//.;2./.b/ Srom f^e feifirari? of in (^emorg of 3ubge ^amuef (gtiffer QBrecftinrtb^e ^reeenfe^ 6p ^cimuef (gtifPer (jSrecftinribge feon^ to f ^e feiBratg of (Princeton C^eofogtcaf ^emindrj^ SERMONS BY THE LATE REV. WILLIAM ASHMEAD. WITH E J^emoiir oi nC!$ HiCr. PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY TOWAR, J. & D. M. HOGAN. No. 2S5 Market Street. 1830. Eastern District of Penntylvania. to roU : ttttttt BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twentieth day of September, in ih»*tJ '''® fifty-fifth yeaf of the Independence of the United States of Aine» Utt+U i-ica, A. D. 1830, Clara F. Asiimtad, of the said Distvict, has deposited in this office the title of a Book, the right whereof she claims as i>roprietor, in the ■words fiillowing, to wit: SERMONS OF THE LATE REV. WILLIAM ASHMEAD. With a Memoir of his Life. In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, intituled, "an act for the encumagcment of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors if such copies, during the times therein men- tioned"— and also to the act, entitled, "an act supplementary to an act, entitled , 'an act for the mcouiagement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and Ivioks to ihe author* and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned,' and extending the l>eiiefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints." D. CALDWELL, Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. TO THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF LANCASTER, PENNSYLVANIA, Airs TO THE SECOND PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA, 2rni]$ s^oiumc IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. CONTENTS. 31 36 Page- 7 Memoir of tlie Author, SERMON I. Ton xi 7 8 9 — " Canst thou by searching find out God > canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection > It is as high as heaven ; what canst thou do > deeper than hell ; what canst thou know ? The measure there- of is longer than the eartli, and broader than the sea. SERMON II. EccLEsiASTES xii. 7- (Last Clause.)-" And the spirit shaU return unto God who gave it." SERMON in. Psalm xv.-Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle ? who shall dwell in thy holy hill > He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart. He that backb.teth not with h.s tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour. In whose eyes a vile person is contemned ; but he ho- noureth them Uiat fear the Lord. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not. He that puttetli not out his money to usury, nor taketh Jewafd against the innocent. He that does these things shall never be ^^ moved." - - ' SERMON IV. JoHS XV. 5. (Last Clause.)-" Without me ye can do nothing." 73 SERMON V. Genesis xxxix. 9. (Last Clause.)-" How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God ?" - - ' " SERMON VI. 1 Samuel xxviii. 16.-" Then said Samuel, Wherefore, then, dost thou ask of me, seeing the Lord is departed from thee, and is become thine enemy." - - " ' SERMON VII. Job XV. 16.—" How much more abominable and filthy is man, which drinketh iniquity like water ?" SERMON VIII. Jehkmiah ii. 12, 13.—" Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this, and be hor- ribly afraid, be ye very desolate, saith the Lord. For my people have committed two evils ; they have forsaken me, the fountain of living wa- ters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water," 88 101 119 141 li CONTENTS. PHge. SERMON IX. John iii. 36. (Last Clause.)—" He that believeth not the Son, shall not see life ; but the wrath of God abideth on him." - - 155 SERMON X. Luke x. 42. — " But one thing is needful ; and Marj'hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her." - - 173 SERMON XL Luke vii, 36 to 50. — " And one of the Pharisees desired bim that he would eat with him," &c. - - - 188 SERMON XIL Zechariah xiii. 1. — " In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David, and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for un- cleanness." .... 203 SERMON XUL Luke xvi. 1 to 9. — " And he said unto his disciples. There was a certain rich man, which had a steward ; and the same was accused unto him, that he had wa.sted his goods," &c. ... 216 SERMON XIV. Mark x. 17 to 22. — " And when he was gone forth into the way, there came one running, and kneeled to him, and asked him. Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life ?" &c. - 232 SERMON XV. Job ii. 10. (Middle Clause.) — " What! shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?" - - 246 SERMON XVI. Exonus XX. 7. — " Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain: for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain." - - - . - 258 SERMON XVII. Acts viii. 30, 31. — " And Philip ran thitherto him, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and said, Understandest thou what thou readest ? And he said, How can I, except some man should guide me? And he desired Philip that he would come up, and sit with him." - 274 SERMON XVIII. JoH>r vi. 28, 29. — " Then said they unto him. What shall we do, that we might work the works of God ? Jesus answered and said unto them. This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent." 292 SERMON XIX. PnovEnns xxviii. 26. (First Clause.) — " He that ti'usteth in his own heart is a fool." .... 308 SERMON XX. Genesis xviii. 25. — " That be far from thee to do after this manner, to slay the righteous with the wicked : and that the righteous should be as the wicked, that be far from thee: shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?" ... . - 324 CONTENTS. iii Page SERMON XXI Job xix. 25, 26. — " For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin, worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall 1 see God." - 339 SERMON XXII. Daitiel vi. 10. — " Now when Daniel knew, that the writing was signed, he went into his house, and his windows being open in his chamber to- wards Jerusalem, he kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave tlianks before his God, as he did aforetime." 354 SERMON XXIII. Deuterokomt xxix. 29. — " The secret things belong unto the Lord our God; but those things which are revealed belong unto us and to our children for ever, that we may do all the words of this law." 367 SERMON XXIV. 1 TiMOTHT ii. 5. — " For there is one God, and one Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus." ... 384 SERMON XXV. ExoDrs XX. 8, 9, 10, 11. — " Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: But the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God; in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy man-servant, nor thy maid-ser- vant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates: For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the Sab- bath day, and hallowed it." ... 400 SERMON XXVI. John vii. 48. — "Have any of the rulers, or of the Pharisees, believed on him ?" - ... 424 PREFACE. The discourses which compose the present volume were the weekly productions of the author for the instruction of his own people. Many of them were written under the languor and depres- sion incident to declining health, and all of them, amidst the various duties and interruptions atten- dant on the ministerial office. The candid reader will, it is hoped, be disposed rather to acknowledge their merits, than to dwell upon their defects; rather to profit by the instruction which they convey, and the truths which they exhibit, than to scan them with the eye of criticism. Whh a view chiefly to gratify the friends of the author, these sermons have been selected for the press; not without the hope that they may be attended with the divine blessing, and that the fervent and affectionate remonstrances, the forcible arguments, the tender solicitude of the preacher, may yet find their way to the hearts of some, upon whom his personal ministry made only a transient impression. To the people who long sat beneath the sound of his voice, as well as to those on whose altars the light of his genius and his piety shed but a momentary B VI PREFACE. lustre, to all who have heard tliese discourses, it will, no doubt, enhance their value, to know that they appear almost precisely as they were deliver- ed. Of far the greater number this is literally true. In a few instances a passage which has been thought less suitable for the press than lor the pulpit, has been omitted — and twice, or thrice, where the writer has not expressed himself with his usual clearness, a sentence has been extracted from his other sermons, and introduced, to illustrate his meaning. This is the amount of the alterations which they have undergone. The subscribers will perceive, that, to the four hundred pages promised in the proposals, nearly twenty have been added to the sermons, and a memoir of the author has been prefixed, which it is believed will render the volume more interesting, and for which they are indebted, to the able pen of the distinguished advocate of the Bible in the South.* 'I'his gen- tleman, with that liberality of sentiment which he commends in another — overstepping the narrow limits of sectarian feeling, has paid this brief but honourable and disinterested tribute to departed worth. * Mr. Grimke. MEMOIR REV. WILLIAM ASII.YIEAD. The death of a faithful servant, though intrusted only with mat- ters of small moment, and of temporal concern, is an afflicting circumstance. However humble his capacity for usefulness, how- ever narrow the sphere of his influence, his fellow servants who knew his fidelity, and all who Avere blessed in his labours, cannot fail to lament his departure. His living example of zeal and diligence is gone for ever; though he leaves behind him the memory of his virtues, to guide and encourage others. If we ascend from the private to the public station, from ordinary minds to distinguished talents, from limited information to extensive knowledge, we look upon the decease of such a servant, with deeper emotions of sor- row. And if human experience had not repeatedly testified how little the most distinguished public servant is missed, and how speedily and effectually his place is supplied, we should often be over- whelmed with despair, rather than with grief, at our loss. But even in the affairs of this world, we are not permitted to feel aught of despair; though, for a season, we know not who shall be found worthy to fill the vacant seats of departed greatness and goodness. In the course of a few years, however, the spacious circle in the forest, where the monarch-tree had stood, is filled up by degrees, and another reigns in its place. Such are the reflections which spring up in the mind, when we contemplate the death of him who has been a faithful servant, even to his fellow men. But, when we turn from such a one, and con- sider the decease of a faithful servant of God himself, how much more gratifying and consolatory are our reflections! His labours, indeed, are at an end; but they were those of trial and pain, of dis- appointment and sorrow. The enjoyments of his earthly station. g MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. have passed away ; but they were frail and imperfect, and exposed to anxiety, sickness, and grief* His walk of usefulness is to be trodden no more for ever ; but then it was a pathway beset by temp- tations and discouragements. The powers of his mind are no more to be employed, nor the affections of his heart to be poured forth in the service of his brethren; but the blindness, and errors, and solicitudes, of the studious and benevolent have vanished for ever. How glorious the change, from the valley of the shadow of death) to a world of unfading light and of everlasting life ; from tears, and grief, and pain, to the happiness of heaven; from this body, the seat of disease and corruption, to the condition of glorified spi- rits ; from the society of men, degraded by crimes and vices, and darkened by selfishness, ignorance, and pride, to the company of the spirits of the just made perfect, and to the city of the living God, the Heavenly Jerusalem 1 There is this remarkable difference also, between the death of the servants of God, and that of the ser- vants of man : the former depart at the bidding of the Master, whom they had preached on earth, to honour and worship him in heaven. The same Master transfers them from one department of usefulness, enjoyment, and duty, to another of a character in- comparably superior, in its rewards and happiness. He, who had allotted to them a portion of his vineyard here, calls them away, as best suits his gracious purposes, at the first or the third, at the ninth or the twelfth hour. And let him call when he will, whether from sickness or health, from mourning or joy, from temptation or triumph, from the love of friends or the persecution of enemies, they depart full of resignation, humility, and confidence; for they know that all is for the best, as to themselves and their families, as to the social circle and the sphere of their pastoral labours. In such a spirit, departed the Rev. William Ashmead, late Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church, in the city of Charleston. A sketch of the life and death of such a minister of the gospel, is due to that congregation who had called him to be their shepherd ; to the community who were to have shared in the blessings of his talents, learning, and piety, of his influence and example; and to the social and domestic circles, which have lost in him the hus- band, father, friend. The Rev. William Ashmead was the son of William and Mar- garet Ashmead, residents of Philadelphia. Captain Ashmead, his grandfather, seems to have possessed a taste for literature — MEMOIU OF THK AUTHOR. 9 though his active life afforded little leisure for its indulgence. He kept a journal for the gratification of his friends, which has been said to be highly interesting; and he wrote his own epitaph in verse, in which he beautif.illy alludes to the extraordinary circum- stance of having completed one hundred voyages, and to the peace- ful haven, in which he hoped to rest his shattered bark. The mother of Mr. Ashmead was one of the most amiable of women. Mr. Ashmead was from a very early age devoted to books and re- tirement, and averse to the amusements of boyhood. Dr. Rush, who had frequent opportunities of observing him, while visiting at his grandfather's, remarked of him, when still quite young, that he was a boy of fine promise. At the age of thirteen or fourteen, he was placed in a bookstore, where, for the want of sufficient employment, he read, as might be expected, in the most irregular manner, a great variety of books. The habit of desultory reading, thus acquired, he always regarded as a serious disadvantage. But those acquainted with the character of his mind, in the maturity of life, would never have suspected him of such undisciplined ha- bits, in his early years, nor have admitted their influence over him, even if the fact had been known to them. He passed the first nineteen years of his life in Philadelphia, and there contracted those sedentary habits which laid the foundation of future disease. During this time, he studied the languages, and having entered the University of Pennsylvi.aa. passed through the usual studies with much credit, and graduated in 1818. Im- mediately after, he engaged in teaching, as a means of support; and having decided in favour of the Gospel Ministry, studied under the Rev. James P. Wilson, of Philadelphia; a gentleman distinguished for the power and logical character of his mind, for extensive erudition, and especially for his intimate know- ledge of the Christian Fathers. Mr. Ashmead was compelled to teach by day, and to pursue his professional studies by night. A pallid countenance, frequent head-aches, and disordered nerves, soon admonished him, that he spent too much time in the cultivation of his mind, and too little in the preservation of his health. Having finished the preparatory course of stu- dies, he was licensed as a preacher in the Spring of 1820. Few men have begun the career of ministerial labour so destitute of ex- trinsic aid or factitious advantages. Without patronage or favour, without the influence of the rich and the powerful, his personal 10 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. merits, set off by a sweet countenance, pleasant, cordial manners, and an extremely youthful appearance, soon secured to him a far more than usual share of kindness and esteem, of respect, and even of admiration. Soon after Mr. Ashmead had been licensed, he travelled on horseback for the benefit of his health, in the mountainous region of Northumberland and Sunbiiry. On his return, he was invited to preach at New Brunswick in Jersey, and gave great satisfaction to a crowded audience. He was requested to return in July, as a candidate for the pastoral office ; but as there was a division of opinion in the congregation, probably on account of his youth (being little more than 21 years of age), he declined altogether. Fortunately, however, for one who desired, (after having sufficiently prepared himself) to enter at once on the service of his Lord, he had, in the mean time, been invited to take charge of the congre- gation in Sunbury, a small town of Northumberland county, on the Susquehanna. He had not, however, been installed as their pastor, when he received an unexpected call from the Presbyterian church in Lancaster. Believing that a wider and more important sphere of usefulness awaited him there, and having laboured dili- gently to fit himself for such a station, he felt it a privilege, as well as a duty, to go. He accordingly removed to Lancaster, and served the Presbyterian church of that city for upwards of eight years. During that period, he not only discharged the duties of an affec- tionate, faithful, and able pastor, but employed his talents and in- fluence in the moral and intellectual improvement of the commu- nity. With this view, he exerted himself in procuring the build- ing of a public academy, and, after some difficulty, obtained a do- nation from the Legislature, in aid of the object. After he had re- sided in Lancaster about two years, he received a unanimous call to the Presbyterian church in New Brunswick, with a proposal to bear all the expense of removal. This was the more honourable, because they had neither seen nor heard him since his visit in July, 1822 J and of course they judged of him still by the favourable im- pressions then made. He declined the offer, however, as his peo- ple remonstrated earnestly against his leaving them. His assiduity in the discharge of pastoral duties, and his seden- tary habits, acting on a constitution which had been impaired in early life, gradually undermined it, and prepared the way for an alarming state of feebleness and exhaustion. The decline of his MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. ^ ^ health, and the danger which had now become painfully manifest, brought him to the South in the Fall of 1828, under the hope that relaxation from his labours and a genial climate would restore him. Nor was this expectation disappointed, so far as appearances ena- bled his friends to judge.— During his stay in Charleston, he preached occasionally, and made a very favourable impression, as an able, interesting, and evangelical minister. Whilst at Wash- ington, during the winter of 1829, being then on his return to Lan- caster, he received a unanimous call from the Second Presbyterian church of Charleston, South-Carolina, whose pulpit had been va- cated by the death of the Rev. T. C Henry. Mr. Ashmead was sensible of the danger he should incur by continuing at Lancaster; and, therefore, resolved to accept the call, from a sense of duty to the church, to his family, and to himself. He accordingly termi- nated his connexion with the Presbyterian congregation of Lan- caster. He arrived in Charleston on the 25th of April. Here he remained two months, during which he received many marks of regard from his new people, and became warmly attached to many individuals among them, especially to his hospitable friend Mr. A**** and his family, of whose affectionate attentions he often spoke with the warmest gratitude, and towards whom he felt as a son and a brother. On the 17th of May, 1829, he was in- stalled, and on the 25th of June, he set out on his return to the North, to make arrangements for the removal of his family, in the ensuing Fall. Before he left the South, however, he had a serious attack of bilious fever, and immediately after his arrival in Lancaster, he was again seized with a dangerous fever. He slowly recovered; yet his apparent restoration to health was flattering to his friends.— Whilst, however, he was waiting in Philadelphia, for the departure of the vessel in which he had en- gaged a passage for himself and family, he was again taken sick. This relapse occurred the very week during which he had ex- pected to sail for Charleston ; and arose from the latent conse- quences of the attack at Lancaster.— This fever, apparently not so violent and alarming as the former, was declared by his physicians to be subdued at the end of two weeks. He had been deeply af- fected by the disappointment of not being able to commence the voyage, at the set time ; for his heart was fixed on it, as a duty pe- culiarly interesting and important.— But, when his medical advi- sers declared that he must not attempt it, he did not hesitate to f2 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. yield his anxious wishes to their judgment, and only directed that his people should be made acquainted with the cause of his deten- tion, and with his actual situation, from time to time. — Although the fever returned in a week, yet it seemed of so mild a character, and he appeared at intervals so much better, that his friends could not but indulge the hope, that he would yet be restored to health and usefulness. Even as late as three days before he died, he ap- peared to be much better; his countenance, always interesting, was unusually sweet and natural, and his voice was clear and distinct. He himself, however, relied not on the favourable changes which occurred at times, still adhering to the settled opinion, that he would never recover. He spoke of an inward feeling, which con- vinced him that he should not survive. At first, he appeared so- licitous to live, and said: " O my God! spare me to praise thee and serve thee, with more ardour than I ever have! — Spare me to my dear wife and children. I trust it is not inconsistent for me to desire to live. Dr. , who is a holy man, and lives near to God, once reproved me on that subject after I had preached a ser- mon, in which I had painted in glowing colours the desire of the righteous man to die, and the triumphs of a death bed. I believe there have been a few good men who have desired to die, such as Brainerd, Edwards, and Baxter, but in general there is no instinct so strong as that with which we cling to life.'' But he added: *' If I am to die at this time, dying grace will be given me. God can make me willing to leave all." In the early part of his ill- ness he often expressed a cheerful hope of future happiness, but said he had not that assurance of which some persons appeared possessed. " But," said he, " perhaps it is best for me not to feel too confident. Dr. W says that there have been many good Christians who never attained this assurance." He desired his wife to preserve his sermons for his son. " Should God direct his views to the ministry," said he, " they may be of use to him." " At least," he added, " they will serve to show him something of his father." This mention of his dear boy was almost too much for him ; yet he shrunk from nothing that duty required. He conversed with his two eldest children : told them that he had but fev/ days to live, and exhorted them so to live, that he might hope to meet them in heaven. On this day also he spoke to several of his relatives, with great tenderness and affection, giving them appropriate advice, which will, it is hoped, be long MEMOIU OF THE AUTHOR. 13 remembered. Parting with his wife and little ones, appeared to be the greatest conflict which nature experienced; yet, we feel a strong assurance, that God enabled him to resign even these into his hands. In his last illness he loved to expatiate upon the virtues of his mother, to recall her nameless endear- ments, and her tender solicitude for his welfare. "My mo- ther," said he, " O how I did love my mother ! and well do I remember what a shuddering came over me, when I first thought that she would die, and be removed from me. Butshe is now among the gentlest of the spirits in heaven." He looked forward with pleasure to the period, when he should meet this fondly-cherished parent in those regions, where happiness is pure and unalloyed. He often remarked, " My sickness has been sanctified to me ; it is good for me that I have been afflicted." The activity and energy of his mind to the last, exemplified a remark, which he had made a few days before his death when very weak and low. — " Mind," said he, " immortal mind never decays. When the body is sinking to the grave, it often breaks forth with unwont- ed splendour." During the last memorable week of his life he expressed his sentiments upon many subjects, with a clearness and vigour which were truly surprizing considering his extreme de- bility. He spoke at this time of the difficulty of distinguishing be- tween a desire of happiness and a dread of misery — a desire to obtain heaven for its own sake, and a desire to escape from hell. "This," said he, "is one of the most difficult points in the Christian experience." On another occasion, he spoke with great pleasure of the resurrection of the body. He also referred to the subject of moral evil — its entrance into the world: — "God," said he, "created all things good." His views on this subject were very clear and satisfactory. When suffering under a most painful inability to sleep, he said, "This is the way we learn to die, by suffering." "Yes," was replied, "it is the way our Heavenly Father takes to lead us to himself." "And a very good one," said he. On the Friday before his decease, he said to a kind brother, who was with him, "I feel a strong confi- dence in God. I can say Avith David, * great is his goodness,' and with Paul, * thy grace is sufficient for me:'" "I am in the hands of the Lord Jesus," said he at another time, after re- marking the improbability of his recovering; and again, "Lord Jesus, into thy hands I commit my spirit." He gave direct c 14 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. tions with the greatest composure for his funeral, and requested that the Rev. Dr. G , whose visits had been a source of much comfort to him, should speak at his grave. On one occasion he remarked to a friend, " It seems to me more difficult for minis- ters of the gospel to be saved, than for other men." He then spoke of himself as a sinner, as indeed he daily did, frequently ut- tering the fervent ejaculation, " God be merciful to me a sinner." On Sabbath morning, two days before his death, he said, "this is the Sabbath; I wish to be in the spirit on the Lord's day." He then repeated: — " Sweet is the day of sacred rest, No mortal care shall seize my breast: O may my heart in tune be found. Like David's harp of solemn sound." On the evening of that day, he said " I am a sinner, it is true," (and every man that dies must say that,) " but hoping for heaven through the merits of the Lord Jesus; and now I am resigned to go ; and feel that I should delight to join the glorified and happy spirits that surround the throne: and Oh that I might hope to meet the whole human family there. I would not be a Universalist — but how dreadful the thought that even one human being should be lost; and God would have all men to be saved. If fire and the want of water be faint emblems of the miseries of the lost, what. Oh my God ! must be the reality." On one occasion, he exclaimed, with strong emotion — "I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, shall be able to separate me from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'' " Let me die," said he, "the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." During the last week of his life, he spoke with great feeling of a pocket English Bible which he always carried with him, and to which he was very much attached. "That little Bible," said he, "has been my companion over many a mile of land and ocean." He then marked several appropriate passages with his own hand. On ihe last day, he remarked, "I am dying: but I fear not death; my trust is in the Saviour of sinners." There was a deep and affecting solemnity in all that he said, the last night of his life. He was evidently fast ripening for Heaven; his path was shining more and more unto the perfect day. To him may justly be ap- . MEMOm OF THK AUTHOR. 15 plied the words of the Psalmist, " Mark the perfect man, and be- hold the upright, for the end of that man is peace." Instead of murmuring or rt'pining on his bed of languishing, his heart seemed to overflow with love and gratitude. A day or two before his death, when presented with a draught of cold water, he said, '*0 how dclightfull fresh from nature's fountain. How good our heavenly Father is in providing us so many comforts, notwith- standing our sinfulness. The goodness of God far exceeds his severity." On another occasion, when his shutters were opened, and he beheld the sun, he exclaimed, " the Lord God is a sun and a shield, the Lord will give grace and glory; no good thing will he withhold from those who walk uprightly." Several times he said, " I am dying," yet no symptoms of immediate danger were visible ; his sleep was easy, his voice clear and strong. A few minutes before he departed, he said to his wife: "You can come to me, though I cannot return to you." After some moments of intense pain, he desired that his head might be raised. It was done, when immediately his eyes became fixed, and his spirit was released without a groan or struggle. He died after an illness of six weeks, on the morning of the 2d of December, 1829, in his 32d year, leaving a widow, and six children all under ten years of age. Mr. Ashmead read with ease, the French, Spanish and Italian languages, though entirely self-taught. In the winter of 182:5, he commenced the translation of Saurin's Historical, Critical and Theological Discourses, of which he was uiider the impression there was no English version. He had proceeded so far, as to complete eight of them, with very copious notes, when admonish- ed by ill health of the necessity of relinquishing every study, except what was indispensable to prepare him for the pulpit. These Sermons are among his manuscripts, and are written with the greatest accuracy and neatness. In the German language he also made considerable proficiency, though his declining health obliged him to give up the study. He was very fond of good poetry, and had all the sensibility and fancy of a poet, though he never attempted that kind of composition. He was a good Mathematician also. But the study of the hu- man mind was to him the most interesting of all. Accordingly he read with profound attention all the different systems of moral science and metaphysics. But, after all his learning and research, he declared, when recovering from the fever which attacked him ^Q, MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. on his return from Charleston, that he would in future study the Bible more, and other books less. Let it not hence be inferred that he had hitherto neglected the holy volume. Far from it. He ■Was in the daily practice for many years not only of reading the English version, but of reading every morning, a chapter in the Hebrew Bible, and every afternoon, another in his little Greek Testament, Avhich he always carried with him. In 1826, he published an essay on Pauperism, addressed to the State Legislature, then in session, in which are displayed great ingenuity and originality in applying the Christian principle, " If a man will not work, neither shall he eat," to the subject of a legal provision for the poor. The argument is not a popular one in the native State of the author, but the time is coming, when, we doubt not, its force will be admitted by all. The literary merits of the essay will be acknowledged by every reader of taste and judgment. Among the manuscripts of Mr. Ashmead, there are from 170 to 200 Sermons, written out, and possessing nearly equal merit: several works which have not been given to the public; one is enti- tled, "the Laws of the Greek Accents;" oneison "The Advantages of the Sabbath, considered as a Civil Institution;" another on "The Influence which Christianity has exerted on the Political Condition of the World;" another is entitled, "The Scripture Doctrine of an Intermediate State between Death and the Resur- rection, defended." There are also " An Abridgment of the Manual of Epictetus;'* " An Epitome of Brown's system of Theology;" and a Criticism on " Sermons by a Layman.'' These are all written with the most perfect neatness, not a sentence being abridged or a word omitted. It is worthy of remark, that the only unfinished Sermon among his manuscripts, is on these words: "And the dust shall return to the earth, as it was. " It is supposed to have been commenced between his illness in July, and the last fatal attack. It breaks off abruptly with these words, which seem to have been prophetic: " Then, when this corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal shall put on immortality, shall be brought to pass the say- ing that is written, death is swallowed up in victory." The Rev. Wm. Ashmead was richly endowed by nature. The God Avhom he served with the zeal, simplicity and faithfulness of the apostolic age, had bestowed upon him talents, far superior to those, which are given to the vast majority of mankind. Conscious Memoir of the author. ff Vjf his powers, and acknowledging the full force of the obligation which they imposed, he cultivated his mind with the fidelity' of a Christian, and the enthusiasm of a scholar. It is not therefore, surprising, that he should have attained in comparatively few years, an extent, variety and depth of knowledge, which few of the Clergy ever attain, even in the course of a long life. His Theolo- gical acquirements especially, were extraordinary for his age; and serve to show us what intellectual ability can accomplish, when sti- mulated by a sense of Christian duty; and by an ardent love of study. It has often happened that the profound and learned Theologian, too deeply imbued with the spirit of controversy, and becoming a devotee, if not a bigot to his own sect, has but little affection for the Church Universal, and for the common cause of Christian be- nevolence, too little sympathy with other denominations, and too little respect for their pious labours. But Mr. Ashmead, though an accomplished scholar in divinity, valued religion more than sectarian Theology, and the broad diffusive charity of the New Testament, more than the narrow-minded jealousies, which often separate the members of different communions, even where they harmonize in essentials. He loved and venerated the principle o mutual fellowship and mutual labour, and was ever ready to unite on common ground, with any of the Evangelical denominations. His liberality, therefore, seemed the more remarkable and capti- vating, because he had not only travelled the broad road, but had explored the narrow winding paths of biblical learning; and had surveyed minutely, as well as comprehensively, the various reli- gious opinions, which divide the Christian world. From these he selected such as he was satisfied the Scriptures sanctioned i and hence his scheme of religion was evangelical, and his eccle-* siastical tenets Presbyterian. Inflexible in these sentiments, as derived from the pure fountain of Scripture, he yet acknowledged in others, most cheerfully and sincerely, in thought, in word, and in deed, the privilege of judging and acting for themselves.. He insisted with fervour and energy, uniformly and steadily, on the peculiar requirements of the gospel: and declared, as a herald of the cross, the whole counsel of God. To his people, he addressed himself, with the authority of a pastor; with the gravity and earnestness, which became their spiritual guide; with the tender- ness and solicitude of a brother and a friend; with the humility of a fellow-servant; and with the penitence, the gratitude^ the faith ^g MEMOIR OI^ THE AUTHOR. of a sinner, sanctified by the same holy spirit, redeemed by thfe Same precious sacrifice, and accepted by the same almighty Fa- ther. He preached as one who had bound himself, for the rewards of eternity, to strengthen the weak hands and confirm the feeble knees, to lead the blind, and to encourage the fearful, to bring back the wanderer, to bind up the broken heart, and to warn the strong, that he take heed, lest he fall. He preached as one who had ex- perienced in himself the regenerating power, and the purifying in- fluences, the holy enjoyments, rich consolations, and eternal sanc- tions of the gospel. But there are other points of view, in which we may advan- tageously contemplate the character of Mr. Ashmead. We have said that he was gifted with fine talents, and he accordingly train- ■ed himself, by the assiduous cultivation of his mind, to a thorough knowledge of its capabilities, and a complete mastery of its powers. — Hence, while the Christian heard with gratitude and humble joy, the message of salvation, delivered in the very spirit of the gospel, kind, considerate and simple: the scholar was charmed by the dis- play of a logic, clear, vigorous, convincing; of a judgment, sound and discriminating: and of a taste, at once pure and beautiful. His reasonings in favour of religion were delivered with all the energy of truth, all the fervour of piety, and all the chastened ele- gance of an accomplished preacher. It is believed that very few of the numerous clergymen who have visited our city, during a long course of years, so speedily estab- lished such an enviable reputation, as a Christian minister, as a scholar and a gentleman. — Whilst he was loved as a pious and amiable man, he was admired as an able and eloquent preacher, and respected as a faithful servant of his crucified Master. The character, which he had developed and finished, during eight years of service at Lancaster, had attained such a state of perfec- tion, that a display of its moral beauty and intellectual excellence seemed rather to be spontaneous manifestations of its power, than deliberate purposes of the mind. The large and enlightened au- dience which attended his preaching, attested the general satisfac- tion which he gave. The unanimous call to fill the vacant pulpit of the 2d Presbyterian Church, was at once the reward of his la- bours, and a testimony to his sterling merit. The deep regret of the Lancaster church, at parting with him, and the affliction of the 2d Presbyterian church at his decease, bespeak the gratitude MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 19 of the former, and the broken hopes of the latter. Asa husband, father, friend, the qualities of Mr. Ashmead were but emanations from the higher and nobler character, which distinguished him as a Christian and a minister. Such a Christian and such a minister could not fail to exhibit, in the social and domestic circles, those qualities, which not only endear but adorn, the husband, the father and the friend. His virtues commanded respect, and won esteem; ■while the affability and gentleness of his manners, the sweetness and serenity of his temper, his cheerful and cordial conversation, his pure and humble spirit, recommended him as a companion and a model. The strength of his affections and the extreme delicacy of his feelings were known to but few. " I have been a sensitive being," said he, "and my feelings have been but little under- stood." His modest and retiring manners, veiled from the casual observer much of the loveliness of his character. Yet withal, he was fearless in the discharge of duty, and uniformly opposed injus- tice, with a determined purpose. To his widow he has left the bright example of a Christian life, and the more glorious and precious consolations of a Christian death-bed. To her, as a pious mother, he has entrusted that example and those consolations, as the rich and affecting bequest of a dying father to the little children, whom he loved. By her, the wife of his confidence and affections, we feel assured, that these treasures of a husband's character, will be preserved as a sacred patrimony for his children, and as a pledge of their re-union in that world of glorified spirits, where sorrow and tears are unknown, but the purity and bliss of angels and seraphs become the eternal in- heritance of the redeemed. The death of such a man is a heavy loss to the community, who expected so much from his life. The death of such a minister, is a season for fasting and prayer, to the people whom he served. The death of such a scholar is consecrated by the tears, and em- balmed in the memory of Literature. The death of such a hus- band, father, friend, clothes in mourning the forms that he loved, and banishes smiles from the faces which were ever wont to re- joice when he rejoiced. But the death of such a man, such a minister, such a scholar, of such a husband, father, friend, is full of consolation to those who survive; as it is full of glory and happiness to him. Theirs is a loss, that can last but a few years, for ihcy also must die: but his 20 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR we are assured, is an eternal gain. They continue in a state of temptation, of trial, of sorrow; while he has passed through the valley of the shadow of death, to the bosom of his Fa- ther and their Father, of his God and their God. They, in- deed, now sorrow, because they shall behold his face no more; but when their corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and their mortal shall have put on immortality, if it be given them to enter, as we trust he has, into the rest prepared for the people of God, then shall they behold him again, clothed in the glorified form, and beaming love from the seraph countenance of the just man made perfect. SERMON I. JOB XI. 7, 8, y. ** Canst thou by searching find out God ? canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection ? It is as high as heaven ; what canst thou do? deeper than hell ; what canst thou know ? The measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea." The text teaches us, that the Deity is a being al- together incomprehensible. The words imply, that we can no more discover the mode of the divine sub- sistence, and develope the nature of the divine perfec- tions, than we can measure the vault of heaven, or ex- plore the lowest abysses of the earth. It is told of Simonides, a distinguished ancient poet and philosopher, that, when asked by Hiero, king of Syracuse, the question, " What is God ?" he desired to have a day for reflection, before he undertook to re- ply. On the following day, the query was repeated, and two days more were requested ; at the expiration of which, Simonides again doubled the time which he demanded for consideration. At length, Hiero, grow- ing impatient, inquired why he acted in this manner. " Because," answered the candid pagan, " because the longer I examine the subject, the more obscure it be- comes." Many have supposed, that the necessity of an intel- ligent First Cause is so obvious, that, had Jehovah made no direct revelation of himself to man, we should yet have been able, by the exercise of the mental facul- 1 22 SERMON I. ties with which he has endued us, to arrive at a know- ledge of his existence. In fact the possibility of learn- ing something in respect to the being and attributes of God, independently of the disclosures contained in his word, has been assumed by not a few able writers, as an incontestable truth. Thus the eminently profound and discriminating Calvin commences the third chap- ter of the first book of his Institutes with this confident assertion, " We lay it down as a position not to be con- troverted, that the mind of man even by natural instinct has some sense of a Deity.*' We may add, that the apostle Paul himself has been thought to favour the opinion of which we speak, when he says, " The in- visible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead." This passage has been understood as implying, that on the works of creation the great Architect has impressed the fact of his existence in lines so broad and conspicuous, that they cannot fail to attract the notice of every being who has eyes to see, and an intellect to consider and comprehend. There are those, however, who, after a close and patient investigation of the subject, have been led to doubt, if not to deny, that man, without the assistance of revelation, would have known any thing respecting his Maker. They look upon the language of Paul just quoted, as too ambiguous to be relied on for the support of the opinion which they reject, while there are various considerations which incline them to a con- trary supposition. We shall here offer one or two re- marks on this point, but without taking upon us to decide it. SERMON I. 23 That the niiniherlcss indications of design and con- trivance wiiich pervade the works of God, are an evi- dence of his existence, is certain. The argument with which we combat the Atheist, when we point him to the universe which he inhabits, and of which he is a part, and demand of him how a structure so stu- pendous and magnificent, and so admirably titted to tiie accomplishment of wise and benevolent ends, should have originated without an intelligent agent, — is unquestionably a sound one. On this point, let it be carefully observed, there is no diflference of opinion. It is conceded on both sides, that, " the heavens de- clare the glory of God, and tiie firmament showeth his handy-work." The question is not whether those who are already acquainted with a Deity, may discover in tlie fabric of nature numerous and striking tokens of his being, but whether these tokens would be sufficient to arrest the attention, and force conviction on the minds of those who were entirely ignorant of the fact. Phe- nomena which appear singularly conclusive to persons whose belief in tiie divine existence has been pre- viously established, might make no impression what- ever, or, at best, only a feeble and transitory impression on individuals, who jjad never before heard or thought of a God. To discern the evidence which sustains a known truth, is a very different thing from the disco- very of a truth that was wholly unknown. It is, at the present day, no very hard matter to demonstrate those physical laws wliich govern the revolutions of the solar and planetary orbs. And yet how many ages of the most profound ignorance liad been slumbered away, before Newton, by (lie efl'orts of his splendid genius, ascerlaiiicd nnd elucidated tiie simple but sublime priu- .24 SERMON I. ciples, by which the harmony of the spheres is pre- served ! The general, if not universal, belief of mankind in respect to the divine existence, has been confidently appealed to by many as evincing, that this great truth, which lies at the foundation of all religion, is discover- able by human reason. The assertion has been broadly made, that no nation or tribe of people entirely igno- rant of a Deity, can be found at present on the globe, or has ever existed. How far this assertion might be successfully combatted, we shall not now inquire, though we cannot forbear observing, that Locke, in the first book of his Essay on the Understanding, has quoted some facts, which he considered as sufficiently proving the contrary, and that a later writer of our own country has recorded a very remarkable circumstance, which we shall here state in his own words : " I was well acquainted,'' says he, " with a negro, who was a man of superior natural powers, and made a profession of religion; who told me, that he was born in the island of Madagascar, and lived there till he was above thirty years old ; and in all that time he never had a thought of the being of a God, a creator, or governor of tlie world, or of a future state after death." But let us concede, for the sake of argument, that some indistinct notions relative to a supreme Divinity, are, and have always been co-extensive with the diffusion of human nature. — We ask, is it by any means certain, that such notions are the pure result of investigation and reflec- tion on the part of those who possess them? May they not be referred to that original revelation of liim- self witli which we know that the Deity was pleased to favour our first parent? The idea of a God once SERMON I. 25 communicated to our race, would be handed down through successive generations, extending its influence to the remotest periods and regions. AV'e come now to exliibit wliat has been considered as something like a positive argument in support of the opinion which denies the possibility of arriving at a knowledge of the divine existence, independently of revelation. The benevolent attention which of late years has been devoted to the instruction of the deaf and dumb, has led to some discoveries highly interest- ing to the philosopliical observer of the human mind. Among other things, it has, we believe, been pretty clearly ascertained, that this unfortunate class of beings are entirely ignorant of a Deity, until they receive from their teacher particular and explicit information on this subject. And here we must not omit the mention of a circumstance which is well authenticated. It is the case of a man born deaf and dumb in France, who is reported to have been quick and sagacious in tlie ordi- nary aflliiirs of life. He was a regular attendant of public worship, and applied for admission to the ordi- nance of the Lord's Supper. The bishop to whom the application was made, examined him as far as prac- ticable, through the medium of his relatives and fami- liar companions, who could best converse with him. He was received as a communicant, and continued for many years, as was supposed, a devout Christian. At length, a surgical operation was performed on his ears, which enabled him to hear, and, of course, he soon be- came able to speak and to read. He then declared, that, in his previous state, he had not the most indis- tinct apprehension of a God, and that all the interest which he formerly appeared to take in religious exer- 26 SERMON I. cises, resulted solely from a desire to imitate what he saw in otliers. Now, there is undoubtedly a degree of force in tlie argument founded on the case of the deaf and dumb. Yet this argument must not be looked upon as conclusive, because the class of beings in question are in circumstances different from those in which the rest of the race are found. They have not, so to speak, the full complement of faculties pertaining to human nature. They, consequently, labour under disadvan- tages which render their situation so peculiar, that the inference drawn from their ignorance of a Deity, cannot be fairly relied on as decisive of the point at issue. And after all, brethren, we confess that we are not competent to determine, whether man, independently of revelation, could have ascertained the being of God. That he has an instinctive perception of right and wrong — that his conscience often alarms and influences him by vague feelings of accountability, — we are will- ing to admit. But how far these moral emotions would necessarily involve a belief of the divine existence, we are at a loss to say. His Maker did not think propter to leave man without a revelation, and, therefore, we know not what it were possible for him, either imme- diately on his creation, or in a succession of ages, to discover of the being of a Deity. If, however, we should admit, that the bare fact of the divine existence is discoverable by human reason, still we may venture to assert, that no correct ideas relative to the character and perfections of God, can be. derived from any other source than his own word. In support of this position, it is sufficient to appeal to the state of religion among the most enlightened and refined nalion? of antiquity. Behold the learned serSion I. 27 and polished Greeks and Konians ofl'eiing tlieir liomai;;e to thirty thousand divinities — divinities, too, wliom they conceived to possess all the passions wliich belong to our nature in its state of degeneracy. See the inhabi- tants of Athens — a city accounted the metropolis of the literary world, — erecting altars to unknown gods ! And here it deserves to be particularly remarked, that the opinions entertained by the ancients in reference to the divine nature, appear to have become less ra- tional, or, rather, less consistent with the discoveries of revelation, in proportion to their advancement in litera- ture and philosophy. The question might hence arise — if the knowledge of God which they possessed, had beea acquired by the exercise of their own mental fa- culties, why did it not improve and enlarge in the same ratio in which those faculties were cultivated and ex- panded? How are we to account for the fact, that the religious sentiments of the Greeks and Romans, never exhibited the least symptom of progression towards the truth? The only change which they underwent, was to grow more absurd and more monstrous. This cir- cumstance, however we may attempt to explain it, is a curious one. \Vc know it has been alleged, that while thff popu- lar religion of the ancients was a system of unmeaning and debasing superstitions, their philosophers and in- telligent men of the higher classes, entertained more enlightened views respecting the divine Being, and merely professed, from motives of policy, to coincide in the vulgar notions of their countrymen. There may be some ground for this assertion, though every one must discern, that it is unsafe to pronounce positively concerning opinions which those who are conjectured 28 SERMON I. to have held them, are admitted to have been most anxious to conceal. The truth of the matter we sup- pose to be about this — that reflecting men among the Greeks and llomans perceived the futility of the reli- gious system adopted by the multitude, but having no certain information on the subject, and knowing not whither to go for such information, their minds settled into a state of general doubt and total indifference. Ac- cording to the testimony of Gibbon, (their warmest ad- mirer and eulogist,) they were, in reality, Atheists, though they thought proper, for obvious reasons, to conform externally to the religion of their country. It is Cicero, we believe, who somewhere remarks, that he never could tell, how one augur was able to look at an- other without laughing. And yet we are much mis- taken, if his own speculations respecting the Deity, will not be contemplated with little complacency by a modern advocate for the sufficiency of human reason. Enough, we presume, has now been said to show, that, apart from the revelation with which our Creator has kindly condescended to favour us, God is an in- comprehensible being. Had it not been for the sacred scriptures, we should have remained ignorant of the divine character and perfections, even if we had been able to discover the simple fact of the divine existence. But, brethren, we are prepared to advance farther than this, and to maintain, that, even with the light which the inspired record reflects on this sublime and glorious subject, we can learn little comparatively con- cerning Him who made us. Yes, we may go to the man who has the Bible in his hands, and as he dili- gently explores its pages, we may say to him in the language of the text, " Canst thou by searching find SERMON I. 29 out (rod? canst thou find out the Almighty unto per- fection? It is as high as heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than hell ; what canst thou know ; The mea- sure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea." Does any one here ask, why it is that the Deity, notwithstanding the disclosures of his word, is, in a great measure, incomprehensible to the human mind? We answer, because of the feebleness and imperfection of our capacities. A finite intellect can no more com- prehend that which is infinite, than the hollow of our hand could contain the waters of the ocean. The poet has well said, ♦* Could we conceive him, Gocl he could not be ; Or he not God, or we could not be men. A God alone can comprehend a God." Let us now endeavour to analyze the truth inculcated in our text, and to ascertain more definitely what it is that we mean, when we speak of the incomprehensibi- lity of God. And first we remark, that God is incomprehensible in respect to the mode of his subsistence. He is an uncreated substance. He lives by an immutable ne- cessity inherent in his own nature. He has proceeded from none, and is sustained by none. He is wholly independent of any of the relations of space and time. We may add, that the manner of his being becomes still more mysterious, when we take into view what the scriptures reveal with regard to a plurality of some kind in the unity of the divine essence. It is utterly impossible for us to conceive how the same God can be both one and three. And yet this fact relative to the Most High is taught so distinctly in his word, that we 2 30 ^-RRMON I cannot, without a culpable disregard for the authority of revelation, withhold from it our credence. The ut- most that we can discover concerning the matter, is, that the Deity is one and three in different senses. Thus far vve can go, and no f;\rther. Again, God is incomprehensible in respect to many of his perfections, and particularly those which theolo- gians have distinguished by the epithet incommunicable. For example, what definite and satisfactory ideas can we form of his eternity — that attribute in virtue of which he has existed and shall exist always ? Or of his om- nipresence — that attribute in virtue of which he is in every part of this vast universe at the same moment of time? Or of his omnipotence — that attribute in virtue of which he has only to ^^ill, and the object of his voli- tion is instantly accomplished? Or of h\s immutabi- lity — that attribute in virtue of which he remains him- self unchanged amid surrounding systems of changes ? Brethren, we may strain and torture our minds to the utmost in trying to conceive of these perfections of the Godhead, and after all we shall be forced to own with Simonides, that deliberation on the subject serves only to perplex and bewilder us the more. Further, God is incomprehensible in respect to his works. Their extent and variety, their greatness on the one hand, and their minuteness on the other, sur- pass our conception. When we look above to tliose enormous masses of matter, suns, planets and star^, which are continually moving with a velocity alraosit immeasurable through the regions of unbounded space; and when we cast our eyes downwards to survey the minutiae of creation, and remark how every leaf of eve- ry tree, and, indeed, almost every material particle SERMON 1. 31 teems with orsjanic life, invisible, it is Irue, to the un- aided eye, but plainly discoverable throui^h the me- dium of the microscopic lens: we are constrained to admit, that the Deify <^ doeth great things past finding out, yea, and wonders without number.'^ This truth comes home with peculiar vividness and energy to our minds, when we contemplate ourselves, when we ex- amine tlie mechanism of our bodies so ingeniously con- trived, and admirably executed, and especially when we marii the exquisite structure of the thiniving and feeling principle, whatever it may be, which constitutes the chief dignity and excellence of our nature. O ! who can reflect for a moment on himself, without real- izing the pertinency and force of that address of the Psalmist to liis Creator, " I will praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." In short, the works of the Most Higij abound with facts to illustrate and confirm the great truth of his incomprehensibility. To a certain extent, we can explore the nature of these works, ascertain their use, and determine the laws by wliich tiiey are governed. But much, very much that is either partially or entirely unintelligible, remains. Nature is an immense store-house of mysteries. Wher- ever wedirect our view along the range of created things, we may say, '' Lo, these are parts of his ways; but how little a portion is seen of him !'' Moreover, God is incomprehensible in respect to the dispensations of his providence. We know, that all things and all events are under his absolute control, in- somuch that a sparrow cannot alight upon the ground without his knowledge and permission. It is equally certain, that he governs the universe agreeably to the dictates of infinite wisdom, and that the end which he 32 SERMON I. aims to accomplish in all that he does, or suffers to be done, is the promotion of tiie general happiness of his creatures, and tlie advancement of his own declara- tive glory. And yet, how numerous are the occur- rences which to our short-sighted view, appear as if they could not have been ordered, or even allowed, by a perfectly wise and purely benevolent Divinity! Why is it, that of all the human beings born into the world, more than one third are cut off in the very dawn of their existence, removed from earth before a single re- volution of the seasons has passed over their heads? Why is it, that pestilence and famine and war are so often seen to desolale whole districts of the globe? Why is it, that the virtuous are sometimes visited with every form and degree of affliction, while the wicked sometimes enjoy a superabundant measure of temporal blessings? Why is it, that tlie husband and father is snatched from a family which depended entirely on his exertions for support, and the widow and her lisping offspring are thereby thrown upon the sympathy of re- latives and friends, and the charity of the wide world? Why is it, that of two sons, the one who promised to gladden his parents' hearts, and to be an ornament to society, sinks into an untimely grave, while another, the very reverse in character, lives to disgrace his con- nexions, and to injure, by the contagion of his vicious example, the community in which he moves? Why is it, that the minister of the gospel is called from the field of his labour, at the very moment in which his prospects of permanent and extended usefulness shone brightest? But there would be no end to such ques- tions. The judgments of Heaven are verily a mighty deep. Of Jehovah it has been truly said, that iiis '-way SERMON r. 3JJ 19 in the sea, and his path in the great waters, and his footsteps are not known." In marking the course of his providence, we have ahundant reason to exclaim, "Touching the Almighty, we cannot find him out." Finally, God is incomprehensible in respect to the economy of his grace. The plan of redemption exiii- bited in the Gospel, is replete with mysteries sufficient to baffle the conception, not of men only, but even of the higliest orders of created beings in the universe. A\'e remember how an inspired apostle* in meditating on this plan, burst forth into tlie rapturous exclama- tion, ^'O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God ! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out!" Who can estimate the measure of that benevolence, which moved the Father to consent to the sacrifice of i»is only begot- ten and well-beloved Son, which urged the Son him- self voluntarily to embark in the enterprise of recover- ing, at the expense of his own life, our fallen and alie- nated world; and wliich prompted the Holy Spirit to become a party to this wonderful undertaking, and to lend his potent agency for its certain and eft'ectual consummation? Who can understand how, when Je- sus Christ came down to earth, he appeared as a per- son composed of two natures, the divine and human, distinct as to their respective properties, and yet really and inseparably combined? Who can explain how the obedience which he rendered to the law, and the sufferings which lie endured, were capable of expiat- ing the offences of others whose representative lie was? AVho can point out the manner in which the Spirit of grace operates upon the iiuman heart, so as to tashion it anew, ane naturally indestructible. We know it has been said, tliat material and immaterial substances are alike depen- 4^ SERMON ir. (lent, for the continuance of their being, on the will of the Creator, and that he can render the one immortal, quite as readily as the other. While we admit, that there is truth in this suggestion, we cannot retract what we have asserted, that the spirituality of the soul is the best evi- dence which reason furnishes, that it is destined to sur- vive the ravages of death. To the nature of the mind, as sometliing essentially distinct from the body, we appeal, for the clearest and most satisfactory proof, independent- ly of revelation, that it shall never perish. Nor do we at all believe, that the doctrine of the soul's immortality has been, in the least, injured, as materialists have often alleged, by those who have argued for it chiefly from the immateriality of the thinking principle. We have said, that the spirituality of the human mind was regarded by Solomon as an evidence of its immor- tality. And yet the inference has been hastily drawn from some detached passages of his works, that he was not himself a believer in the future existence of the soul. Thus, in one place, he exclaims, " I said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that God might manifest them, and that they might see, that they them- selves are beasts. For that which befalleth the sons of men, befalleth the beasts ; even one thing befalleth them : as the one dieth, so dieth the other ; yea, they have all one breath : so that a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast ; for all is vanity. All go unto one place ; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again." Now, we shall not deny, that this passage, taken by itself, might induce a reader to suspect, that the writer did not believe in tlie future existence of man. But we contend, that, when fairly construed agreeably to the general tenour of the production in which it is found, its import must be seen, SERMON II. 43 even on a casual glance, to be very different. Solomon's object, in these words, is merely to illustrate the vanity of human life, by showing how similar, in many respects, is its termination to the death of the irrational animals. He refers, throughout the comparison, only to the body, and not to the soul, as appears suflBcicntly from the sen- tence immediately succeeding the verses just quoted, where he says, " Who knoweth the spirit of a man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goetli down- ward?" There is no ambiguity here. A distinction is drawn in the clearest and most decided terms, between the ulterior destination of man, and that of other living creatures. But further remark would be superfluous. The verse of which our present text is a part, must cer- tainly satisfy every candid reader, that the immortality of the soul was an article of Solomon's creed. Does he not say, in this verse, that while the dust shall return to the earth as it was, the spirit is destined to ascend to Him who gave it? What language, we should like to know, can be more explicit than this? Indeed, it would almost seem as if the wise man, in anticipation of the un- just inference which some might endeavour to draw from previous passages of his writings, had resolved to deliver himself, in such a manner, in the conclusion of his last work, as might obviate all misconception in res- pect to his real sentiments. The immateriality of the mind has been alleged as one main argument in support of the position, that the spirit returns, on the dissolution of the body, to God who gave it; or, in other words, that the thinking principle con- tinues in being after death. A second argument nearly allied to this, in behalf of the same momentous truth, might be drawn from the transcendent faculties with 44 SERMON II. which the Creator has replenished the humaii under- standing. When we contemplate tliese faculties — Rea- son, Judgment, Memory, Imagination ; or, rather, when we survey the various operations of which the one indi- visible principle of mind is capable, — we come almost irresistibly to the conclusion, that a substance so richly endowed must be immortal. When we open the records of science, and examine the actual achievements of intel- lect, we recoil from the thought, that it is fated to perish by the same ignoble stroke tliat prostrates the body. Be- sides, we behold in the soul an illimitable capacity for the ingress of ideas ; a desire for the reception of know- ledge, which is never saturated ; a susceptibility of im- provement which time, instead of exhausting, serves only to increase. Life is much too short to enable the mind of man to attain to that high proficiency, to which it ardently aspires, and for which it would seem to be ultimately destined. Must we, then, suppose that the human being is cut down in the very infancy of his career? That his mental faculties, so replete with promise, are all suddenly arrested and annihilated in the very inception of their development? Is there not sometliing in our present cir- cumstances and condition, which proclaims intelligibly and emphatically, that a future and a nobler theatre for exertion and improvement, is in reserve for us beyond the grave? In short, it has been forcibly remarked, that to presume, that man has been gifted with such powers as we have mentioned, and rendered capable of indefinite progression in knowledge, and all in reference to no higher sphere of action than " this dim spot called earth" — is as preposterous as it were to imagine, that an indi- vidual sliould be clothed in scarlet, and decorated with diamonds, for the business of the plough, or instructed in SERMON II. 15 the arts and sciences, in order to qualify him for attending a herd of swine. In connexion with the consideration just stated, we may observe, that the difference which obviously obtains between man and the irrational animals, in respect to ac- tual enjoyment on earth, furnishes strong presumptive evidence in behalf of the important truth for which we contend. This world seems suited to the ample and final gratification of the latter. From the various physi- cal objects with which they are surrounded, they derive supreme and unalloyed pleasure. The cattle that browse in the fields, the birds that carol in the air, and the fishes that sport in the water, enjoy sensual happiness, supe- rior both in kind and degree, to any of which the human being partakes. The delights of sense are far too meagre to gratify his towering appetites. Instead of affording him substantial and enduring enjoyment, they always contribute, when too eagerly pursued and immoderately grasped, to impair his health, mar his peace, and entail upon him a train of numberless calamities. He fails not to discover, sooner or later, that they are little better than ^^ vanity and vexation of spirit.'' Now, this important difference between the rational and the merely sentient being, points, we think, to a corresponding difference in their respective destinations. If the existence of man were to be finally cut short at death, it would seem as if the benevolent purposes of Heaven in his creation, were, in a measure frustrated. He falls like other animals while, unlike them, he has not been fully blessed. His mind — the very principle of his dignity — that which ap- pears to constitute him their superior, and to crown him as the lord of this lower world, — renders him less capa- ble of enjoyment amid the scenes of his pre-eminence. 4 46 SERMON II. Man, on the supposition that there is no futurity, is of all earthly beings, the most miserable. His existence, li- mited to the present world, is an enigma that serves only to confound those ideas of the divine wisdom and be- nignity, wiiich every thing else in nature is so admirably fitted to excite. If he is not to live in another state where perfect happiness is attainable, it is difficult to conjec- ture for what end he was formed. A further argument in support of the immortality of the mind, has been derived from the inequality whicli marks the dispensations of Providence in the present world. There is not here that exact accordance between charac- ter and condition, which we should calculate on finding in the government of a holy and just Divinity. It often happens, that a greater share of prosperity is enjoyed by the bad, than by the good. Solomon, the most acute ob- server of human life, thus asserts the fact : " There is a just man that perisheth in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man that prolongeth his life in his wickedness." Some writers, indeed, have laboured, by a species of sub- tile reasoning, to show, that the inequality of which we now speak, is more in appearance than in reality.* They contend, that although much difference is visible in the * The following passage occurs in a letter from Lord Bolingbroke to Swift. He speaks of Pope's Essay on Man, which his poetical friend was then engaged in writing : — "It is a noble subject; he [Pope] pleads the cause of God, (I use Seneca's expression,) against that famous charge which Atheists in all ages have brought — the supposed unequal dispensations of Providence; a charge which I cannot heartily forgive your divines for admitting. You admit it, indeed, for an ex- treme good purpose, and you build on this admission the necessity of a future state of rewards and punishments. But what if you should find that this fu- ture state will not account, in opposition to the Atheist, for God's justice in the present state, which you give up ? Would it not have been better to defend God's justice in this world, against these daring men, by irrefragable reasons. SERMON II. 47 outward circumstances of men, yet the balance of advan- tages and disadvantages, in all the various conditions of life, may be so evenly adjusted by an impartial Deity, that the amount of actual enjoyment is nearly, and, per- liaps, quite the same. Happiness, say these authors, de- pends primarily upon the state of the mind — its views, its feelings, and its wishes. External prosperity is no unfailing index of internal tranquillity. In the midst of wealth, and honour, and power, the human being may be really miserable. On the other hand, seeming adversity does not infallibly denote mental infelicity. Tattered garments, scanty fare, and a diseased body, may belong to one, within whose breast there mantles the sunshine of an unclouded calm. There is some plausibility, we grant, in this representation of things. We do not, how- ever, think it necessary to enter into an elaborate argu- ment for the purpose of exposing its fallacy. We would only ask you to go abroad through the numerous walks of actual life, and see how far these ingenious speculations of the closet, correspond with what you there behold. We shall be egregiously deceived if you do not find little within the range of your observation, however extended it may be, to corroborate the philosopher's assumption, that the happiness of the mind is independent of external circumstances — that when the body is afflicted with want or racked with pain, perfect serenitude may pervade the soul. You will soon discover, that such a position is most strikingly confuted by the facts that come before your eye; yes, and you may be still more fully con- vinced of its unsoundness, if it should ever be your lot to know, from personal experience, the effect of some of and to have rested the proof of the other point on revelation' I do not like concessions made against demonstration, repair or supply them how you will." 48 SERMON II. those evils which the speculating sage, as he muses in his easy chair, surrounded with every comfort, accounts so very tolerable, evils which, though they may be readily mitigated and counteracted in theory, are generally found more obstinate and unmanageable in practice. In short, this is a question on which it is safest to follow the com- mon sense of mankind, and we are very sure, that no one but a philosopher ever thought of denying or doubting the unequal distribution of good and evil, which charac- terizes the doings of Providence here below. If, then, there is a Deity who sits upon the throne of nature — a throne of which righteousness and judgment are the foun- dation, — he cannot fail to make a due distinction, sooner or later, " between them that serve him, and them that serve him not.'' As surely as he is just, and holy, and good, all present inequalities shall be rectified at a future period, and in a future state. The happiness or misery of every accountable agent in the universe, must be ulti- mately in the exact ratio of his moral deserts. As this is not the case with man on earth — as vice here is often more prosperous than virtue, — we may fairly presume that his being is to be prolonged in another and retribu- tive world. The supposition, that the soul is immortal^ seems necessary, then, to vindicate the divine character and proceedings. Without it, we shall be completely foiled in all our attempts to " — — ^— Assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men." An additional argument for the future existence of the soul, has been built on the general belief of mankind in relation to this subject. It is certain, that the expectation of life beyond the grave, however it may have been ob- tained—whether it be a deduction of reason, or a remnant SERMON II. 49 of information originally communicated from the Deity to the first man, and by liira handed down to his pos- terity, — has formed an article of tlie popular creed in all periods, and in almost all countries. It is found to pre- vail, at this day, among some of the rudest tribes on our earth. The untutored savage, who dwells afar from the radiance of revelation, and on whom the dimmer light of philosophy has not shone, comforts himself amid the pri- vations and calamities incident to his present state, by looking forward to " Some safer world in depths of woods embrac'd, Some happier island in the wat'ry waste." Now, the question has been asked, can we reasonably imagine, that an expectation thus deeply seated in the human bosom, and widely diffused throughout the human race, is wholly unfounded? Is it consonant with the benignity of the Creator, to suffer a whole order of intel- ligent beings to indulge a hope of immortality which is never to be realized?. ...But this argument will strike different minds with a different degree of force, and as its strength may be thus variously estimated, the judicious thinker will not be tempted to lay upon it an undue stress. A similar remark is applicable to an argument which curious observers have sometimes derived from the analo- gies of nature. For example, the natural history of in- sects presents a remarkable fact, which shows, that it is possible even for material animals to undergo a very con- siderable and striking change in their modes of being — a change as little credible to one who was not aware that it had been indubitably ascertained, as the continued existence of the human s|)irit in a new form, after the dis- solution of the clay i\il)ric, with whicli its existence, and 50 SERMON II. all its operations on earth appear to be inseparably allied. Who would not wonder on hearing, for the first time, that the grub, on which we look with so much disgust as it crawls along the ground, becomes, after a short period of torpidity, a beautiful butterfly, that banquets on the nec- tar of the flower^ and glitters in the beams of the summer sun? And yet such is the fact. The wing of tliis gay insect, which captivates our unaided vision, and whose variegated hues, when surveyed through the microscope, command the astonished gaze of the naturalist, emerged from the tomb into which an unsightly catterpillar sunk. Now, may we not hence infer, that there is nothing like improbability in the opinion, that death, instead of im- plying the anniliilation of the human being, is merely a process through whicli he enters into a diiferent and su- perior condition of existence ?....But we shall not pur- sue a mode of reasoning, on which it has been already intimated, that too much reliance ought not to be placed. Brethren, we have now presented you with a brief view of the several arguments which have been com- monly resorted to, in support of the immortality of the soul. After all, however, it must not be concealed, that these arguments afford only a high degree of probability in relation to this point. They are insufficient of them- selves to create a clear and an unfaltering conviction, that man is born for eternity. For such conviction, which lies at the basis of all rational and practical religion, we are indebted to the sacred volume. It is by the gospel that life and immortality are brought to light. Here we learn, of a certainty, that the dissolution of the body is not followed by the extinction of the mind — that, when the dust returns to the earth as it was, the spirit returns to God who gave it. SERMON II. 51 And for what purpose does the spirit return to God who i;ave it? Our limits will not allow us to answer this question in detail. We would merely remark, in a single word, that the spirit returns to God who gave it, in order to be tried at his bar for tiie deeds done in the body, and then assigned to a condition of interminable happiness, or interminable misery, according to the nature and de- sert of those deeds. Reason leads us to presume, that, if the human being is to exist in a future state at all, the circumstances of such existence must correspond to the moral character which he had sustained on earth. And revelation expressly assures us, that, <' it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment." It is most certain, then, that the unalterable destiny of every one is determined in the crisis of his dissolution. There is, at that moment, ])assed upon him, a sentence of right- eous retribution, which takes immediate effect, and which, in the approaciiing day of tiie general judgment, shall be republished and confirmed before an assembled universe. Here, then, brethren, we are brougiit to the conclusion and improvement of our subject. If death, which de- stroys tiie body, has no other effect upon the spirit, than to remove it from a state of probation to one of retribu- tion, how important is it, that our conduct in this life, should be regulated by a due sense of our ulterior desti- nation ! Let us always act under a deep persuasion of our immortality. Let us not forget, even for a moment, that these material structures are endued with a principle dis- tinct, in all its properties, from matter — a principle which shall survive the dissolution of the planets, and outlive the splendour of the stars — a principle which, wiien mil- lions and millions of ages have rolled away, shall con- tinue fresh, and young, and vigorous as ever ; either ris- 52 SERMON n. ing to higher and higher degrees of enjoyment in the paradise of God — climbing the sun-bright steeps of glory, without a barrier to obstruct its brilliant way, — or else sinking deeper and deeper in the abyss of misery, its torments receiving new accessions of keenness, as its dis- tance from the regions of light and purity increases! Who that thinks for an instant of the future career of the human being, does not feel the force of our Lord's reflec- tion, "What is a man profited, if he should gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" Poor, indeed, would be that individual, who should barter the undying princi- ple within him, for all that this earth, in the shape of riches, honours, and pleasures, has to bestow. When he reaches the margin of eternity, these delusive pageants must wing their fliglit, and leave behind them nothing save the torturing recollection of advantages misimproved, and time misemployed. And now, dear hearers, in the view of such solemn truths, we would entreat you, one and all, to prepare, with becoming earnestness and anxiety, for that crisis in which the dust shall return to the earth as it was, and the spirit ascend to God who gave it. Remember that life is a mere " vapour, that appeareth for a little while, and then vanisheth away." Very near is the period, when we who have met to-day in this house of worship — speaker and hearer, — shall be numbered with the many generations who have already passed over this brief stage of action, and entered within the veil of eternity. Yes, and let us tell you — even you, our young auditors, — that soon your bodies, which it is now your chief concern to decorate and to gratify, shall be mingled with their ele- mentary dust. And will you devote supremely an StRMON II. 53 Existence so short and uncertain as the present, to any other purpose than that of securing an unalienable inhe- ritance beyond the grave ? 0! tell us, will you waste in comparatively frivolous pursuits, those inestimable mo- ments, on whose improvement the tremendous destinies of your future being are suspended ? Ignorant of the day and hour in which your souls shall be required of you, will you not endeavour to be always ready for a summons to the bar of your Maker and Judge ? " Tlie Son of man is as a man taking a far journey, who left his house, and gave authority to his servants, and to every man his woi'k, ami commanded the porter to Avatch. Watch ye, therefore ; for ye know not vvlien the master of the house Cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning ; lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto all, watch." Brethren, we cannot leave you, without repeating the same truth which you have heard from this pulpit a thou- sand times before. If you would contemplate death, each individual for himself, as the prelude to a blissful and glo- rious immortality, you must found your hopes implicitly and entirely on the Lord Jesus Christ. In him alone is there salvation for sinners like yourselves. Confide in his atonement, and then you may anticipate, with meek and tranquil submission to the divine will, that approaching day, when the body shall return to its kindred dust, and the liberated spirit soar to the Being from whom it sprung. And now, what more shall we say? <• Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter. Fear God, and keep his commandments; for this is the whole duty of man. For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil." 5 SERMOIV III. PSALM XV. "Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill? He that Walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart. He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour. In whose eyes a vile person is contemned; but he honoureth them that fear the Lord. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changetli not. He that putteth not out his money to usurj'^, nor taketh reward against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved," The sacred Scriptures, it has been often remarked, divide mankind into two great classes. According to this classification, every human being is either the friend or the enemy of Grod. Our Lord, when on earth, expressly taught his disciples, that those who were not with him, were against him. Neutrality in the matter of religion, is wholly out of the question. There can be no medium between the performance and the neglect of duty — no half-way ground between obedience to the wever it may be hid for a time, escapes ultinuite exposure and punishment even in this world, yet the ap[)reheusion of remote possible or probable disad- vantages, must have exerted little influence on an inex- perienced youtlj, in a situation like that in which he found himself. There is, then, no proper and effectual sul)stitute for that motive to virtue, which grows out of a sense of our obligations to God. We will go farther, and say, that this one motive is so appropriate and powerful, that it does not need to be aided by any other. The most plausible auxiliary that human ingenuity has devised, is, perhaps, to be found in the practice of auricular confes- sion, which forms so prominent a feature in the ecclesias- tical regulations of a large Christian community. AV^c have sometimes heard this practice commended by serious persons not belonging to the particular sect who adopt it, as an institution calculated to deter from sin, and in this way to do much good to society. But, while we would not deny, that benefit may, in some instances, have resulted from auricular confession, we arc constrained to believe, that it has more frequently proved the means of en- couraging, than of restraining evil. For