do anything 
 " more than I have done." 
 
 " Do you think, that when you come to stand 
 11 at the bar of God. you will feel that you have 
 " done all that you could ?" 
 
 " What can I do more ?" was her only reply. 
 
 " And what have you done ?" said her Pastor. 
 " What have you done, except sin against God all 
 " your days ? And what are you doing now, when 
 " his Spirit is so tenderly striving with you, except 
 " contending with your Maker ?" 
 
 " But, sir, I cannot change my own heart. So 
 "the Bible teaches me, and so you have instructed 
 "me often." 
 
 "Pardon me for inquiring," said the Pastor, 
 "what is the object of this remark? Do you 
 " make it because you see and feel it to be true, or 
 
 8 
 
SO THE INQUIRING 
 
 " because you want an excuse for not loving 
 " God ? If it is a mere excuse for not giving 
 '■your heart to God, it behoves you to be satisfied 
 u that it is such an one as God will accept. If it 
 « is not such as you yourself are persuaded God 
 " will accept, then do not utter it. Never, never 
 i l utter it again. But if it is not because you want 
 "an excuse; if you feel this weighty truth; if 
 u you are deeply sensible that you are in the 
 " hands of God ; if you know that you are so vile, 
 ;! that unless the living God, by the power of his 
 " grace, take from you the heart of stone, and give 
 11 you a heart of flesh ; then do you indeed see 
 " that you are in a lost condition." 
 
 " O sir," she exclaimed, " I am just this lost 
 " creature ! Why did God create me ? Why 
 " did he give me existence only to make me mise- 
 "rable ?" And she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 There was no small emotion in the room. 
 Every person saw what it was to contend with 
 God. Numbers seemed moved by sympathy ; 
 but their ears were open to instruction. The 
 lady continued weeping, while her pastor intreated 
 her no longer to contend with God, and resist 
 that sovereign power which alone could save her 
 from despair. 
 
 Just at this moment, an incident took place, the 
 
MEETING. 81 
 
 mention of which I may not suppress. The 
 daughter of this lady was present, and had herself, 
 a few days before, found peace and joy in believ- 
 ing. During the previous conversation, unob- 
 served, she had removed from a remote part of the 
 room, and occupied a seat near her mother. She 
 was deeply affected by her mother's state of mind, 
 and with one arm thrown around her neck, and in 
 a low beseeching tone of voice, said, Dear mother ! 
 O the fulness there is in Christ I Come ivith us 
 to this ocean of mercy /" We were all in tears. 
 We literally turned away to weep. " O Mrs. 
 
 M ," said her Pastor, " the blame is on your 
 
 "side, and not on God's. God is right and the 
 " sinner is wrong. That ocean of mercy ! Will 
 " you not repair with your children to that ocean 
 " of mercy ?" 
 
 There was a young lady occupying a seat near 
 the centre of the room, who had gathered around 
 her six or seven others not far from from her own 
 age, with whom she was conversing, though in a 
 subdued and scarcely audible voice. 
 
 One of this little cluster I observed wept bitterly. 
 What a group, thought I ! How delightful if this 
 little company should all be seeking Jesus ! if this 
 youthful loveliness, these honours as they just 
 begin to bloom, should be devoted to him ! 
 
82 THE INaUIRING 
 
 " Sarah," said her Pastor, " do you retain your 
 " hope of the divine favour still ?" 
 
 « O sir," said she, " I have been very happy 
 "since I last saw you. A little while after you 
 " left me, I was again oppressed with a sense of 
 •< my desperate wickedness. I looked up and saw 
 •• against what a God I had been sinning all my 
 u life long, and I was oppressed and filled with 
 " shame. O what a God he is ! How good ! 
 " how lovely ! and yet how fearful ! These 
 '-'- thoughts of God filled my mind with great joy, 
 ; ' and it seemed as though I could do nothing but 
 •'admire the excellency and loveliness of God. 
 "God was very near to me. I. could not help 
 " thinking how delightful it was to live in God's 
 •< world — to be his creature — to be in his hand — to 
 « be his. child — to call him my Father, and to love 
 * and trust him forever." 
 
 " The Bible," observed her Pastor," " if I mis- 
 « take not, speaks of the glory of God in the face 
 "of Jesus Christ." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said she, " and Dr. Watts beautifully 
 •< paraphrases the thought. 
 
 " See where it shines in Jesus' face, 
 11 The brightest image of his grace, 
 " God in the person of his Son, 
 " Hath all his mightiest works outdone." 
 
MEETING. 83 
 
 " I see an infinite fulness and sufficiency in this 
 "salvation. He is a hiding place from the 
 " storm, a covert from the tempest, as rivers of 
 " water in a dry place, and as the shadow of a 
 " great rock in a weary land. I think I can say, 
 " Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief. But. 
 "sir, these dear friends of mine — I thought I 
 " could certainly persuade them all to come to 
 " Jesus ; it seemed to me so easy to come to him, 
 " and so wicked to stay away ; and Christ appears 
 " so lovely. But, O sir, I cannot persuade them. 
 " I desire to take them all in my arms and carry 
 " them to Christ." It seemed as though the young 
 ladies could scarcely refrain from loud weeping. 
 I was waiting to hear what my friend would 
 address to this interesting circle, but he simply 
 repeated the following lines : 
 
 "Welcome, welcome, dear Redeemer, 
 "Welcome to this heart of mine ; 
 " Lord, I make a full surrender, 
 " Every power and thought be thine : 
 
 " Thine intirely, 
 " Through eternal ages thine." 
 
 There was one person present, who from his 
 appearance, I judged moved in the higher walks 
 of society, and who from his conversation, was a 
 very intelligent man, and not ignorant either of 
 
 8* 
 
34 THE INQUIRING 
 
 letters, or the world. I afterwards learned that he 
 was a counsellor at law of very respectable stand- 
 ing in his profession, and the father of a nume- 
 rous family. As we drew near him, he rose and 
 extended his hand to his minister, and remarked ; 
 
 " Sir, this I presume is as unexpected to you, as 
 '-'• to me." 
 
 " It affords me great pleasure," replied the cler- 
 gyman, " to meet you here. Are not some of 
 cc your children in the room ?" 
 
 " One of my sons I saw as I entered the door. 
 • c Two weeks ago, I should have been not a little 
 " displeased to have known of his being present 
 " at such a place, but I rejoice now to meet him 
 " even here." 
 
 "Your views of religious subjects then are 
 somewhat changed?" 
 
 " I was once a confirmed Universal ist, as you 
 " well know, and I really believed that soul-de- 
 ;c stroying system." 
 
 " And what has disturbed you in this belief?" 
 
 " Not long after the day of fasting and prayer, 
 " which was set apart by the church about six 
 •< weeks ago, I had a conversation with my family 
 " physician, who is a sensible and pious man, on 
 " the subject of universalism. After he left me, 
 " there was some inquietude on my mind. I felt 
 
MEETING. 85 
 
 " unhappy, I knew not why. I took no pleasure in 
 "the world, and lost my zeal in my profession." 
 
 " Perhaps you feared the doctrine of universal- 
 " ism was not true ?" 
 
 ■ I cannot say that I feared it was false, or 
 " desired it might be true. I was desirous to see 
 " it as it is, let it be true or false. But, sir, I was 
 " greatly agitated on this subject, and so much so, 
 " that I could not sleep. I took my Bible and 
 " turned to those texts which I had long considered 
 il as a proof of my sentiments ; but on carefully 
 " reading and considering them, they did not ap~ 
 " pear so conclusive as they had done." 
 
 " What were your reflections V 
 
 " I determined I would be on the safe side ; 
 " andaslknew I had no religion, resolved to attend 
 " to it, and to repent and believe on Jesus Christ as 
 11 the Saviour of lost sinners." 
 
 " Did you find no difficulty in doing this?" 
 
 u I thought I could do it ; and then if my sen- 
 timents concerning the salvation of all men 
 " should not prove true, I should be safe. Accord- 
 K ingly I set about it, but in a few days I relapsed 
 "into my old careless habits. This alarmed 
 "me, and I resolved to enter on the business 
 " again. Again I relapsed into carelessness and 
 " again I resolved to become religious ; but to no 
 
86 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " better effect than before, until at length, I felt in 
 " some measure my dependence on God to enable 
 " me to keep my resolutions." 
 
 " And what became of your universalism ?" 
 
 « My confidence in it gradually weakened, and 
 " I had much anxiety and concern of mind." 
 
 « How did you feel toward those truths of the 
 » Bible which stand opposed to universalism, and 
 " which have been so much insisted on during 
 " this season of the outpouring of God's Spirit." 
 
 "I contended with them, and even more than I was 
 " in the habit of doing when I was a confirmed 
 « universalist. The doctrine of the intire deprav- 
 « ity of the human heart, the doctrine of divine 
 « sovereignty and election appeared hard sayings." 
 
 " Have you become reconciled to these doc- 
 " trines ?" 
 
 " Permit me to give you a brief narrative." 
 
 " On a particular occasion I was called to a 
 " neighbouring: village. As I was riding alone, 
 " God was pleased so to discover to me my own 
 " heart, that for a considerable time I have no 
 " recollection of any circumstance or object about 
 " me. My attention was so entirely swallowed up 
 » by the dreadful discoveries of my own sinfulness, 
 " that I knew of nothing else which passed in my 
 " mind, until at length I found myself miles beyond 
 
MEETING. 87 
 
 " the place of my destination, and the shadows of 
 " evening shut in upon me. I found my way to 
 " such lodgings as I could, but could not sleep. 
 " There was a heavy load on my mind. In the 
 " morning I returned home, without attempting to 
 " transact my business, and was unable for several 
 " days to go into my office." 
 
 " Have you found relief? and if you have, how 
 « did you find it ?" 
 
 " I scarcely know how to answer you, because 
 " though I do not feel happy, yet my burden has 
 -•passed away. I found no relief until about ten 
 M days since, when feeling my absolute depen- 
 " dance on the sovereign will of God to dispose of 
 " me as he should see fit, I resigned myself into 
 " his hands, sensible that if he should change my 
 " vile heart I should be saved ; but if not, and he 
 "should send me to hell, it would be perfectly just, 
 " and I should see it and know it forever." 
 
 " Have you established the worship of God in 
 " your family ?" 
 
 " No I have not, but it is my purpose to do so." 
 
 " Will you do it this evening ?" 
 
 " God helping me, I will." 
 
 I was anxious to hear this conversation contin- 
 ued, but a collection of young men were sitting 
 just behind us to whom I perceived the clergyman 
 
88 THE INQUIRING 
 
 was anxious to address himself. He remained 
 standing, and in a tone of voice which all who 
 were near him could hear, said ; 
 
 " And which of you, my young friends, has any 
 " interest in this great subject ? It is a time when 
 " God is drawing near and when it is awfully haz- 
 " ardous to trifle with the concerns of the soul." 
 
 For a moment, there was no reply. At length 
 one of the company said ; 
 
 " Sir, we wish to obtain religion. "We shall 
 " never have a better time. If we suffer this revi- 
 " val to pass away without becoming the children 
 " of God, we shall probably live and die in our 
 " sins." 
 
 " And have none of you," said the minister, 
 " reason to believe you have made your peace 
 " with God ?" 
 
 All replied in the negative except one, and he 
 looked up as though he desired, but durst not 
 give a different answer. 
 
 " James," said the minister, " do you think you 
 " are a christian ?" 
 
 " My distress is gone, Sir," he replied, " but I 
 " am afraid I am not a christian. I feel willing 
 " now to be in the hands of God. I know that he 
 " is great and good, holy and gracious, and I am 
 <• rejoiced that so many are turning to the Lord 
 
MEETING. 89 
 
 " and loving him. But I am afraid I do not love 
 " him." 
 
 " James," replied his pastor, " I hope you will 
 " call and see me to-morrow. And you, my 
 " young friends, I know it is very possible that 
 " you may die as you have lived, without God 
 " and without hope. It is no small matter to en- 
 " ter into the kingdom of heaven. You are sin- 
 " ners, and under the condemnation of God's holy 
 " law. Already are you doomed to eternal -death, 
 " and unless the execution of this sentence can be 
 " averted, and you can obtain pardon from your 
 " offended God, you must perish. But to obtain 
 " pardoning mercy, you must first see that you 
 " need it. You must see and feel that you are 
 " lost. Lost ! lost ! lost ! O how certainly is the 
 " sinner lost, who is out of Christ ! Death may come 
 " and find you lost. And then you cannot escape. 
 u No, you cannot escape the damnation of hell. O 
 11 what a view is it to look upon such a collection of 
 "youth going down to endless, remediless ruin ! Men 
 " and angels might weep over such a scene as this." 
 
 As we turned from this interesting group, and 
 approached a different part of the room, we passed 
 a young lady sobbing almost aloud. The Pastor 
 turned back. 
 
 " O Sir," said she, " I am a poor sinner, going 
 " down to hell." 
 
90 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " How long," said the minister, " have you been 
 " in this state of mind ?" 
 
 " My mind was distressed to day, under the 
 " morning sermon ; and my distress increased in 
 " the afternoon. I did not mean to come to this 
 " meeting, nor let any body know how I felt. But 
 " I am undone. I must become reconciled to Godj 
 " or perish. I have been hanging over a preci- 
 " pice all my days, but never saw it until now." 
 
 " And if you see it now, so much the more in- 
 " excusable and guilty will you be, if you do not 
 " escape the gulf." 
 
 "But how can I escape ? I would be glad to do 
 " it if I could." 
 
 " My young friend, what prevents your es- 
 " caping, but your own reluctant heart." 
 
 She still wept and we passed on to a young 
 man who I afterwards ascertained was a professor 
 of religion. 
 
 " I did not expect to see you at the inquiring 
 " meeting, said the minister." 
 
 " I suppose not, Sir," replied the young man. 
 "As you well know, I once thought myself a 
 u christian. Nor did I mean, or desire to deceive 
 11 myself, or be deceived in this hope. But when 
 " God appeared to revive his work among us, I 
 " thought it was a favourable season for me to en- 
 
MEETING. 91 
 
 (: ter into the foundation of my hopes, and examine 
 " the ground on which I stood. This thought 
 " was strongly impressed on my mind, especially 
 " for the greater part of the night, and I could not 
 " sleep for fear I was building on the sand. I 
 " then solemnly resolved to give up my confidence, 
 " if I could not find scripture evidence of a change 
 " of heart. And that evidence I cannot find. I 
 " am convinced I have never been born of God. 
 " On thursday evening last at the lecture, my 
 " hope perished." 
 
 This young man was in deep distress. It 
 seemed to me that he saw himself in the gall of 
 bitterness and bonds of iniquity. I could not help 
 saying within myself, The spirit of a man can 
 sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who 
 can bear ? " Though I have professed religion," 
 continued this distressed youth, " almost four 
 " years, yet I just begin to feel that the Bible is 
 " true, that God is in earnest, that I am a lost sin- 
 " ner, and wholly in the hands of a sovereign God." 
 
 Why is it, thought I, that ministers and the 
 
 people of God have so much more sympathy for 
 
 those who are professedly impenitent, than for the 
 
 self-deceived ? Are there no solicitudes for the false 
 
 professor ? no sympathies for those who have a 
 
 name that they live, while they are dead ? There 
 
 9 
 
92 THE INQUIRING 
 
 was a mournful tone and emphasis about every 
 thing this young man spoke, that sunk to my soul. 
 There were great tenderness and sincerity in his 
 manner, and I felt that it was truly an awful thing 
 to have a hope that might perish when God should 
 take away the soul. 
 
 " I scarcely know," said the minister, " how to 
 " address you. It may be just as you say, that 
 " you have been deceived with a false hope. God 
 " often shows his mighty power in undeceiving 
 " the deceived at such a time as this. How kind 
 " is it in him to do so, and at a season when his 
 " Spirit is descending, not only to reclaim the 
 " backslider, and convert the self-hardened, but to 
 " awaken and convince, and convert the self-de- 
 " ceived ! Be ever grateful to God, my young 
 " friend, for opening your eyes, and for not leav- 
 " ing you to make this melancholy discovery when 
 " it is forever too late." 
 
 " O sir," replied he, " I fear it is too late now." 
 
 "Why should you fear this?" replied his Pastor.. 
 " It is never too late, while you have opportunity to 
 repent and believe the gospel. The blessed Sa- 
 viour invites you now." 
 
 Toward the lower part of the room and near 
 the entrance, sat a man of fine visage, gentle- 
 manly appearance, and, as I should suppose, nearly 
 
MEETING. 93 
 
 fifty years of age. As we turned our eyes toward 
 the place where he sat, my friend remarked to me, 
 " The gentleman you see near the door has been a 
 " great opposer of religion. He moves in the higher 
 " orders of society ; has groat influence, and a strong 
 " and well cultivated mind. Nothing could have 
 " brought him here this evening but the Spirit of 
 « God." We sat ourselves down beside him, and 
 after a moments pause he himself broke the silence, 
 and as it seemed to me, almost abruptly. 
 
 " It is here," said he, " it is here !" 
 
 u What is here ?" replied his minister. 
 
 " It is here, just as you have preached. I hate 
 " his character ; I hate his laws ; I hate his govern- 
 « ment ; I hate his Son. I have always acted 
 "from a sinful heart. I have never done any 
 "thing right. I used to think I had done many 
 " things that were right and acceptable in the 
 " sight of God ; but I am all wrong. God is angry 
 " with me, and dooms me to hell. It is impossible 
 " for me ever to be happy. I shall soon be called 
 " to meet death, and stand before God ; and I 
 " must perish ! It seems to me, that with every 
 " thought, and every breath, I am waxing worse 
 " and worse, and only preparing to sink deeper 
 " into hell." 
 
 « How long Sir," said my friend, " have you 
 » been in this unhappy state of mind V 
 
94 
 
 THE INQUIRING 
 
 " Sir, it is now three days, and it seems to me I 
 " cannot live. I heard to day that my son is 
 " happy in the hope of the gospel, and this has 
 " greatly distressed me on my own account." 
 
 " And can you not come and accept of mercy ? 
 u All things are ready. The Son of man came to 
 u seek and save that which was lost. Why should 
 " you not take the water of life freely 7 God makes 
 " no hard conditions." 
 
 « They are hard to me. I feel that I can never 
 " save myself. If God does not take away my 
 " obstinate heart, and make me willing in the day 
 t c of his power, I am as certain that I shall sink to 
 « hell, as that I am now in this house of prayer." 
 
 '• I know it is so," replied the minister, " but 
 « is there not hope in that sovereign, omnipotent 
 <■'- grace, when every other hope is fled ?" 
 
 " There is," replied the trembling sinner, " hope 
 " no where else. But to my mind, it is awfully 
 " uncertain whether God will ever consent to 
 " make me a vessel of mercy. I am so vile, that 
 f< it seems to me I must be left to perish." 
 
 * I know," replied his minister, " that it would 
 " be right. God may leave you to be the victim 
 "of your own obduracy. I cannot help you. 
 " No creature can help you ^ you are in God's 
 « hands," 
 
MEETING. 95 
 
 " Yes," said he, " as the clay is in the hands of 
 "the potter." 
 
 " Go then, go to his mercy seat and throw your- 
 " self upon his sovereign power and love. Tell 
 " him you deserve to die ; but inquire of him, 
 " whether there may not yet be hope ? Go in the 
 "name and love of Jesus the Great Mediator. 
 " Go in happy and encouraged dependance on 
 " almighty grace. God says to every convinced 
 " sinner, Let him take hold of my strength and 
 " be at peace with me, and he shall be at peace 
 " with me? 
 
 " O Sir," said he, " pray for me." 
 
 We rose to leave him, and just as we were 
 going, we heard him say, ■< Him that cometh to 
 " me, I will in no wise cast out? " Yes, " answer- 
 ed I, "He is not a man that he should lie, nor 
 " the son of man that he should repent. It is a 
 "faithful saying and worthy of all acceptation, 
 « that Christ Jesus came into the world to save 
 " sinners? 
 
 I could perceive that he wept. " I have not a 
 word to say, observed he, if he casts me off." And 
 he wept profusely. 
 
 It was now after 9 o'clock, and it was thought 
 best to bring the meeting to a close. I have wept 
 with the afflicted in the chambers of mourning. I 
 
96 
 
 THE INQUIRING 
 
 have stood by the couch of the dying sinner. I 
 have passed through scenes where some twenty 
 or thirty of my fellow men were in the agonies of 
 dissolution, and groans, and sighs, and songs of 
 praise mingled with every breath. But never be- 
 fore did I witness such a scene as this. Here 
 were the old and the young, the rich and the 
 poor, the ignorant and the learned, the mother 
 and the daughter, together inquiring what they 
 should do to be saved. Here was the alarmed 
 and awakened sinner, just prepared to suppress 
 the incipient remonstrances of conscience, and 
 return to his wonted security, or lay hold of a 
 premature and delusive hope. Here was the old 
 professor, with all his former confidence shaken 
 and his hopes shivering as though they had been 
 blasted by the tempest. Here were the burdened 
 and convinced, who felt as though their iniquity 
 and their punishment were greater than they 
 could bear, who sat speechless and condemned, 
 while despair and anguish seemed settled on 
 every feature. Here was one whose enmity to 
 God but a few days since was so deep-rooted and 
 implacable, that he seemed almost like a fiend in 
 human form, now « clothed in his right mind," 
 and soft and gentle as a lamb. Here was a circle 
 of young converts into whose bosom light had 
 
MEETING. 97 
 
 dawned like the rays of the morning, and who 
 had just begun their everlasting song. And 
 here were others who for weeks had been under 
 deep dejection ; who complained that wearisome 
 nights were appointed unto them, and who were 
 still wading through deep waters and thick dark- 
 ness. I could not but advert to the glory of that 
 scene at Sinai, when the camp of Israel trembled, 
 and even Moses said, / do exceedingly fear and 
 quake. But though it was a time of trembling, 
 it was a time of awful stillness. It was the still 
 small voice which made the prophet " wrap his 
 face in his mantle." God was there, and in the 
 glory of his existence, power, justice, mercy, 
 sovereignty and faithfulness. 
 
 I felt no small degree of solicitude that so solemn 
 a meeting should leave a right impression on every 
 mind present. And while this thought was passing 
 through my mind, my worthy brother rose and 
 made in substance the following appropriate and 
 affecting remarks. 
 
 My dear friends, I have been deeply interested 
 in this meeting. I trust we shall all remember it, 
 and carry the remembrance of it to our graves, 
 and to the bar of judgment. God grant that we 
 may all bear it in humble and grateful remem- 
 brance, when his ransomed ones come to Mount 
 
9S THE INQUIRING 
 
 Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their 
 heads ! 
 
 Some of you, I would fondly hope, God has 
 made willing in the day of his power. O what a 
 subject of contemplation to a benevolent mind ! 
 To be redeemed from the bondage of sin and re- 
 ceive the adoption of sons ; to be plucked as 
 brands out of the fire, and set forth to shine as 
 lights in the world ; what a change is this ! How 
 immeasurable the goodness of God in making you 
 the subjects of his grace and the heirs of his 
 kingdom ! Others are left blinded by the deceit- 
 fulness and chained by the depravity of their own 
 hearts, while you are brought out of darkness into 
 God's marvellous light, and enjoy the liberty of the 
 sons of God. O will you not feel that you are not 
 your own, but bought with a price, and glorify 
 God in your bodies and spirits which are his ? 
 " By theix fruits ye shall know them." God grant 
 that you may hold on, and hold fast, and hold out 
 to the end ! 
 
 But what shall I say to some persons present ? Be- 
 loved friends, some of you have never yet seen 
 the plague of your hearts. You are not thought- 
 less. You are not immersed in the enjoyments of 
 this perishable world. You are afraid of death 
 and eternity and the wrath of God. You have 
 
MEETING. 99 
 
 formed solemn resolutions to enter on a new 
 course of life ; and you do not as yet see any 
 insuperable difficulty in your way. But my 
 dear friends, you are bound — bound by the 
 cords of sin. Your feet stand on slippery places. 
 It is a very doubtful matter whether you will 
 ever enter into the kingdom of God. You may 
 live through this revival, and become more and 
 more hardened. And you may at last, see many 
 come from the North and the South, the East 
 and the West, and sit down with Abraham, 
 Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of God, and you 
 yourselves cast out. O that my head were waters 
 and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might 
 weep day and night for you who are thus grieving 
 the Holy Spirit of God. 
 
 There are some among you also, whom I 
 would fain comfort, but may not, because they 
 stay away from Christ. You feel the burden 
 of your sins, and yet refuse to come to the 
 Saviour. You fear that you are condemned, 
 and well may your fear it. God is angry with 
 the wicked every day. So long as you are 
 out of Christ there is cause for fear. If you die 
 without an interest in his atoning blood, nothing 
 can keep you from everlasting burnings. And 
 who can tell when death will invade your pillow ? 
 
100 THE INQUIRING 
 
 Who can tell, but you have well nigh exhausted 
 the divine long-suffering, and may soon be called 
 to give up your account ? O consider that you 
 are going down to hell. This night, this hour, 
 turn and live. If you have nothing of your own 
 to plead, see the fulness, the unspeakable fulness 
 of Christ. If you have no good thing, come as 
 you are to Jesus Christ. If you are utterly un- 
 worthy, remember it will not make you worthy 
 to stay away from Christ. If you deserve to 
 sink to hell, come and tell him your ill desert ; 
 confess it all ; throw yourselves at his feet ; and 
 cast yourselves upon his free and sovereign grace. 
 Go from this house humbled and repenting sin- 
 ners. Go silently to your closets. Look not, 
 speak not to creatures, but to Christ. He is the 
 hiding place. He will save you by himself alone, 
 or leave you all to perish. He will have all the 
 glory, or you shall never join the song of his re- 
 deemed. 
 
 After these remarks, which were listened to with 
 eagerness and tears, we all bowed ourselves before 
 God, in a short prayer, and the exercises of the 
 evening were closed with the following hymn : 
 
 11 Come, ye weary, heavy laden, 
 "Lost and ruin'd by the fall j 
 
MEETING. 10 L 
 
 If you tarry till you're better, 
 "You will never come at all : 
 
 " Not the righteous — 
 11 Sinners Jesus came to call. 
 
 "Let not conscience make you linger, 
 
 " Nor of fitness fondly dream ; 
 " All the fitness he requireth, 
 
 "Is to feel your need of him : 
 " This he gives you — 
 
 "'Tis the Spirit's rising beam. 
 
 *• Lo ! th' incarnate God ascended, 
 
 "Pleads the merit of his blood ; 
 "Venture on him, venture wholly, 
 
 " Let no other trust intrude : 
 " None but Jesus 
 
 "Can do helpless sinners good." 
 
 The last two lines were repeated with a sweet and 
 subdued emphasis, and seemed to reach every 
 heart, 
 
 " None but Jesus, 
 
 " None but Jesus, 
 
 " Can do helpless sinners good." 
 
 I returned to my lodgings, and gave thanks to 
 the Father of lights that I had been permitted to 
 witness such a scene. The meeting for prayer in 
 
 the school room, I learned from Mrs. S , was 
 
 truly a blessed meeting. The next morning we 
 
102 THE INQUIRING 
 
 awoke early, and pursued our journey with emo- 
 tions we shall not easily forget. We rode over 
 the plain, and began to ascend the hills just as 
 the sun dawned. Whether my mind had become 
 unusually tranquil and elevated by the scenes 
 I had witnessed, or whether some kind and gra- 
 cious influence moved it at that sweet hour, I can- 
 not tell. But joys that were past were brought 
 back upon my soul, and I was reminded of the 
 hour when I have hoped old things jiassed 
 away, and all things became new, I then saw 
 God in every thing and was happy. So now, 
 every thing around me was full of God — O how 
 full of God ! The plain, the village, the dis- 
 tant mountains as I stopped to look back upon 
 them, were delightfully resplendent with the good- 
 ness, wisdom and power of their Great Maker. 
 The very light and atmosphere seemed all full of 
 God. My mind was as calm as the soft breezes 
 which fanned the forest, and buoyant as its bend- 
 ing' foliage. It seemed to me the face of nature 
 was never lighted up with such smiles before. 
 The distant horizon was spread out far as the eye 
 could extend itself, like the bosom of a peaceful 
 lake. Just hovering over its remote verge, was a 
 deep mild cloud, resembling a chain of mountains 
 stretching along for leagues on either side, while 
 
MEETING. 103 
 
 in its rear the rising sun shed upward his blushing 
 radiance, every where waking the melody of 
 praise. 
 
 10 
 
No. IV. 
 
 letter to a young clergyman. 
 
 New York, Nov., 1836. 
 
 Rev. and dear Brother : 
 
 I can truly sympathize with you when 
 you say, " I feel myself to be a very unprofitable 
 minister." Nor do I know that I can give you 
 any " hints" that will be of use to you in your 
 great and important work. There is a single 
 point in relation to which I will venture to throw 
 out some suggestions. 
 
 Will you indulge me a few moments, while I 
 direct your attention to that part of ministerial 
 labour which is to constitute the great business of 
 of his life, — I mean the instructions of the pulpit. 
 
 I know not how you can more magnify the 
 pastoral office, than by exalting, and performing 
 acceptably and profitably, the appropriate ser- 
 vices of the sacred desk. By far the most import- 
 ant part of your labours will be found in the du- 
 ties which devolve upon you as a public teacher. 
 
LETTER TO A YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 105 
 
 u Go, teach all nations''' — " A bishop mast be 
 apt to teach" — " The same commit thou to 
 faithful men, who shall be able to teach others 
 also' 1 — ■••' As ye go preach" — " Preach the 
 word" — " We preach Christ crucified" — " Faith 
 cometh by hearing" — " It pleased God, through 
 the foolishness of preaching, to save them that 
 believe" What is the import of these and similar 
 thoughts, if they do not inculcate the idea, that the 
 first and great business of a minister of the gospel 
 is to become a public teacher — an able minister 
 of the Neio Testament. 
 
 The design of God in the gospel of his Son is 
 to rescue innumerable millions from the conse- 
 quences of the first apostacy, and fit them by the 
 power of his grace for the joys of his right hand. 
 But they are sitting in darkness, and in the val- 
 ley of the shadoiv of death. The instrument — 
 the only instrument of their moral renovation is 
 truth — his own truth. Had the Holy Scriptures 
 of themselves been sufficient to constitute this 
 instrumentality, he would have given the world 
 only the Holy Scriptures. But he has appointed a 
 distinct order of men, whose special and respon- 
 sible employment is to illustrate, defend, and 
 enforce the truth which he has revealed ; to call 
 up the attention of a world that lieth in wicked- 
 
106 LETTER TO A 
 
 ness ; and in humble dependance upon his Spirit, 
 to turn them from idols to serve the living God, 
 and to wait for his Son from heaven. 
 
 There is wonderful wisdom in this arrange- 
 ment. It is one of the great peculiarities of Chris- 
 tianity, that its Founder has instituted such a 
 class of men as the public teachers of his religion. 
 Orders of men there have been, and still are in 
 Pagan lands for the performance of religious cere- 
 monies, and to " conduct the pomp of lustrations 
 and sacrifices ;" but I have yet to learn if there be 
 any such order, either in ancient or modern times, 
 except under the system of religion revealed in 
 the Bible, set apart for the inculcation of moral 
 and religious truth. On the other hand, the 
 policy of false religions has been to excite the 
 curiosity of men without gratifying it ; to throw 
 around their oracles the air of mystery ; to hold 
 the world in the bondage of ignorance ; and to 
 have the credit of knowing what none but those 
 who had intercourse with the gods knew. 
 
 The divine institution of the Christian minis- 
 try gives great weight and importance, in my 
 humble judgment, to the instructions of the sanc- 
 tuary. A true religion is thus invested with a 
 sort of self-perpetuating power. There is no other 
 way in which the knowledge and worship of the 
 
YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 107 
 
 true God can be maintained. No religion, which 
 does not owe its continuance to the wicked pas- 
 sions of men, can stand long without an order of 
 religious instructors. The pulpit distinguishes 
 Christian lands from all other lands, whether Pa- 
 gan, or Mahometan. The pulpit is the defence, 
 the strength, the glory of the church. And hence 
 the history of the pulpit furnishes the moral his- 
 tory of the world. There is no institution that 
 exerts so powerful an influence on the wide circle 
 of human interests as this. Under God, the tem- 
 poral and eternal well being of mankind are sus- 
 pended upon a spiritual, faithful, able ministry. 
 As the means of preserving the minds of men 
 from the seductive and pernicious influence of 
 error and wickedness, and turning them to the 
 paths of life and peace — as the depository of truth 
 and directory in morals and duty — such a ministry 
 is the light of the world. 
 
 I do not depreciate the Christian press, when I 
 say it never was designed for the instruction of 
 the great mass of mankind. Constituted and con- 
 ditioned as they ever have been, and now are, the 
 mass of men have neither information nor time to 
 be intelligent readers. To the poor the gospel is 
 preached. Not more certainly is truth the foun- 
 dation of knowledge, holiness, and happiness, and 
 
108 LETTER TO A 
 
 the gospel the system of truth, than the living- 
 teacher is the great means of making known the 
 gospel. I fear none of us appreciate as we ought 
 the immense importance of preaching. Even the 
 most intelligent portion of the reading community 
 derive their religious sentiments from the sacred 
 desk. Few, very few of them are readers of re- 
 ligious books. Other streams there are ; but a 
 well furnished pulpit is the fountain of religious 
 knowledge. I have no doubt that the public in- 
 structions of the sanctuary mould the moral in- 
 tellect and character of men, more than any other 3 
 and all other causes combined. 
 
 Can this be doubted, if we look at the real state 
 of the case ? Think of such men as Edwards, or 
 Witherspoon, or Davies, or Chalmers, having 
 access to some five hundred, or two thousand 
 minds, two or three times in each week ; — minds 
 that are broad awake, and perhaps intensely inter- 
 ested ! Such a preacher puts a volume of well 
 digested instruction, upon subjects the most deeply 
 interesting and important that can be conceived, 
 not into the hands of a solitary individual, or of a 
 family, but simultaneously into the hands of hun- 
 dreds. He does this one hundred and fifty times 
 a year. Who does not see that if his own mind 
 be taught of God, and laboriously disciplined, and 
 
YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 109 
 
 liberally furnished, and if he is faithful to his 
 trust, an immense amount of truth must thus be 
 poured upon the benighted intellect of men, even 
 within the short compass of a very few years? 
 Let such a ministry be widely and densely scat- 
 tered throughout the land, delivering the truth, 
 not in the enticing ivords of marts wisdom, but 
 in demonstration of the Sjririt and of power ; 
 and how soon would it bloom like Eden and be- 
 come as the garden of the Lord ! Not to a village, 
 a city, or an extended district, would such a 
 ministry confine its influence ; but like the sun, its 
 going forth would be from the end of the heaven, 
 and its circuit would be unto the ends of it ; 
 and nothing would be hid from the heat thereof. 
 Is it not an amazing privilege to have access to 
 such a mass of mind as is submitted to an instruc- 
 tive and faithful minister of the gospel with every 
 returning day of the Son of Man — thus putting at 
 his controul one seventh part of human life for 
 the great purpose of moral and religious instruc- 
 tion. " The great praise of Socrates," says Dr. 
 Johnson, « is that he drew the wits of Greece from 
 " the vain pursuit of natural philosophy to moral 
 " inquiries." The great privilege of the gospel 
 ministry is that it turns the minds of men from 
 the vain pursuit of all their philosophical specula- 
 
110 LETTER TO A 
 
 tions to the law of God and to the cross of Christ. 
 It is no wonder the great Apostle exclaimed, 
 " Who is sufficient for these things /" Is there 
 not a responsibility attached to the services of the 
 pulpit that might well make an angel tremble ? 
 O who that duly reflects on the solemnity of such 
 a calling, must not be oppressed, if not over- 
 whelmed ! Nor is there any consolation in the 
 midst of this fearful solicitude — no, not even from 
 the promised presence of his Saviour, — to the man 
 who seeks not, labours not, prays not thus to im- 
 press and penetrate the minds of those committed 
 to his charge. 
 
 In the whole course of your ministrations 
 therefore, let your mind be directed toward that 
 department of labour to which it must always be 
 mainly applied. Aim early, aim constantly to 
 furnish yourself to become a preacher. Every 
 thing you do, or leave undone should have influ- 
 ence on your usefulness as a preacher. Instruc- 
 tion from the pulpit is to be your great business. 
 It is a part of a ministers duty, which holds the 
 first place, and which may never be yielded to 
 any other. No other contributes so much to his 
 usefulness. Other duties he has. He must visit 
 the sick and the dying. He must bind up the 
 broken hearted in the house of mourning. He 
 

 
 YOUNG CLERGYMAN. Ill 
 
 must lift his consolatory and warning voice in the 
 land of silence and amid the memorials of the 
 dead. He must be watchful too, how he neglects 
 to cultivate those social affections whose cheerful 
 and benignant influence the piety of the gospel 
 elevates and purifies, and which wind their way 
 into the kindest sympathies of those he serves. 
 But after all, he must remember that his great 
 business is to prepare for the public service of the 
 house of God. In no other ought he to be, and 
 for no other does he need to be so well furnished. 
 Nothing may interfere with his duty of preparing 
 for the Sabbath. Next to actual immorality and 
 the want of personal religion, there is no such de- 
 fect in a minister's character as deficiency in his 
 public instructions. I look upon the minister who 
 neglects the wants of the whole body of his people 
 from a false regard to the wants of single family, 
 or a single individual, as criminally unfaithful to 
 his high and holy trust. Judge ye whether it is 
 the more profitable to discourse instructively, ap- 
 propriately, tenderly, with a single family, or to 
 discourse instructively, appropriately, tenderly 
 with the assembled tribes of God's Israel ? I would 
 not have you depreciate pastoral visitation. God 
 forbid ! But I would have you appreciate the par- 
 amount duties of the Sanctuary. A minister 
 
112 LETTER TO A 
 
 should never leave the place of study and prayer, 
 except for the performance of duties which do not 
 interfere with his preparations for the pulpit. I 
 have known men who devoted five days in the 
 week to pastoral visitation, and satisfied their 
 consciences with a single day's preparation for the 
 Sabbath. And I have heard their congregations 
 exclaim, My leanness ! my leanness ! wo unto 
 me ! And I have seen their once verdant and 
 prolific field of labour becoming like the heath in 
 the desert. 
 
 Paul counsels Timothy, to give attendance to 
 reading. This young disciple was on his pre- 
 paratory course. And so are you. And so am I. 
 And so are those our fathers who make their 
 profiting appear into all. In modern times, we 
 are in the habit of making a distinction between 
 the preacher and the Pastor. But it is a distinc- 
 tion originating with men. The word of God 
 makes no such distinction. The duty of a 
 Pastor is to feed his flock. And how shall he 
 feed them ? When the God of Israel promised 
 distinguished blessings to his ancient people, what 
 does he say he will give them / — Wealth? — hon- 
 our ? — power? — triumph over their enemies? / 
 will give you, says he, pastors according to mine 
 heart, which shall feed you with knowledge and 
 
YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 113 
 
 understanding. In the acceptation which the 
 scriptures attach to the term, a good Pastor can- 
 not be a bad preacher, nor can a good preacher 
 be a bad pastor ; though in the modern accepta- 
 tion, it might be said that a good pastor may be a 
 bad preacher, while a good preacher may be a bad 
 pastor. 
 
 The career of a faithful minister of the gospel, 
 is a career of continued, unwearied, unrelaxed 
 preparation. No man can teach what he has not 
 learned. Thus far you have been not so much 
 preparing to preach, as preparing to study. The 
 stock of knowledge which a young man lays up 
 in a Theological Seminary, and in a few of the 
 early years of his ministry will be exhausted in a 
 very little while. Nothing will save him from 
 absolute barrenness, if he be not a progressive and 
 perpetual learner. Native talent will go but a 
 little way, and will last but a little while, where a 
 minister's object is not progressively to obtain re- 
 ligious instruction. No vigour, or vivacity of in- 
 tellect, no coloquial powers, no social intercourse 
 can supply the defect of an uninstructive, monot- 
 onous, jejune pulpit. If you would not that your 
 high and holy office be debased and degraded by 
 aiming at other objects than the spiritual and 
 eternal interests of men, you will direct the con- 
 
114 LETTER TO A 
 
 centration of your powers to the services of the 
 sanctuary. Nothing will divert you from this 
 design. Thought, time, reading, study, observa- 
 tion, watchfulness, prayer, all are necessary in 
 order to make full proof of your ministry. Your 
 discourses must be well and thoroughly digested 
 by your own mind and heart, if you would have 
 them profitable to them that hear you. And if 
 you are successful in this exercise, you must de- 
 light in it. You must have a passion for study. 
 As one of the first qualifications for the office of a 
 minister of the gospel is a decided predilection for 
 the office, so no man will be likely to be well 
 furnished for the services of the pulpit, without a 
 decided predilection for that kind of effort by 
 which he becomes furnished. There are indeed 
 a few men — very few — of too mercurial a cast to 
 contend succesfully with the toil of preparing a 
 well digested discourse, and who require the ex- 
 citement of an audience, the incidents of the occa- 
 sion, and the tones of their own voice, to give 
 energy to their conceptions, and to their minds a 
 propelling: power. And if such men ever become 
 profitable preachers, it is only by taking unwea- 
 ried pains to furnish their minds richly with all 
 knowledge, and to leave no faculty without the 
 fullest and completest cultivation. 
 
YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 115 
 
 As to the " best methods of successful prepara- 
 tion for the pulpit/' I feel no small degree of dif- 
 fidence in submitting any suggestions. Your 
 very inquiry on this subject indicates that your 
 mind is on the right track. It is of no inconsid- 
 erable importance to the usefulness of a minister 
 that the subjects of his public discourses be wisely 
 selected and appropriate to the condition of his 
 people. The youthful ministry are very apt to be 
 determined in their selection of subjects by their 
 own resources ; whereas a rigid determination, so 
 far as is possible, to furnish appropriate instruc- 
 tion, while it would necessarily augment their 
 resources, would commend them to every man's 
 conscience in the sight of God. I need not tell 
 you that a preacher needs a Common Place Book, 
 as much as an antiquary, or a statesman ; and 
 that the more it is enriched, the more certainly 
 will he give variety, and richness, as well as ten- 
 derness and power to his illustrations of God's 
 truth. I am confident that I have been the loser 
 by inattention to this article until comparatively a 
 late period in my ministry. You will of course 
 also have your Text Book, where you will note 
 down from time to time such subjects for sermons 
 as strike you, and where you will make such 
 references to valuable thoughts as may fall in your 
 
 11 
 
116 LETTER TO A 
 
 way in the course of your general reading and 
 reflection. If I mistake not, you may find the 
 following hint of some service. In your daily and 
 careful study of the Scriptures, you will find now 
 and then favoured hours, when light shines upon 
 the sacred page ; when your heart burns within 
 you ; when your mind is active, and almost every 
 paragraph and clause suggest a topic and a method 
 for a sermon. I have found it important to make 
 the most of such seasons, even by turning aside 
 from my projected labours and employing several 
 hours together in sketching plans for future dis- 
 courses. The fruit when ripe must not only be 
 shaken from the tree, but stored away with care 
 for future use, otherwise it will wither and become 
 unsavoury. Do not trust to memory to retrace 
 these thoughts, but commit them to writing, so 
 that without labour you can call them up when 
 you need them. Such skeletons will always 
 come to good service ; and when well elaborated, 
 will rarely disappoint your first vivid impressions. 
 I have known ministers who where perpetually 
 complaining for want of subjects for their public 
 discourses ; but I cannot but think that you will 
 rarely be at a" loss for subjects, if your are habit- 
 ually and prayerfully familiar with the Bible ; but 
 rather will your Text Book be always rich, and 
 
YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 117 
 
 far in advance of your necessities. We become 
 exhausted without much difficulty ; the Bible 
 never. 
 
 If you write your sermons, which I strongly 
 recommend, never allow yourself to prepare more 
 than one written discourse a week. One sermon 
 a week, well planned, well digested, carefully 
 written, and faithfully applied, is labor enough 
 for any man who allows himself any time for in- 
 tellectual improvement. One such sermon a week 
 will enable you to draw upon your Text Book for 
 two or three others without much preparation. In 
 your most laboured discourses, let the force of 
 your mind and the ardour of your heart be laid 
 out in the application of your subject. Ministers 
 often fail in this, and it is a sad failure. In a 
 word, make every discourse as good as you can 
 make it. Sure I am, my dear brother, that if you 
 are like the writer of this letter, you will find 
 defects enough in your best performances to fill 
 you with discouragement. 
 
 One thought more : Never spoil a good subject 
 for want of time. Rather take an old sermon, or 
 preach without writing, and give yourself what- 
 ever time your subject requires, be it less, or 
 more. As a general rule never write a hasty 
 sermon. Rather cast yourself upon God 7 and go 
 
118 LETTER TO A 
 
 to the pulpit expecting strength according to your 
 day. Under such exigency Bene precasse est 
 bene studuisse. 
 
 Two things you will find indispensable to pro- 
 fitable preparations for the pulpit : — prayer and 
 toil. You must be a man of prayer. Prayer 
 will give you thought, tenderness, and a power of 
 feeling which nothing else can give. Sermons are 
 heartless, lifeless things that are not elaborate 
 with prayer. The difficulties of your work, and 
 your own weakness invite you to your closet. If 
 you look to yourself only, all is darkness, dis- 
 couragement and despair. We have this trea- 
 sure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the 
 power may be all of God. There is no substitute 
 for Prayer. And you must consent to labour. 
 There is no severer toil than the labours of the 
 sacred ministry. Other men may rest ; may retire 
 from business and enjoy the fruits of their acqui- 
 sitions ; but there is no rest, no retirement for the 
 minister of the gospel. The very Day of Rest of 
 others, is a day of labour and solicitude with him. 
 The duties of one Sabbath are scarcely fulfilled, 
 and his thoughts are upon his preparations for 
 another. And when he looks forward through 
 life, he sees no end to his toil but in the grave. 
 There is rest not until the battle is fought and the 
 victory won. 
 
YOUNG CLERGYMAN. 119 
 
 Forgive me this freedom. My love for you, my 
 interest in your usefulness, and you condescension 
 in laying this burden upon me have given me this 
 boldness. The fields are white to the harvest, my 
 young brother, and you have everything to en- 
 courage you in your toil. The Captain of your 
 salvation is with you, and you may burnish and 
 gird on your armour. With a bosom glowing 
 with the love of Jesus, renewedly pledge yourself 
 whether you live, to live unto the Lord; and 
 whether you die, to die unto the Lord. As one 
 of the stewards of the divine bounty, go and un- 
 lock the cabinet of his grace to your impoverished 
 fellow-men. As a messenger of his mercy, go and 
 open the fountains of life to a dying world. Go, 
 herald of peace, and wreath the promises around 
 the brow of the dejected, and mitigate the woes of 
 the desponding. And when your benevolence is 
 satiated, and you ask not to be instrumental in 
 saving another soul from death, then may you 
 desire to rest from your labours. 
 With fraternal love, 
 
 Yours, G. S„ 
 
 ir 
 
No. V. 
 
 THE PANORAMA. 
 
 Will the world ever be persuaded that all expec- 
 tations of happiness are delusive that are not 
 founded on God? The soul of man is a ruined, 
 undone existence — a poor deserted, dejected 
 thing, that has not God for its refuge and joy. 
 Give it all of earth that it solicits ; multiply around 
 it the ten thousand gratifications of sense ; increase 
 within it the still more numerous and delightful 
 pleasures of thought; and if they terminate on earth, 
 its restless desires, and its still more restless imagi- 
 nation, disappointed and deceived, are perpetually 
 in pursuit of something new, some untried good. 
 I have seen those who imagined they had 
 found the good they were seeking after. But 
 when I have sat down with them in their retire- 
 ment, have become familiar with their thoughts, 
 and sympathized with their joys ; I have mar- 
 ked their solicitude, and uniformly scon that 
 
THE PANORAMA. 121 
 
 in a iittie while their sunshine of happiness is 
 obscured by clouds. 
 
 Such were the thoughts that passed through 
 my mind as I sat one evening at my window 
 gazing upon the busy scenes which everywhere 
 met my eye. The stir and clamour of a populous 
 city kept on unceasingly around me. The gleam- 
 ing lights, the quick steps, the passers by, the rattle- 
 ing of wheels combined to complete the confusion. 
 Above, as in contrast, the heavens stretched their 
 immoveable canopy, where the bright stars kept 
 their distant and permanent home. All on earth 
 seemed variable and tumultuous ; all above, still, 
 constant and unchangeable. As the night ad- 
 vanced, and the bustle and noise abated, I became 
 so deeply immersed in reflection, as gradually to 
 lose all consciousness of objects around me. 
 They slowly disappeared, and in their place an 
 isolated stage or platform rose before me. At the 
 first, I could discover nothing but its dim outline ; 
 but by degrees, it took a more definite and palpa- 
 ble form ; and as my eye became accustomed to 
 the view, I could descern miniature human figures, 
 swarming in countless numbers upon its arena. 
 Some seemed to be pursuing their way slowly, as 
 though occupied with intense thought ; others 
 were hurried on with restless activity. Here, was 
 
122 THE PANORAMA. 
 
 a group holding amicable intercourse ; there, two 
 hostile bands arrayed in mimic conflict. The scene 
 seemed indeed a world in miniature, where eacii 
 station, each employment had its petty represen- 
 tative. The tradesman was vending his wares ; 
 the merchant grouping with his fellows upon the 
 mart of traffic ; the student with his book ; the 
 orator at his desk ; the idler lounging listlessly on 
 his way. There were children also careering by 
 in their sports. As I watched more closely, I ob- 
 served that occasionally, as if by untoward acci- 
 dent, some of these automata became severed from 
 the mechanisim which linked the whole together, 
 and suddenly disappeared. The scene however 
 was so crowded and confused, that it was some 
 time before I discovered that this occurrence was 
 common to them all. Some indeed vanished as 
 soon as they appeared ; others passed some way 
 across the stage ; and a few I could trace even to its 
 extreme verge, but eventually their fortune was the 
 same with all the rest. In the midst of their rest- 
 less career, all in their turn disappeared, and their 
 places were occupied by a new succession of the 
 same busy figures. As I watched their hurried 
 motions, their strange gesticulation, their striving 
 and pushing heedlessly on their way, I was moved 
 to smile, and exclaimed, " What a singular, what 
 an unmeaning scene ! ; ' 
 
THE PANORAMA. 123 
 
 " Dost thou smile ?" said a voice near me. 
 " Look again. It is the Panorama of human life." 
 As I looked again, everything appeared to in- 
 crease in magnitude. The curtain which over- 
 hung the scene seemed to be gradually extended. 
 until it reached and became commensurate with 
 the heavens. From its dark- folds the stars shone 
 out mildly, obscured at intervals by passing clouds. 
 The petty stage upon which it had before rested 
 was magnified into a world, and the figures which 
 traversed it so incessantly, became living, breath- 
 ing men, crossing to and fro upon its surface. 
 The smile fled from my lips, and I watched it 
 with redoubled interest. The scene now had a 
 voice which pierced to the inmost depths of my 
 heart. A complete and perfect picture of human 
 life was presented to my imagination, with all its 
 varied peculiarities distinctly exhibited. Some 
 were upon the mart of business, listening to the 
 details of profitable adventure, and planning a 
 thousand ways to add to their increasing wealth. 
 Others were buried in vain amusements, and 
 seemed to derive their highest gratification from 
 the pleasures of sense. There were groups of 
 labourers and artisans employed in useful indus- 
 try. Farther on were the votaries of science crowd- 
 ing to her gorgeous temples. Pride was rolling 
 
124 the panorama; 
 
 in his chariot, Poverty gleaning the refuse of 
 the streets, and the children were at their sports. 
 All seemed incessantly busy, and alternately en- 
 wrapt and wearied with their pursuits. Amid the 
 tumult, strife and gaiety which prevailed, one and 
 another would suddenly disappear from the scene. 
 The child in the height and bloom of its buoyant 
 life was arrested by the cold grasp of Death, and, 
 damp with a mother's tears, was coffined, and borne 
 away no more to revisit the world. The youth, 
 the man passed in a moment from the scene where 
 all their hopes seemed centered, ushered thence by 
 the same remorseless hand. Nor did the aged escape 
 from the common destiny. Yet still the bustle 
 and activity of all around continued unabated. 
 They seemed not to heed the fate of those who 
 were snatched away, or scarcely to grieve for their 
 absence, but hurried forward in their course as 
 though in the pursuit of some invaluable good. 
 
 " What seek they so ardently 1 n I exclaimed 
 aloud. " The object of this search must be of 
 " great moment, since they are thus eager in the 
 "pursuit. Yet what do they attain, but Death 1 
 " Is it this ? Is it repose from that unceasing 
 restlessness, that seems inflicted as a curse upon 
 them V 
 
 M Nothing is farther from their thoughts, neither 
 
THE PANORAMA. 125 
 
 "does death bring repose to such as these," said the 
 same voice which I had before heard. 
 
 " What then do they seek ?" 
 
 "Happiness." 
 
 I could not speak for wondering at this reply. 
 I knew that they were my fellow-men, and 
 wept for their delusion, remembering my own. 
 Can it be so ? — I thought — can self-deceit carry 
 its victims so far ? Will men never awake to a 
 sense of their true interest ? Are all these seeking 
 after happiness ? Can those thus natter them- 
 selves who are plunged in the pleasures of sin ; 
 who seek their own to the injury of others — this 
 world at the expense of another— themselves rather 
 than God ? 
 
 As I continued to watch what was passing before 
 me, I soon discovered that the success of these 
 infatuated beings in their search for happiness, 
 was such as might be expected from the means 
 they adopted to attain to it. Hope continually 
 animated them, but a hope never realized. Their 
 efforts were unceasing, but vain. Boisterous mirth, 
 exultation, self-gratulation, sometimes lighted up 
 their features, but these emotions would quickly 
 subside, leaving them a prey to disquietude and 
 remorse. The mart of business was a scene of 
 trivial vexations, murmuring, and mutual distrust. 
 
126 THE PANORAMA. 
 
 The field of labour and the occupations of industry 
 were crowded with care and hardship, with turmoil 
 and disappointment, and with glittering phantoms 
 that were embraced for substantial reality. Pleasure 
 lighted up its gaudy lamp, while the thoughtless 
 insect that gaily fluttered around it was consumed 
 by its flame. Power struggled oyer the arena of 
 its conflicts, grasped its little world, and wept that 
 it had not another world to conquer. The sons of 
 pride, slow to learn that earthly good could deceive 
 them, wandered from one source of expectation to 
 another, perpetually disappointed. Even child- 
 hood, joyous and careless as it seemed, showed by 
 its continual change and restlessness, that its ulti- 
 mate desires were unattained. There were hidden 
 recesses also all around this vast scene, which 
 though they courted not the eye, were every where 
 receiving this busy multitude in untold numbers. 
 Here was one indicated by its meagre ornament, 
 where had withdrawn the children of obscurity 
 and insignificance, of disappointment and poverty, 
 of pain and disease. Here was another, huno- in 
 sable, where many a hope was extinguished, and 
 many a swollen and broken heart had retired to 
 conceal its sorrows. And here was another — the 
 place of lamentations and tears — where many an 
 accent of woe was heard, and many a sigh was 
 
THE PANORAMA. 127 
 
 extorted, which no resolution and no pride of 
 character could suppress. 
 
 If there were exceptions to these, I saw them 
 here and there in an humble individual, who in 
 all his course had his eyes stedfastly fixed on 
 heaven. Almost perpetual tranquillity seemed to 
 rest upon his features. Seasons of trial at times 
 assailed him, and misfortune and self-humiliation 
 often cast a cloud over his brow ; but it was a 
 cloud coloured with the hues of the rainbow. 
 When my eye followed such a one to that grave 
 into which the rest sank with such reluctance, 
 and not a few of them with despair, I could not 
 discover a regret or a fear interrupting his repose. 
 When Death enfolded him in his cold arms, he 
 seemed insensible to his terrors and fell calmly to 
 rest. I could well understand that such had 
 rightly sought and had truly attained lasting 
 happiness ; but for the rest, their object seemed 
 uncertain, their exertions useless, their life a 
 troubled sea, their death unsoothed by remem- 
 brance or expectation. And could you ask them, 
 one by one, each would confess that it is a vain 
 thing- to have set his affections on the earth. 
 
 " Thou art thyself an actor in this scene," said 
 the voice. * Examine thy heart and life. See, if 
 
 12 
 
128 THE PANORAMA. 
 
 " thine own search has not been after happiness — 
 " if thou hast obtained it— and from whence." 
 
 I listened, — I gave myself up to thought, and as 
 the scene before me slowly disappeared, reflections 
 like the following passed through my mind. 
 
 It is kind in the Father of mercies to disappoint 
 the hopes that rest on earth, that the soul may 
 find her rest in him. Earth may satisfy the un- 
 intellectual creation, but can never satisfy a mind 
 that pants for immortality. The very largeness of 
 its desires makes it unhappy. This world has 
 not enough for such a grasping, undying existence. 
 All excellency and all blessedness meet in God 
 and are derived from him: The Moon at mid- 
 night shining upon the dark ocean, the distant 
 promontory towering upon the tempest-tost mari- 
 ner, the morning star arising on the benighted 
 wanderer of the desert, the opening of the Spring 
 in all the richness and beauty of its vegetation 
 after the chill, bleak blasts of Winter have gone 
 by, are not more gladsome than the light of his 
 countenance when it pours its consolations upon 
 the soul. 
 
 Ye then, who are allured by the imaginations of 
 future greatness — ye who are seduced by the hope 
 of wealth — ye who are enchanted by the prospects 
 of pleasure — ye who are charmed by endearments 
 
THE PANORAMA. 129 
 
 which seem to have the power of beguiling every 
 sorrow, and by a sort of secret incantation con- 
 trouling the troubled mind ; learn from the expe- 
 rience of ten thousand hearts, that this world is but 
 a conflict of desires and expectations which it can 
 never gratify. Pursue it as you will ; distribute 
 as you will all its enjoyments ; neither its knowledge 
 nor its riches, neither its attachments nor its 
 honours, neither its leisure nor its toil can fill the 
 void which in every virtuous mind is occupied by 
 the love of God. You must look where no human 
 eye has never penetrated to find happiness out of 
 him. 
 
No. VI. 
 
 MORAL GRADATIONS. 
 
 There is a vast range of moral existencies within 
 the divine empire, from the lowest and vilest, to 
 the most pure and exalted. There are also almost 
 endless gradations of happiness and misery, each 
 of which is determined by its distance, or near- 
 ness to Him who is the source and fountain of all 
 good. 
 
 If you begin at the lowest point of depression 
 in this vast series, you must look into the world 
 of perdition. Of all beings in the universe, these 
 are at the greatest distance from the Father of 
 lights. There is in their moral nature no resem- 
 blance to him, no tendency of moral feeling toward 
 him : but rather everything that recoils and starts 
 back from the knowledge and fellowship of the "first 
 Fair and the first Good." They shun the tokens 
 of his presence ; and if the sentiment of joy ever 
 throbs in bosoms so guilty and miserable, rejoice 
 
MORAL GRADATIONS. 131 
 
 that there are eternal, impassable barriers which 
 
 separate them from him before whom they fear 
 
 and tremble. And He draws not nigh to them, 
 
 except in the expression of his wrath. His love 
 
 never cheers those gloomy abodes of malignity 
 
 and despair. The light of his countenance never 
 
 darts across the gulph to sooth and refresh their 
 
 forlorn and desolated minds. The angels of his 
 
 mercy never pass those adamantine gates, or scale 
 
 those walls of fire. It is a world of unmingled 
 
 gloom and terror, of unavailing sighs and bitterest 
 
 despair. O there is no source of misery deeper 
 
 than this universal and perfect alienation from 
 
 God. It flows out in streams of unmingled 
 
 wormwood and gall. It is a lake of fire. It is an 
 
 ocean of sorrows. The bosoms in which it dwells 
 
 constitute the most perfectly wretched class of ex- 
 
 istencies in the universe ; inhabiting a world 
 
 everywhere filled with sighs and anguish — replete 
 
 with agony — hung round with the symbols of the 
 
 second death — enveloped, alternately with the 
 
 blackness of darkness and the lurid corruscations 
 
 of the flame that is not quenched. 
 
 Somewhat above, and just on • the confines of 
 
 these dreary abodes, are the dwellers in Pagan 
 
 lands. There are vast tracts of this inhabited 
 
 globe that are covered with the veil of ignorance 
 
 12* 
 
132 MORAL GRADATIONS. 
 
 and beneath which are millions of the human race 
 in spiritual death. Altar after altar may be seen 
 alternately fresh with the blood, putrid with the car- 
 casses, and paved with the bones of these deluded 
 victims of idolatry ; while at all their shrines, and 
 under the open light of the sun, may be seen licen- 
 tiousness and pollution, in theirmost degrading and 
 disgusting forms. Henry Martin says, while wit- 
 nessing the anual festival of one of their deities. 
 ; < I trembled, as though I was standing within the 
 very precincts of Hell !" Even during ages when 
 reason and philosophy swayed their boasted and un- 
 disputed sceptre, men the most distinguished for 
 their talents and intellectual endowments were babes 
 in morals and giants in crime. In what a melan- 
 choly night, lengthening onward from age to age, 
 are the poor heathen enshrouded ! The few points, 
 thinly scattered over this deary waste where the 
 light of life rests, appear like beacons kindled to 
 admonish and guide almost a world in darkness. 
 The heavens and the earth do indeed declare the 
 glory of their Maker, but they speak a language 
 too feeble and obscure to find its way to the 
 heart of a benighted Pagan. He knows enough 
 to be without excuse, but not enough to be either 
 virtuous, holy, or happy. There is the bitterness 
 of woe in Pagan lands. There dwell the children 
 
MORAL GRADATIONS. 133 
 
 of sorrow. There men sigh and weep, but breathe 
 forth their sighs and shed their tears in vain. 
 There are no beams of truth and mercy there to 
 enlighten their darkness, or dry up the fountains 
 of their grief. To all the light, and life, and 
 warmth, and comfort of Christian hopes they are 
 strangers. They grope for the path of life, but 
 grope, alas, in vain ! 
 
 Upon a still higher elevation, you survey those 
 portions of our globe that are illumined by the gos- 
 pel. Omall these the Sun of righteousness has risen 
 with healing in his beams. God is known as the 
 chief good, and as accessible to the rebellious. His 
 word is published ; his sabbaths are instituted ; his 
 gospel is preached ; his church is established ; her 
 ordinances are dispensed ; incense and a pure offer- 
 ing go up from ten thousand altars ; and men are 
 blessed with all spiritual blessings from heavenly 
 places in Christ Jesus. Untold moral influences 
 here inweave and blend themselves with every 
 department of human society, dictating its wor- 
 ship, prescribing its duties, protecting, extending, 
 and perpetuating its joys. There are spots where 
 the truth shines so intensely, that it has dried up 
 the putrid waters, and while they have become 
 exhaled, and purified, and ascended in the vapour 
 of a grateful incense, and mingled themselves with 
 
134 MORAL GRADATIONS. 
 
 the light of heaven, they have left the once barren 
 and noxious soil, verdant and fertile as an earthly- 
 Paradise. There are no temples here erected to 
 the passions of men, no fanes dedicated to devils, 
 no mysterious rites by which the votaries of false 
 religions are seduced to iniquity and death. Of 
 christian lands, it may be said, The tabernacle of 
 God is with men. The word is made flesh and 
 dwells among them. The image of Him who is 
 invisible is perpetually before their eyes. And 
 just in proportion as God is known, do we dis- 
 cover an elevation in their character, a meliora- 
 tion in their condition, a sensible advance in indi- 
 vidual, domestic and public happiness. 
 
 It is worthy of remark that there are gradations 
 of happiness in christian lands. There are those 
 who cast off fear and restrain prayer ; who live 
 without the Bible and without the Sabbath ; and 
 though the prayers which are ascending every 
 day around them, and the Bible and the Sabbath 
 exert an indirect influence upon their character 
 and condition, and purify and embalm the moral 
 atmosphere, yet are they unhappy men. Wicked- 
 ness and vice, though in modified and suppressed 
 deformity, though embarrassed and restrained by 
 the wholesome influence of the very Christianity 
 which they regret and despise, everywhere exert 
 
MORAL GRADATIONS. 135 
 
 a melancholy power. If you ask for the source 
 of their wickedness and woe, it is ignorance of 
 God, distance from this high and holy One, aliena- 
 tion from him who is the only satisfying portion, 
 enmity to him who is the most lovely and most 
 worthy to be loved. On the other hand, there are 
 those who are encircled by the light of the divine 
 mercy, cheered by the light of his countenance, 
 happy in his smiles, joyful in his presence. There 
 is no source of higher and purer satisfaction than 
 this. Under all the circumstances of human life, 
 whether prosperous, or adverse, men who have 
 acquainted themselves with God may be at peace. 
 They have learned to flee, not from him but to 
 him — exploring the origin of their wants and 
 their woes at his mercy seat — holding fellowship 
 with him who supplies their necessities and re- 
 lieves their sorrows ; and habitually enjoying the 
 communications of that grace which drops as the 
 rain and distills as the dew. And though they 
 may suffer more evils and trials than the men of 
 the world, yet have they sources of joy to which 
 the men of the world are strangers. 
 
 In this survey there are two or three classes of 
 distinct individuals. Here is one who though 
 not at heart the friend of holiness, yet has no 
 sympathy with men who have no fear of God 
 
136 MORAL GRADATIONS. 
 
 before their eyes, and therefore is he happier than 
 they. He has no positive goodness. He is not, phi- 
 losophically speaking, any better than the immoral, 
 and profane. And yet he is not so bad as they. 
 He does not live so far from God. And he is not so 
 miserable. He is spared those pangs of a tortured 
 conscience, those frowns of heaven's indignation, 
 which so fearfully agitate and confound the more 
 bold and incorrigible transgressor. He enjoys a 
 sort of negative happiness — an absence of darkness 
 — a reflected light, beaming obliquely around him. 
 
 And here is one still happier, unspeakably hap- 
 pier than the last. In addition to all his external 
 regard for the divine authority, he is at heart the 
 friend of his Maker. He is reconciled to him 
 through the blood of his Son. He is a child of 
 the Highest. He worships God in spirit and in 
 truth. He has given himself away in an ever- 
 lasting covenant never to be revoked, or forgotten. 
 God is his refuge and portion. Come what will, 
 he is safe, he is happy. 
 
 But there is another happier than he. He lives 
 nearer to the Father of mercies. His intimacy 
 with his Maker is more constant and uniform. 
 There is less that is fitful in his piety ; and more 
 that is vivid, and ardent, and strong. He walks 
 all the day in the light of the divine countenance. 
 
MORAL GRADATIONS. 137 
 
 His soul thirsts for God. He comes near even to 
 his seat. With a prostrate heart and a steadfast 
 eye, he looks toward the throne. He is at home at 
 the place of prayer. The occupation of his life is 
 to commune with him who dwells between the 
 cherubim, and makes advances toward heaven. 
 Earth does not perplex, idols do not ensnare him ; 
 for he lives above the world and walks with God. 
 Like Moses, he talks with his Maker, as it were 
 face to face. Like John, he leans on Jesus' bosom. 
 Like Paul, and Edwards, and Tennent, and Pay- 
 son, he is sometimes caught up to the third hea- 
 ven, and hears unspeakable words which it is not 
 lawful for man to utter. Such a man stands upon 
 the highest eminence of earthly joy. 
 
 Above the elevation and blessedness of this 
 favoured child of mercy, there is one class of in- 
 telligencies more. I mean those immortal Princes 
 who never fell from their first estate ; those bright 
 inhabitants of that celestial world who never lost 
 the divine image, and who with Gabriel stand in 
 the presence of the most High. In the same 
 society with these are the spirits of just men made 
 perfect ; — once polluted and deformed, but now 
 sanctified and justified in the name of the Lord 
 Jesus and by the Spirit of our God, made like unto 
 the angels, and with them possessing as their 
 
138 MORAL GRADATIONS. 
 
 inheritance the full and perfect enjoyment of him 
 whose favour is life and whose loving kindness is 
 better than life. Their happiness is as perfect as 
 their holiness is unalloyed. Their minds are en- 
 kindled with one intense and eternal flame of 
 divine love, burning with a clear, unceasing, per- 
 petual ardency and splendor. And the happiest 
 spirit there is the one that stands nearest the 
 throne — the one who sees and enjoys most of God, 
 and is the brightest partaker of his glory. 
 
 Is not the soul happy in the same proportion in 
 which she comes near to God 1 Between that vile 
 spirit that prowls around the outer court of the 
 eternal prison, and the archangel that enters within 
 the veil into the most Holy place, is there not an 
 immeasurable disparity, all resulting from their 
 distance, or nearness to him who is the source 
 and fountain of all holiness and joy ? 
 
 How wide the difference between the holy and 
 the profane ! The soul makes no real approxi- 
 mation to God until she sincerely loves him. 
 There can be no genuine religion, where God is 
 not the chief joy. Supreme love or enmity is the 
 character of every moral being in the universe. 
 There is no higher principle in heaven than su- 
 preme love to God. And there is no deeper, no viler 
 principle in hell than alienation from him. 
 
MORAL gradations: 139 
 
 Who would be the enemy of God ? Who would 
 not love him ? Who would live at distance from 
 him, whose presence is the glory and the joy of 
 heaven, whose absence is the darkness and woe 
 of Hell ? There be many who say, Who vnll show 
 me any good ; Lord lift thou upon me the light 
 of thy countenance. O that I knew where I might 
 find him : that I might come near, even to his 
 seat / 
 
 13 
 
No. VII. 
 
 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 The tendencies of piety are to do good. A good 
 tree bringeth forth good fruit. The high aim of 
 the true christian is to be useful. This is the ten- 
 dency of his spirit, his affections, his desires, his 
 hopes, his efforts, his whole renewed character. 
 It is not that he may be a splendid man, nor even 
 a happy man, but a useful man. 
 
 That man presses after a prize of very question- 
 able lawfulness who aims at being a splendid 
 christian, or even a happy christian ; but he has 
 no misgivings of conscience when he aims at being 
 a useful christian. He will be very apt to be dis- 
 appointed if he aims at any thing short of this, 
 while in modesty and humbly aiming at this, he 
 will rarely miss his mark. 
 
 To be a useful christian a man must be well 
 instructed in the Oracles of God. It is vain to think 
 of being usefully occupied in the exercise of 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 141 
 
 christian affections, or the practice of christian 
 duties, without a good understanding of christian 
 truth. It is impossible otherwise to supply the 
 motives to obedience, or inspire the mind with 
 the principles of duty. Where religion would be 
 enthroned in the heart and spread around her all 
 her charniSj'she must act by the light of truth. And 
 is it not indispensable to the christian character 
 to be well established in the essential doctrines of 
 the gospel ? How can a man become conformed 
 to the moral image of God, reconciled to his char- 
 acter, to his laws, to his designs, and to the salva- 
 tion procured by his Son. if he is ignorant of these 
 great and fundamental huths ? How can his inter- 
 nal views and affections become essentially chang- 
 ed, if his understanding is shrouded in darkness 7 
 How can he have a spiritual discernment of 
 spiritual things, if he has no intellectual discern- 
 ment ? On a memorable occasion when many of 
 Christ's professed followers went back and walked 
 no more with him, Jesus said unto the twelve, 
 Will ye also go away 1 Simon Peter answered 
 him, Lord, to whom shall ice go ? Thou hast the 
 words of eternal life ; and we believe and are 
 sure that thou art that Christ, the aSW of the 
 living- God. What multitudes in different ages 
 of the world have sacrificed their lives in testi- 
 
142 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 mony of the truth and importance of the essential 
 doctrines of the gospel. Indeed I know not in 
 what saving faith consists, unless it be in believing 
 and loving these great and precious truths. The 
 christian's future and eternal hopes are founded 
 upon God's immutable truth. Other foundation 
 can no man lay than that is laid. And if a true 
 christian may be distinguished from a merely 
 nominal professor by his believing and maintain- 
 ing the essential doctrines of the gospel, much 
 more may the useful christian be thus distinguish- 
 ed. I have ever regarded a man's religious senti- 
 ments as a test of his usefulness. Nor have I 
 ever been deceived in this impression. I see no 
 way in which a very ignorant christian can be 
 extensively useful. One reason why a multitude 
 of christians accomplish so little in the cause of 
 their divine Lord, is that'they are so wavering and 
 unsettled in their religious views, and withal so 
 ignorant. With these impressions, I have won- 
 dered not a little at the growing prejudice against 
 creeds and confessions of faith. By nothing has 
 the baneful influence of error been so generally 
 counteracted, and the cause of truth so generally 
 promoted, as by these judicious confessions. New 
 England owes her orthodoxy, under God, to the 
 Assembly's Catechism ;■ and not until that excel- 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 143 
 
 lent summary of doctrine fell into disuse, did her 
 churches decline from the faith of their fathers. Old 
 England too, owes its remaining orthodoxy to the 
 thirty-nine articles. And, where will you find 
 a formula which more clearly ascertains and de- 
 fines the system of doctrines taught in the Holy 
 Scriptures, than the Catechism and Confessions 
 of Faith of the Presbyterian Church ? Let it be 
 a maxim with christians to have no views of truth 
 but such as arc definite. It were unspeakably 
 better to understand a few truths well, and to know 
 them certainly, than to expatiate vaguely over the 
 extended fields of Christian science. The cer- 
 tainty of knowledge is a very different thing 
 from the extent of knowledge. Because you may 
 have but a partial and imperfect view of divine 
 truth, it does not follow that you must of necessity 
 be in darkness and uncertainty in relation to those 
 truths with which you are familiar. Though no 
 man that ever lived, should perfectly know all 
 that God has revealed, this would not prove that 
 he does not know many things with perfect defi- 
 niteness and certainty. Though our natural eye- 
 sight is limited, so that we cannot see beyond a 
 certain circle, nor all things at once in any circle, 
 yet we can see one thing at a time, and that 
 clearly. The same is true of the understanding. 
 
 13* 
 
144 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 Though we may have no knowledge about some 
 truths, and though we cannot contemplate and 
 compare many truths at once ; yet we can con- 
 template one thing at a time, and compare a few 
 things together, and hence come to a definite and 
 certain knowledge of such things as we can dis- 
 cern and compare, and from one truth clearly 
 discover another, and so make slow, but progres- 
 sive advancement in knowledge. And thus it is 
 that we shall see clearly, the harmony, connexion, 
 and consistency of the great truths which the 
 Gospel reveals. It is this definiteness of view 
 which we affectionately and urgently recommend 
 to you. One doctrine of the Bible consistently 
 understood, will almost necessarily lead a devout 
 and inquiring mind to perceive and appreciate 
 the harmony and connexion which run through 
 all the peculiar and essential doctrines of the 
 Gospel. The christian who thoroughly under- 
 stands one doctrine of the Gospel, will be very 
 apt to understand another and another. Once 
 let his views of divine truth be definite, and 
 there is little danger but they will remain dis- 
 tinct and prominent. Clear and definite views 
 of God's truth, combined with ardent piety, go far 
 to make a useful christian. The treasures which 
 infinite wisdom has accumulated in the Bible 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 14£ 
 
 abundantly enrich, and adorn^ and give practical 
 utility to the Christian character. Aim at high, 
 attainments in Christian knowledge. If you Cannot 
 excel in every thing, excel in this. Labour, study, 
 pray, to excel in this. To be burning and shining 
 lights, you must feel the pre-eminent claims of reli- 
 gious truth. Every christian, in his place and pro- 
 portion, is the instructor and guide of his fellow- 
 men, to lead them to the day spring from on high, to 
 illumine those who dwell in the darkness and 
 shadow of death, and to show them the way of 
 peace. 
 
 To be extensively useful, a christian must pos- 
 sess ardent and uniform jriety. His usefulness 
 will, in a great measure, depend upon the power 
 which the religion of the Gospel exerts upon his 
 own soul. To this, more than any other cause, 
 may be traced the secret power of such men as 
 Baxter, Edwards, Brainerd, Payson and Howard. 
 One reason why so many christians live to so little 
 purpose is, that while they may perhaps be good 
 men, they are obviously deficient in that ardent 
 piety which has a transforming effect upon the 
 heart and deportment. God and heaven are not 
 the point of attraction towards which their minds 
 and efforts are perpetually tending. I have known 
 christians of splendid talents not half so useful as 
 
146 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 many of their humbler brethren ; and who pro 
 bably will not be found in the more illumined de- 
 partments of the heavenly city. A christian can- 
 not be useful without fervent piety. His life must 
 be hid with Christ in God. A living, active faith 
 receives from the fulness of the Saviour all spirit- 
 ual graces. Without this he declines and back- 
 slides : he looses his sense of the divine pre- 
 sence, and his heart is left alone, weak, comfort- 
 less and wretched through manifold temptations. 
 The channel of heavenly communication is ob- 
 structed — stopped — and the sanctifying, comforting 
 influences of the Holy Spirit cease to flow into his 
 soul. Abide in me and I in you. As the branch 
 cannot bear fruit of itself except it abide in the 
 vine, no more can ye except ye abide in me. I 
 am the vine, ye are the branches. He that 
 abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth 
 forth much fruit. If a man abide not in me, he 
 is cast forth as a branch and is withered. The 
 christian, if he would be useful, must have habit- 
 ual impressions of a present God. His mind must 
 be familiar with things unseen. Their beauty 
 and glory must shine upon him, not in a glim- 
 mering, nickering light, but in their steady splen- 
 dour. He must have meat to eat which the world 
 knows not of. He must have the image of God 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 147 
 
 impressed on his heart, and be in a good measure 
 conscious of the high feelings and aspirations 
 which belongs to his heavenly birth. He must 
 put himself under the training of the celestial 
 Spirit ; and his graces must grow and expand, and 
 attain some such measure of stability as was 
 developed in the experience of the great Apostle 
 when he said, I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in 
 one. Such a religion is not the mere creature of the 
 imagination ; nor is it the offspring of ignorance 
 and enthusiasm ; nor is it the result of mere oc- 
 casional excitements, and momentary feelings ; but 
 of strong and stedfast principle. It has weight 
 and influence. It does not vanish with the first 
 causes of excitement and the first passion of zeal. 
 The history of the human mind furnishes no 
 stronger principle of action than such a religion ; 
 nor is there any thing that can awaken the soul 
 of man to greater efforts, or greater submission. 
 It prefers a thousand times to die faithful, rather 
 to live unfaithful ; to die with Christ, rather 
 than live without him. The men of this world 
 may not comprehend the principles and aims 
 of such a religion ; they do not know them, 
 and cast them out as evil. Men of such a spirit 
 find their peace where the men of the world 
 find their perplexity ; their joys where the children 
 
148 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 of this world find their sorrows. Joyful in hope, 
 and patient in tribulation, they weep as though 
 they wept not ; they rejoice, as though they re- 
 joiced not ; and they use this world as not abusing 
 it. Such a man may have his seasons of darkness, 
 as well as his seasons of light ; his moments of 
 languor, as well as his da}^s of strength ; his periods 
 of trembling, as well as triumph. The light of 
 heaven may come in collision with the darkness 
 of his own sinful heart; the divine life may strug- 
 gle with remaining death ; and holiness and 
 sin, in rapid and imperceptible succession may 
 maintain their conflict within him ; while amid 
 all these alternations he does not forsake his Sa- 
 viour. Piety is the christian's great adornment and 
 gives his character its lustre. The bare hopes of 
 piety, and even its predominating graces, ought 
 not to satisfy him. Her self-denying spirit, her 
 heaven-aspiring affections, her exalted and hum- 
 bling joys, her unreserved self-devotement, her in- 
 creasing purity, her sweet sensibility and tender- 
 ness, her absording confidence in the cross, and her 
 deep and restless solicitude for the best interests 
 of men ; these, under a wise direction, will not fail 
 to make him a useful christian. 
 
 Another characteristic of a useful christian, is 
 untiring diligence and energy of action. It was 
 not by his talents merely, nor simply by his fervent 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 149 
 
 piety, nor was it only by his enlarged views of the 
 truth of God, but by his indefatigable diligence and 
 action combined with these, that the Apostle Paul 
 accomplished a greater amount of good, than was 
 ever accomplished by any other man. The life of a 
 useful christian is an eventful life. It is fruitful 
 in benevolent results. His energy is not developed 
 so much upon set occasions, or by studied efforts : 
 his whole life is full of labours and events that are 
 intimately connected with the best interests of men. 
 There are pious men, who are called to contend 
 with most inactive and sluggish habits, both of 
 
 DO J 
 
 body and mind ; and there are those who are never 
 satisfied and happy unless they are in some way 
 actively employed ; and the difference in the aggre- 
 gate of good accomplished by these two classes of 
 men, will be found, in the course of years, to be 
 immense, and almost incalculable. Let every man 
 settle it in his mind, that all his indolent habits 
 must be broken up, if he has the most distant hope 
 of becoming a useful christian. If he is not will- 
 ing to harness himself for labour, he had better 
 never enter the field. All the springs of his life 
 will run down without effort. His hope and 
 courage will sink and die away, if he has no spirit 
 of enterprize. He will soon become a burthen to 
 
150 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 himself, and a cumberer of the ground. A sloth- 
 ful christian is a contradiction, which it is very 
 difficult to reconcile with the lowest standard of 
 holiness. A man who is born for immortality — 
 ruined by sin — redeemed by the blood and Spirit 
 of Jesus Christ — promised a reward that outweighs 
 all the material universe — and yet, murmur at 
 hardship, and complain that he must labour for 
 the cause of Christ ! God expects better things 
 of his people. The Church demands them. The 
 age, the land which gave them birth, and nurtures 
 them for scenes of toil and triumph such as the 
 generations that are gone have never witnessed, 
 expects better things of them, and things that ac- 
 company salvation to their own soul and to this 
 dying world. 
 
 To be eminently useful christians must also be 
 men of 'prayer. Nothing has so powerful a ten- 
 dency to suddue the unhallowed affections of the 
 mind, and the grosser appetites and passions of the 
 body ; nothing will so certainly control and direct 
 the thoughts, and elevate them above all that is 
 base and grovelling, trifling and little, as frequent 
 and intimate fellowship with God. The great 
 secret of mortifying a worldly spirit is to cultivate 
 a heavenly one. " Walk in the Spirit, and ye 
 shall not fulfil the lusts of the flesh." « Be 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 151 
 
 not conformed to this world, but be ye trans- 
 formed, by the renewing of your minds." No 
 where does the world appear so much like an 
 empty shadow, and no where is its baleful in- 
 fluence so certainly counteracted, as in sweet com- 
 munion with things unseen. Prayer furnishes 
 the strongest stimulus, the most powerful incite- 
 ment to self-denying duty and toil. And who has 
 not observed that intelligent, earnest prayer im- 
 proves all the powers and properties of the soul, 
 and wakes the mind from her sluggishness a nd 
 apathy to the exercise of the best and most 
 ennobling affections ? No where does that won- 
 derful system of truth, that " mighty range of mo- 
 tive,*' disclosed in the Bible, obtain its sure and 
 certain dominion over the soul, if not in the fre- 
 quency, seriousness, and joy of familiarity with 
 God. Were the history of christian's made known, 
 I have no doubt that you might, trace the distin- 
 guished usefulness of the most distinguished men 
 to their closets. If you will review your own 
 history, I. think you will not fail to see that 
 those periods of it have been most distinguish- 
 ed for usefulness, that have been most distin- 
 guished for prayer. The late Dr. Payson, in 
 suggesting a few hints to a youthful brother in 
 the ministry, among other most valuable remarks, 
 
 14 
 
152 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 has the following : " The disciples, we read, re- 
 turned to Jesus, and told him all things ; what 
 they had done, and what they had taught. I 
 think that if we would every evening come to our 
 Master's feet, and tell him where we have been ; 
 what we have done ; and what where the motives 
 by which we have been actuated ; it would have 
 a salutary effect upon our whole conduct. While 
 reading over each day's page of life, with the con- 
 sciousness that he was reading it with us, we 
 should detect many errors and defects which 
 would otherwise pass unnoticed." It is this fa- 
 miliarity with Jesus — they are these unaffected 
 approaches to the throne of grace, through all the 
 sins and duties, the mercies and trials of his course, 
 that make the useful christian. I have seen 
 christians of very reserved habits in their inter- 
 course with men, who were eminently useful 
 because they conversed with God. You will 
 greatly abound in the duty of prayer, if you are 
 ever eminently useful. 
 
 It is also indispensable to distinguished and 
 permanent usefulness in a christian that he mor- 
 tify an aspiring spirit. Do not contend for pre- 
 eminence. If you are thrown among those who 
 contend for it, retire from the conflict. Strive to 
 do good, and if your motives are impeached, let 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 153 
 
 your habitual deportment be your only defence 
 of them. I say again, beware of an aspiring spirit. 
 There is scarcely any thing that has a stronger 
 tendency to neutralize and counteract the benevo- 
 lent designs of good men, than a self-complacent, 
 aspiring spirit. Beioare of it. Learn of him who 
 was "meek and lowly in heart." He "that ex- 
 alteth himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth 
 himself shall be exalted." "Pride goeth before 
 destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." 
 
 A christian to be eminently useful, must also 
 be distinguished for no small share of earnest- 
 ness and zeal. On this point I feel afraid 
 of leaving a wrong impression. Zeal, without 
 judgment and discrimination, spoils a man for a 
 christian. A man may possess exemplary piety, and 
 distinguished talent, but without practical wisdom 
 he cannot become useful. And yet discretion may 
 degenerate into timidity ; may even lead to a 
 trimming and calculating servility. A character 
 that is formed on the highest models of usefulness, 
 must be distinguished for decision, energy, and 
 zeal, as well as self-diffidence and discretion. 
 There is no danger that zeal will be too ardent, 
 so long as it is the expression of simple benevolence. 
 Only be sure that your heart glows with the 
 benevolence of the Gospel, and the flame cannot 
 
154 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN, 
 
 rise too high. True zeal will find its choicest 
 aliment in cultivating the spirit of Jesus Christ. 
 At a great remove from that false fervour and 
 electric fire which has its origin in a selfish and 
 ambitious mind, which hurries men on to act with- 
 out consulting the sober dictates of their under- 
 standing, and which is distinguished for its sub- 
 tility, turbulence, and fickleness, it takes its rise 
 from the meek and gentle spirit of holy love. It 
 is warmed and fanned into flame by every breath 
 of heavenly affection. It is simple, because it has 
 nothing to disguise. It is strong and steady, be- 
 cause it is deliberate and cautious. It is un- 
 wearied, because, like the heaven-born charity 
 from which it flows, " it seeketh not its own." 
 And where shall we look for such a spirit, if not 
 in christians ? Where are there incentives to 
 such a spirit, if not in the cross of Christ ? Where 
 did Paul find it, where did the primitive Christians 
 find it, but in the love of Christ ? What can 
 support such a spirit, but those awful and touch- 
 ing realities, those weighty and tender truths 
 which are exhibited with such irresistible energy 
 and vividness, in that wonderful redemption which 
 is the foundation of all your hopes ? A light and 
 cursory view of duty will not answer the purpose 
 of your high calling. The mind must be roused 
 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 155 
 
 to the importance of it ; you must think intensely, 
 and feel deeply ; every power of body and mind 
 must be awakened and invigorated in the service 
 of the divine Master. 
 
 There is another topic on which I will make a 
 few observations : and that is, the importance of 
 exercising a kind and fraternal spirit. Charity 
 suffereth long and is kind. Charity is not easily 
 provoked. Charity thinketh no evil. Charity 
 beareth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all 
 things. O, if this spirit of kindness — this mutual 
 forbearance — this patience of injury — this freedom 
 from suspicion and jealousy — this spirit of frater- 
 nal love and confidence were more prominent in 
 the character of christians, how would they adorn 
 the doctrine of God their Saviour, and recommend 
 religion to the world ! If I do not misinterpret, 
 nor pervert the signs of the times, the day is near 
 when there will be a peculiar demand for the cul- 
 tivation of this spirit in the American churches. 
 " If a man say, I love God, and hate his brother, 
 he is a liar ; for if he love not his brother whom 
 he hath seen, how can he love God, whom he 
 hath not seen ?" How often have Ave seen the 
 usefulness of christians lamentably circumscribed 
 through the want of a kind and affectionate spirit 1 
 
 There are those who need nothing but brotherly 
 
 14* 
 
156 
 
 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 kindness to make thern patterns of every thing 
 that is praiseworthy. I know that the constitu- 
 tional temperament of good men is various ; but 
 there is no apology for the man whose external 
 light is on the wane, because the glow of kind- 
 ness declines within. You live in such an evil 
 world — a world where there are so many occur- 
 rences that are unavoidably painful — so many 
 wrongs to be encountered and forgiven, and 
 where there are such frequent requisitions for the 
 exercise of a kind spirit, that if you do not take 
 special pains to cultivate it, all the better feelings 
 of your hearts will be suppressed, and the manly 
 and generous spirit of a heaven-born religion will 
 lose its glory in the envyings and suspicions of 
 an earthly and selfish mind. 
 
 Would christians be useful, let them beware of 
 an earthly mind. Let them cherish an habitual 
 impression of the vanity and unsatisfying nature 
 of all earthly things. Let them set their affections 
 on things above, not on things on the earth. Nor 
 is the providence of God in this respect at all at 
 war with his word. God does not require chris- 
 tians to depreciate worldly good ; to exclude them- 
 selves from human society ; to immure themselves 
 in cloisters, for the sake of mortifying an earthly, 
 and nurturing a heavenly mind. It is altogether 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 157 
 
 a mistaken view of their duty that has induced 
 some persons to retire altogether from the world, 
 and to renounce all the intercourse and activity of 
 social life. The author of our nature has with 
 wonderful wisdom adjusted the claims of eternity 
 and time to the relations which his people sustain 
 to both worlds. He does not require them to dis- 
 regard the claims of earth. He does not require 
 any such divulsion of our nature as necessarily 
 sets the parts of it in perpetual warfare. The 
 design of the gospel is to elevate and sanctify the 
 whole man ; to give the best and most benevolent 
 direction to our entire existence ; to raise up 
 from the ruins of the apostacy a new creature ; 
 and to show its power, not in destroying man, but 
 in regenerating him. Regenerated man is fitted 
 for both worlds. A due regard to the engage- 
 ments of time t does not interfere with the most 
 direct, and quiet course toward heaven. The 
 christian never appears more in the true glory of 
 his renewed nature than when he carries his 
 religion into the world, and lets his light shine 
 on all the departments of active and secular duty, 
 and there amid the dust, and noise, and conflicts 
 of earth, pursues his way toward the skies. It is 
 a much more difficult thing to carry religion into 
 the world, than to keep at a distance from the 
 
158 
 
 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN: 
 
 conflict. Religion does not consist in living at 
 distance from temptation, any more than in run- 
 ning needlessly into it ; but rather in encounter- 
 ing and overcoming temptation when it plainly 
 meets us in the path of duty. By becoming 
 christians, we do not cease to be men. The 
 world has its temptations, and the world is every 
 where. It is in the recesses of the wilderness. 
 It is in the solitude of the ocean. It is in the 
 retirement of the closet. It is deep in our own 
 hearts. We shall find the world wherever we 
 find our own unhallowed passions — passions 
 which no solitude extinguishes, and which often 
 gather strength from seclusion. No man can 
 run away from the world without running away 
 from himself. The presumptuous christian will 
 find the world following him into his retirement ; 
 while the subdued and chastened christian will 
 find, amid all the complications and cares of busi- 
 ness, a solitude in his own bosom, a little world of 
 tranquillity within, a retreat more inaccessible than 
 his closet, where, while his body is occupied in 
 its ten thousand labours, his soul lives for God, 
 and where amid all the confusions of earth, he 
 possesses his mind in peace. There is such a 
 thing as living inthe world whilein the deepest soli- 
 tude ; and there is such a thing as being in solitude 
 
THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 159 
 
 in the midst of the world. What christians 
 have to guard against is a xoorldly spirit. This 
 will destroy their usefulness. If their treasure 
 is on earth, their hearts will be there. If this 
 world is their aim and object, they can accomplish 
 little as christians. If they would be useful, their 
 great end and aim must be things unseen. They 
 must not forget their high calling. They must 
 not forget why, nor for whom they were sent into 
 the world, but every where so set their affections 
 on things above, that they shall appear like pil- 
 grims and strangers on the earth. 
 
 In concluding these remarks permit the writer in 
 a word to say, that it becomes the people of God 
 to aim to possess that uniformity of character 
 which the gospel requires. It is worth much 
 effort, watchfulness, and prayer, to guard against 
 the more common faults and blemishes of christian 
 character. It concerns good men to cultivate 
 every grace and virtue, and to be adorned with 
 all the beauties of holiness. The usefulness of a 
 christian depends much on this uniformity of 
 character. As " dead flies cause the ointment 
 of the apothecary to send forth a stinking sav- 
 our, so doth a little folly him that is in reputa- 
 tion for wisdom and honour." Little things 
 have more to do in the formation of a spotless 
 
160 THE USEFUL CHRISTIAN. 
 
 moral character, than we are at once willing to 
 believe. Especially beware of little deviations 
 from sterling rectitude. " He that is faithful in 
 that which is least, is faithful also in that which 
 is much ; and he that is unjust in the least, is 
 unjust also in much." It is impossible for the 
 man who neglects little things then to command 
 respect, or to be extensively useful. It is this uni- 
 formity of character which conciliates confidence 
 and veneration, and which everywhere bespeaks a 
 benevolent and elevated mind. Such a christian 
 will not live in vain. He may have his superiors 
 in some particular traits of excellence, but in that 
 happy assemblage of excellencies that go to form the 
 useful christian, he is one of the lights of the world. 
 Not merely will he find the light of truth and 
 holiness kindled within his own bosom ; but he 
 will become the source of light to others. He 
 will be like a city that is set on a hill. Men will 
 see him, and see him from afar. And when he 
 is removed from this lower sphere, while it will 
 be seen that one of the lights of this world is ex- 
 tinguished, it will be gratefully confessed that it 
 is removed only to shine on a wider and brighter 
 orbit.