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 SEKMON 
 
 DELIVERED IN 
 
 WESTMINSTER CHURCIH, 
 
 Ox Sabbath Mormng, April 16, 18G5, 
 
 AFTER THE DEATH OP 
 
 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, 
 
 Rev. O. WENDELL PRIME. 
 
 DETROIT: 
 
 ADVERTISER AND TRIBUNE PRINT, 
 
 1865. 
 
Wf '- tix. 
 
 
 i 
 
; A. 
 
 SEEMON 
 
 DELIVERED IN 
 
 WESTMINSTER CHUROiH, 
 
 33 E T H O I T, 
 
 Ox Sabbath mmim, April 16, 1865, 
 
 AFTER THE DEATH OP 
 
 PRESIDENT LINCOLN, 
 
 Eev. G. WENDELL PEIME. 
 
 DETROIT: 
 
 ADVERTISER AND TRIBUNE PRINT, 
 
 18 65. 
 
^p. 
 
 ■15 
 
 Rev. G. Wendell Prime: 
 
 Detroit, Monday Morning, April ijth, 1865. 
 Reverend and Dear Sir, 
 We defire to express the great gratification we derived from 
 the fervices as conducted by you in the ufual courfe of your mm- 
 ifterial duties, on yefterday. The alTaflination of the Prefident, 
 which had tranfpired the day before, had not only ftunned our 
 senfes, but it had paralyzed our hearts with fear. A great darknefs 
 had fallen upon the nation, in which we were all enveloped. It was 
 natural that at fuch a time we fhould look to the words of the 
 Chriftian Teacher for the moft appropriate leffons of the hour, and 
 we were not difappointed. In your morning sermon, efpecially, we 
 found much to encourage, to comfort and to inftruct us for fuch 
 a momentous occasion. We defire to deepen the effect of that 
 difcourfe upon ourfelves ; we are perfuadcd that we shall be doing 
 a good fervice if we can extend its influence to others, and we are, 
 therefore, conftrained to afk you to favor us with a copy for pub- 
 lication. With fmcere affection. 
 
 We are. Dear Sir, 
 
 Your friends and parifhioncrs, 
 HovEY K. Clarke, T. H. Hinchman, W. F. Raynolds, 
 T W. Lockwood, Benjamin B. Noyes, Phter V oorhees, 
 ToHN G. Erwin, F. Lambie, D. McCormick, 
 
 W. R. Noyes, P. Young, T. J. Noyes, 
 
 E. L. Porter, Samuel Hittel, T. C. Manchester, 
 
 Edward Orr, John Stirling, H. Wallace, 
 
 A. G. Noyes, Geo. Andrews, L. G. Willcox. 
 
 April ijth, 1865. 
 Messrs. H. K. Clarke, T. H. Hinchman, and others: 
 
 Gentlemen. — My only rcalbn for declining your request would 
 be my hesitation to commit to a permanent form what was dcfigncd 
 simply for your prcfent profit in an hour of difkcfling need. I 
 am willing, however, :it this tiuia Co defer to your judgment, and 
 blcfs God tiiat he has difpofcd ^yAh'r licarts to receive His word 
 
 with favoiy 
 
 I'Voni yours, truly, 
 
 G. \^'E^nELL Prime. 
 
SERMOISr. 
 
 Psalm 39TH, 4TH. 
 
 Lord, make me know mine end, and the measure of my 
 days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. 
 
 So great was the tumult of tliouglit, that 
 confused and overwhelmed my spirit during the 
 first hours of the nation's grief, that I could 
 scarcely realize that it was my duty to lead you 
 in your devotions before the setting of another 
 sun. It seemed a vain endeavor to arrange for 
 your calm consideration during hours of worship, 
 any profitable suggestions out of the host of 
 dark imaginations that were constantly confront- 
 ing every gleam of faith. It was my intention, 
 therefore, during the entire day, to await this 
 hour with the word of God, and then to call 
 you to rest upon what he provides for our refuge 
 in every time of trouble. It seemed, however, 
 last evening, that it was best for me to commit 
 myself in writing to some one or two j)oints, 
 in order to obtain anything like a profitable view 
 of this terrible calamity, as it relates to your 
 duty, your faith, your future, your immortal 
 
souls. For it is this, my friends, that concerna 
 us at this hour. This is not the time to pro- 
 nounce a eulogy, to present those moral inferences 
 already made, to discourse of this unspeakable 
 sorrow, simj)ly because you could listen to naught 
 else with profit. God knows that it is with a 
 heart filled to overflowiuf? with the bitterness of 
 this cup, that I desh-e to have your hearts filled 
 with confidence, to have your spirits sanctified 
 by what, else, will strangely harden. I wish to 
 put you in remembrance of what you know, that 
 you may not only acquiesce, but that you may 
 be led l)y this, iwlo paths that you have not 
 known. May you now feel the hand of God, 
 when you cannot possibly free yourself from that 
 awful touch which sends a pang through the 
 nation's heart. 
 
 " Pale death knocks at the cottages of the 
 poor, and the palaces of kings with an impartial 
 foot." " Of a surety to mortals, no term of death 
 is clearly fixed, nor when he shall close with 
 enduring good, a tranquil day, child of the sun; 
 but varying at different times, do the streams 
 of good fortune and of ttonbles come about to 
 men." These were words of a heathen poet, 
 nearly five hundred years before the coming of 
 our Lord. Such was the lot of man then, and 
 sucli it will be until the fullaer-s of these sad 
 times of conflict with sin and doom. These tides 
 
lof fierce destruction, tliat rise at once in all their 
 fearful power, and sink back as suddenly with 
 their prey into the devouring deep, leave us who 
 are standing on the shore, overcome with a weak- 
 ness that pervades the body and the spirit. For 
 "we are taught at once, what we are continually 
 forgetting, namely, our own utter helj)lessness in 
 respect to all we undertake and hope for. The 
 very foundations of the spirit tremble. We are 
 made to feel that we are nothing^ that we have 
 no control over a moment or an issue. However 
 important our position, however great our task, 
 we are nevertheless absolutely ignorant of what 
 is to be the next movement in the drama, that 
 we think ourselves creating, because we act. This 
 then, is the great fact forced upon us, that we 
 speak of now, before we do more than allude 
 to the grief that fills every heart. For in such 
 grief as this, this reflection is co-incident with all 
 we feel. This is a paralyzing sorrow; paralyzing, 
 because it teaches us, not only, how frail we 
 are, how frail any man is, how frail all human 
 hopes are, but because we are taught all at once 
 and in an instant, this mighty truth, that no 
 human hand, no human intellect, no human com- 
 bination, has the real direction and control of 
 our own afiairs. It is hard to realize it, because 
 man has so much to do. He is called to do 
 so much 'that it is ^lard to remember, all the 
 
6 
 
 time, tliat lie is nevertheless nothing^ that the 
 real control is entirely beyond his sight and 
 reach. We are taught it, whether we desire to 
 know it or not, by such calamity as this. We 
 cannot avoid the lesson. It is the great, terrible, 
 overwhelming fact, that is struck into the heart 
 of every one, with the flash that sends into eter- 
 nity an immortal soul. 
 
 To what does this conviction lead us? What 
 are we compelled by this to admit? What is 
 the second thought that must follow this cer- 
 tainty of uncertainty? We are left with an alter- 
 native. There is a choice here between the 
 thoughts that follow. We are compelled to admit, 
 that there is a Providence that governs, that 
 permits in mystery, that directs evil and good 
 for the final interest of his kingdom and his own 
 glory ; or else we are compelled to admit, that 
 all things are progressing with a blind fatality, 
 that is, in itself, but the rule of an unreasoning 
 chance, which may at any moment frustrate and 
 destroy. There is no middle ground. God does, 
 or does not rule. And now, christian men and 
 women, shall w^e who cannot, for our lives, tell 
 what a day will bring forth; shall we, even for 
 a moment, in the bitterness of grief and disap- 
 pointment, fear that God has abdicated, that Ilis 
 throne is not in Heaven. Shall we presume to 
 judge Ilim out of existence, because this blackness 
 
of darkness goes before Him at this solemn hour. 
 These are but parts of his ways. We know too 
 little of anything about ourselves, or the best 
 interests, of our land, to falter in our faith, that 
 it is for some wise reason that God has permitted 
 this unexampled crime, and added this crushing 
 burden to the weight of our nation's sorrow. 
 Let us admit this now, in the spirit, and He is 
 vindicated. Let us admit this, and we have 
 already begun to profit by our misery. We need 
 not tax our ingenuity to devise the theory on 
 which we admit the fact. Many are the possi- 
 bilities suggested, that may mitigate the darkness 
 of the mystery. All of them may be true. Not 
 one of them may be. And if everything 
 that can now be conceived of, as a possible solu- 
 tion, should never be reahzed, it is no less certain 
 that there is a counsel of infinite wisdom in some 
 way or other, wrought out by this strange 
 development of human fiendishness, and a nation's 
 indis^nant tears. 
 
 I have seen birds when suddenly confronted 
 by some terror, run along the ground with great 
 rapidity to escape a danger, that would have 
 passed away with flight into the air. They seemed 
 for a moment to have forgotten, or to have lost, 
 the use of their wings. When this was recovered, 
 they were soon beyond the reach of harm. It 
 is sometimes so with our feeble spirits. The 
 
8 
 
 suddenness of calamity seems to deaden our pow- 
 ers, the very powers given us for just sucli hours 
 of need. But when we recover from the first 
 shock, though the darkness be no less dense, we 
 feel the unquenchable spark of divine life in our 
 souls, by which we see that there is no chaos 
 of darkness over which God's spirit does not 
 brood. 
 
 Although we have spoken of this crime and 
 calamity as unexampled, on account of many of 
 its peculiar features, it is, however, by no means 
 without the strongest associations in your minds, 
 with similar events in the history of other 
 nations, How often, from the beginning, has the 
 faith of great multitudes been tried by the death 
 of those who were the centre of all hopes and 
 hearts. The children of Israel mourned their faith- 
 ful leader, as they crossed the Jordan, and left 
 him in his unknown sepulchre in the land of 
 Moab. William of Nassau, and Henry the Fourth, 
 were both looked upon by mighty nations as 
 champions of right and truth, and both were 
 struck down by the hand of the assassin. It is 
 ours to undergo an experience of God's Providence, 
 that now and then in the lapse of centuries, has 
 brought to a sudden and painful end those who 
 were in the judgment of the wisest and best, 
 the least exposed to anything like vindictiveness. 
 It is for us therefore to seek for a strength tliat 
 
is according to such extraordinary days. Let this 
 visitation leave ns more than ever dependent upon 
 Him who putteth down one and exalteth another. 
 Let us acknowledge humbly tliat vain is the help 
 of man. Let us appeal to the Most High, with 
 strong crying and tears, that he would be with 
 us in his own majesty and wisdom, pleading his 
 own mysterious will in permitting this calamity, 
 asking him to supply the place of what is takeif, 
 throwing ourselves more than ever upon his mercy 
 in the hour of apprehension and mournful need. 
 
 And now let us look once more at this sicken- 
 ing horror, that we may, each one of us derive 
 the most important lesson, that God teaches us 
 in his most mysterious ways. It is the peculiar 
 lesson of this place and hour. Learn it now and 
 here, I beseech you. There is so much that is 
 temporally all important in this connection, there 
 is so much that is externally, all absorbing, that 
 in all this confusion I fear you may entirely over- 
 look the i^ersonal message that this dark flood 
 pours with its waves and billows over every soul. 
 At another hour, we may be permitted to ex- 
 j)ress those feelings of personal bereavement, that 
 arise from something more than the mere acknow- 
 ledgment^ of place, or the possession of brilliant 
 qualities and public virtues. At other hours, we 
 may express all the hopes and fears that contend 
 with one another over the body of this death. 
 
10 
 
 But on this Sabbatli morning, at tliis appointed 
 hour of worship, we come neither to bury Caesar 
 nor to praise him. We come neither to assuage 
 your grief, nor to awaken your energies after the 
 first night of sorrow. We come to bring you the 
 same message that we have brought so often, that 
 we would sound in your ears though it were 
 frowned in the fury of battle raging at your 
 doors. It is a message spoken by a voice that is 
 powerful and full of majesty, that breaketh the 
 cedars of Lebanon, that divideth the flames of 
 fire, that shaketh the wilderness of Kadesh and 
 discovereth the forests. In His temple doth every 
 one speak of His glory. It is a voice that 
 speaks from out the land to which all are going, 
 whenever a soul steps across the mysterious border. 
 Often it speaks plainly only to a few. Sometimes 
 it speaks loudly to a multitude, hke the thunders 
 of Sinai to the trembling hosts. It is the voice 
 of one crying in the wilderness, "Prepare ye the 
 way of the Lord, make his paths straight." Are 
 you in a wilderness of desolation, made so by the 
 consuming blast that sweeps away in an instant 
 all evidence of life and verdure? Then listen to 
 the voice that cries. It comes when all else seems 
 taken, that nothing may impede its penetrating 
 power. It says, there is a Lord, you see that 
 you are in his hands, you are not your own, you 
 have not a moment that you can call yours. Have 
 
11 
 
 you prepared His way? Are you making His 
 paths straight? Have you heard this voice which 
 says, no path is straight save the narrow way 
 that is opened through the vail, that is to say, 
 His flesh. All are alike to Him, in the hour of 
 judgment, citizens and strangers, kings and sub- 
 jects, all were created by Him and for Him, all 
 have sinned and come short of His glory, all are 
 invited to partake freely of His rich gifts in the 
 redemption of Jesus Christ, our Lord. Is your 
 preparation made to answer this voice when it 
 says to you, "Behold your Lord and King?" 
 Have you the wedding garment in which you will 
 find yourself arrayed, when you are surrounded in 
 a moment by that company, from which you are 
 eternally cast out, if you have no other robe, 
 than that which your own* hands have wrought. 
 
 Do not think, because I endeavor to turn your 
 hearts to their eternal interests, that I am not 
 awake to all that is pressed upon you by this 
 painful crisis. Do not think that I am not 
 thoroughly aroused to what agitates your minds, 
 in regard to the punishment of evil doers, the 
 execution of justice, the dangers and duties that 
 crowd the passing hours. No, my heart is full of 
 all this, but its fullness makes it overflow with 
 desire for your souls. This absorbing trial that 
 drapes our homes and tabernacles in mourning, is 
 to me another stroke of the Almighty hand, that 
 
12 
 
 drives me to this endeavor to bring you all to 
 Him, saying, "Woe is unto me, if I preach not 
 the Gospel." . There is no fear that you can pos- 
 sibly escape the temporal duties that are forced 
 upon you so impressively by these events that 
 have stirred you to the depths. Ah no ! How 
 quick we are to learn all this. The dullest knows 
 that this is the voice of God that calls once more 
 to sacrifice and higher courage. We learn anew 
 that "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty;" 
 vigilance no less in the hour of victory than the 
 hour of danger. We gird up our loins with new 
 strength, we nerve our hearts with new determi- 
 nation, that by the blessing of God, this work 
 shall now be finished absolutely and forever. I 
 cannot, I must not, go on with the lessons we 
 have learned in the last few hours; what we have 
 learned to love with a love that is sealed in 
 blood, and what we have learned to hate with a 
 hate we give to nothing, that God does not hate 
 eternally, in the awful necessity of hell. You 
 have learned all this already, but have you learned 
 that it is all at last, finally in vain, that we have 
 loved or liated, unless we hear in tliis voice of 
 solemn warning, those tones that speak of a God 
 and a judgment seat, before which we must all 
 appear. Lord, make me to know mine end, and 
 the measure of my days, what it is ; that I may 
 know how frail I am. It is an end too solemn 
 to be left unconsidered even in an hour of ab- 
 
13 
 
 sorbing grief; a measure of days too brief for any 
 to be left unimproved in turning to tlie living 
 God; a frailty too evident for any one in liis 
 senses to disregard, if lie lias any intention what- 
 ever, of coming to tlie service of his Redeemer. 
 Your end ! When is it ? Where is it ? How is 
 it to be? Can you wonder at my persistence in 
 calling you to God and his salvation, if I believe 
 in either, and then know that the end of any one 
 of us may be at any instant. The measure of 
 your days ! Who knows it ? Who keeps it ? 
 Who can tell what day will fill it out? Are 
 they not all days that should be God's. Though 
 given to your own improvement, your family, 
 your friends, your country, it is not enough. 
 They must also be given to Him. He demands 
 them; he gives them to you and asks them 
 again for your own eternal good an^ Uis glory. 
 So great is His mercy, that he forgives you for 
 all you have wasted, if you will only give the 
 rest. He calls some of you now at the eleventh 
 hour, and offers you the reward of a long life 
 of toil. But you must not presume upon this 
 grace. No one must refuse at the beginning, 
 relying npoQ a forced compliance at the close. 
 Learn the measure of your days, that they are 
 few in number, that they are time to be re- 
 deemed, because the days are evil. Certainly 
 evil in the end unless redeemed by the love and 
 blood of our Redeemer. 
 
14 
 
 How all embracing is this shadow that is 
 cast upon each one of us, by this great mountain 
 of sorrow. In its chill, can we fail to feel our 
 frailty ? Does it not send a tremor of weakness 
 throuo-h the strono^est frame and stoutest heart ? 
 Does it not make us look away from ourselves 
 to something that is able to stand against every 
 flood that may beat against the foundation of 
 the house we build. Yes, we are frail enough 
 to need just such strength as we now supj)licate 
 for those bereaved ones who have been so strangely 
 smitten. We are frail enouo-h to need what will 
 be ready to receive us, when flesh and heart 
 entirely shall fail. 
 
 The Psalmist was dumb with silence, he held 
 his peace even from good, his sorrow was stirred. 
 His heart was hot within him; while he was 
 musing the .fire burned. Then he spake with his 
 tongue, and it was the voice of prayer. It 
 brought relief to his stricken spirit. As long as 
 he was silent, he was overwhelmed, his grief con- 
 sumed him. But when it found expression in 
 such words as these, " Lord make me know 
 mine end, and the measure of my days, what it 
 is, that I may know how frail I am," then the 
 mystery began to unfold itself, and the burden 
 was not greater than he could bear. He found 
 in that hour of darkness Avhat he had not found 
 when converging rays of light had pointed to 
 the treasure, namely, hope in God. "And now, 
 
15 
 
 Lord, what wait I for, my hope is in thee." 
 Precious hope, an anchor of the soul both sure 
 and steadfast, and which entereth into that within 
 the vail. As in days of oh:l, from the vessel 
 still laboring in the deep with winds and waves, 
 an anchor was sent into the cove or harbor, and 
 securely fixed. Then the vessel was di-awn toward 
 it by the cable until safely moored. Hope thou 
 in God, for I shall yet praise Him, who is the 
 health of my countenance and my God. I will 
 remember his works of old. I will remember, how 
 in all ages, this has been one of the sorest trials 
 of his people's faith, the death of those in whom 
 they trusted, and how in all ages He has been 
 their help and their deliverer. I will remember 
 that he brings life to the world of nature, out 
 of the death of all that is bright and beautiful 
 in the joy of spring and fruit of sui^mer ; that 
 he brings life to the world of S23irit^^fc of the 
 death of his only begotten and well beWved Son. 
 I will remember that for all this mystery of 
 suffering there is the descending Comforter, whom 
 we implore with every promise of consolation and 
 sustaining strength. He is the spirit of HoHness 
 and Truth, speaking to our hearts with the voice 
 of the Bride and them that hear, saying, come! 
 To all the bereaved and terror stricken, come ! 
 To all the apprehensive and discouraged, come ! 
 To all the anxious and doubting, come, take the 
 water of life freely. Drink it now ! It will poui* 
 
16 
 
 new life into these helpless hearts, it will give 
 new energy to these feeble powers that at any 
 moment may expire. Come, let this spirit now 
 reveal to you, this, the most important of all the 
 deep things of God. If you do not learn this 
 here, if you do not feel this now, if you do not 
 see this in the sanctuary, where we hold up every- 
 thing, joy and sorrow, in the light of salvation 
 by the sacrifice of Jesus, where will you learn 
 it, or feel it, or see it? Not on the street, it 
 is another issue there. Not at 3'our homes, it is 
 another issue there. Yes, I fear that it will escape 
 you, and as far as regards your preparation to 
 meet your God, your acceptance of Jesus Christ 
 as your Redeemer, your service of God by faith 
 in his name, as far as regards all this, I fear 
 lest it may l^e in vain, that the cloud has burst 
 with il^Bkafts of death at the very summit 
 around ^(Rh the nation stands. 
 
 Oh ! Lord, let it not be in vain. Teach us all 
 to know our end, and the measure of our days, 
 and how frail we are. Teach us all to know 
 Him whom thou hast sent, and the measure of 
 His love that passeth knowledge. Teach us all 
 by thy spirit, that there is no one of us so 
 frail, but that we may all be founded on Ilhn, 
 as the everlasting rock, that we may dwell with 
 Him in the secret place of the Most High, and 
 abide with Him forever, in the shadow of the 
 Almighty. 
 
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