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POUR SERMONS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 EEV. JOHN C. MAECH, 
 
 PASTOR OF THE 
 
 CHUKCH IN BELLEVILLE, (NEWBURY;) 
 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 SERMON PREACHED AT HIS FUNERAL, 
 BY DANIEL DANA, D. D„ 
 
 Minister in NeVburyport. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 PRESS OF T. R. MARVIN. 
 18 4 7. 
 

This volume has been prepared chiefly 
 for the friends of the deceased, and for 
 his bereaved flock. 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 The lives of the most excellent men have 
 often been barren of incident. Often, their 
 consistency and symmetry of character have left 
 no virtues peculiarly prominent. Nor is it un- 
 frequent, that they have shunned, rather than 
 courted, the public attention. Circumstances 
 like these have rendered it difficult to collect 
 and exhibit suitable memorials of their charac- 
 ters and lives. Yet no men are more worthy to 
 be remembered, loved and imitated. 
 
 These circumstances all meet in the case of 
 Mr. March. Wherever he was known, he was 
 esteemed and loved. And it seems desirable 
 that the excellencies of a character so estimable 
 and unaspiring should be carefully preserved, 
 and affectionately cherished. 
 
 He was born at Newburyport, October 9, 
 1805 ; and was the youngest of several children, 
 2 
 
6 
 
 Hone of whom, beside himself, survived the 
 period of infancy. His father was an intelligent 
 and respectable shipmaster and merchant, of 
 active habits, but much given to reading and 
 reflection. His mother, an estimable woman, 
 was, through most of her married life, the prey 
 of a feeble nervous system, and an attendant 
 depression of spirits. This circumstance, com- 
 bined with the frequent absence of the father 
 from his home, deprived their beloved child of 
 much of that early training and instruction 
 which he would doubtless have otherwise 
 received. 
 
 Still, his childhood was by no means lost to 
 the purpose of improvement. He early mani- 
 fested an unusual fondness for reading ; and 
 what he read, he was very apt to remember. 
 His naturally contemplative mind directed him 
 to books of real utility ; and those, generally of 
 a moral and religious character. With books of 
 this description, he was amply supplied from his 
 father's library, and from the library of the 
 Presbyterian Society with which he was con- 
 nected. Frequently, and almost habitually, 
 abandoning the sports of childhood, and the 
 company of his co-equals, he would spend his 
 hours of leisure in reading his favorite volumes 
 to his beloved mother, 
 
This devotion to books, and to retirement, 
 combined with a habitual seriousness of mind, 
 and a certain quiet gravity of deportment, crea- 
 ted in many of his friends the impression that 
 he was destined for the ministry. And such, 
 there is little reason to doubt, was the early im- 
 pression of his own mind. Indeed, at the age 
 of twelve, he composed a sermon on the subject 
 of prayer, — a fact of which there can be no 
 doubt, as the manuscript, distinctly dated, now 
 remains in the hands of his friends. In this 
 composition, many of the most important ideas 
 which belong to the subject, are stated with 
 great simplicity, and in a natural method. 
 
 While looking forward to the ministry, he 
 felt, and felt deeply, the necessity of personal 
 religion. To this most important of objects, he 
 devoted many intense thoughts, and many ear- 
 nest prayers. He obviously regarded it as the 
 grand concern. Whether effectual impressions 
 of piety were made on his heart at this time, is 
 somewhat doubtful. He himself referred his 
 conversion to a considerably later period. Still, 
 these early impressions were of inestimable value, 
 as they induced a habitual tenderness of con- 
 science, and preserved him, in a remarkable 
 degree, from the follies and vices frequently 
 attendant on youth. 
 
s 
 
 When I 
 he Ic - — an immense loss indeed : and 
 
 rend afflictive by those increasing 
 
 maladies and depressions of his mother, which 
 almost incapacitated her for that superintendence 
 and instruction so essential at his age. 
 
 Abo three years afterward, his mother was 
 Kill : ved. The bereavement went to his inmost 
 heart ; and the more, as, inheriting a portion of 
 her melancholy tendencies, he must have felt, 
 uuih utire then us v.:./. acuteitess. :'.u tiou. and 
 
 3 olation of so early an orphanage. 
 
 Bui :: :u_ her and mother had forsaken 
 
 him. the T^ord tank him i/p_ The sympathies 
 of friends vrere powerfully excited. By i 
 kindness, his sirritvs ~~ere soothed, his anxieties 
 were reheved, and a home was furnished him, 
 during the short period vthieh oreoeiiei the 
 commencement of his collegiate life. 
 
 In the autumn of 1S.21. he entered Yale Col- 
 lege. In the trial vrhioh pre :e lied his admission. 
 he satisfied, in good measure his eoie miners, but 
 not himself. In his subsequent course, he f: 
 
 be had some serious disadvantages to en- 
 
 count ng had ieen cut ti :• 
 
 Itory. His instruction in the classics had 
 
 been neither systematic nor thorough. He was 
 
 i-ueu.use. whi.e a sionomore, afflicted vntn ci 
 
severe sickness, which debarred him from one 
 half of the studies of that important year. But 
 he was not discouraged. His diligence and de- 
 termination surmounted many an obstacle. His 
 character and attainments as a scholar were 
 respectable, and his college life was marked with 
 the esteem of his fellow-students, and the appro- 
 bation of his instructors. 
 
 It was during the spring of 1825, (his last 
 collegiate year,) that he obtained, as he hoped, 
 the evidence and comfort of religion. At this 
 time, there was a somewhat extensive awaken- 
 ing among the students, and the mind of young 
 March was early and deeply impressed. He 
 seemed, from the first, to give his whole heart 
 to the object ; determined to seek, until, by the 
 grace of God, he should find. He complained, 
 indeed, that he could not feel those terrors of 
 the law which some felt, nor those overwhelm- 
 ing convictions of sin. Still, his convictions 
 were deep and strong. In a letter to a friend, 
 he thus expressed himself : " To continue in sin 
 for a single moment longer, appears to me to be 
 a crime of the deepest dye. It is rebellion against 
 the King of heaven ; against the greatest and 
 best of beings. Surrounded as we are, by the 
 proofs of his wisdom, power and goodness, is it 
 not astonishing that we should still continue 
 2* 
 
10 
 
 to harden our hearts, and to dare his displeas- 
 ure ? " 
 
 Nor was he raised from mental distress to a 
 high state of spiritual joy. Even after he in- 
 dulged a hope of reconciliation to God, his hope 
 was mixed with trembling. He complains of 
 his mind as " continuing in a dark and confused 
 state." " The Christian life," he finds, " is in- 
 deed a life of constant warfare. Temptations 
 surround us on every side, and it requires the 
 help of an almighty arm to shield us from their 
 power." "Instead," says he, "of loving the 
 God who made me, with an undivided affection, 
 it frequently costs me a severe mental effort to 
 raise my thoughts above the trifling objects of 
 this inferior world. O, that I could break away 
 from these fetters that bind me down to earth." 
 
 Thus his religion seems to have commenced 
 in great self-diffidence. And his case, it is be- 
 lieved, adds strong confirmation to the fact, that 
 religion of this character is usually the most 
 genuine and enduring. 
 
 Mr. March left college with the resolution to 
 prepare for the Christian ministry ; but deter- 
 mined that, before commencing his theological 
 studies, he would devote a year to the employ- 
 ment of teaching. From the autumn of 1S25 
 to that of 1826, he had the charge of the acad- 
 
11 
 
 emy in East Bradford. In this station, his 
 character was developed to much advantage. 
 The combined dignity and kindness of his de- 
 meanor and government, his aptness to teach, 
 and his deep interest in the mental and moral 
 improvement of those under his care, secured a 
 general esteem and approbation. 
 
 About the month of June, 1826, he made a 
 public profession of religion, and was united to 
 the First Presbyterian Church in Newburyport. 
 The clergyman who officiated on the occasion 
 was the Rev. James Miltimore, pastor of the 
 neighboring church in Belleville. Having ad- 
 ministered the ordinance of baptism, he said, in 
 the conclusion of the service, " Go, young man, 
 and be faithful to your covenant vows." Little 
 did the venerable minister imagine that, in a 
 few years, this same " young man " would be 
 received by himself as a beloved colleague, and 
 not long afterward have the sole charge of his 
 people. 
 
 In the autumn of the same year, Mr. March 
 entered the Theological Seminary at Princeton, 
 New Jersey. He had cherished, for some time 
 previous, a desire, and even a resolution, to pur- 
 sue his preparation for the ministry at Edin- 
 burgh. But the friends with whom he consult- 
 ed, did not view the plan as, on the whole, 
 
12 
 
 eligible ; and he submitted his judgment to 
 theirs. Nor is there evidence that he ever re- 
 gretted his decision. He uniformly expressed 
 a high opinion of the advantages enjoyed at 
 Princeton, and a great respect for its professors, 
 as well as a warm attachment. 
 
 He pursued his studies with exemplary dili- 
 gence, but not to the neglect of vital piety. 
 The nearer his approach to that momentous 
 period when he would preach the gospel to 
 others, the deeper was his sense of the import- 
 ance of its sanctifying and saving power on his 
 own heart. In his letters to his friends, he la- 
 mented, at some times, over his spiritual barren- 
 ness ; and at others, expressed a tender fear lest 
 all his religion should prove a mere speculation. 
 Such apprehensions are not unnatural, nor un- 
 frequent, in the most spiritual minds. There is 
 much evidence that as he increased in divine 
 knowledge, he grew in grace ; and that the holy 
 doctrines of the gospel, as they entered and pos- 
 sessed his mind, diffused their sweet and heav- 
 enly influence over his inmost heart. 
 
 During one of the vacations of the Seminary, 
 he was employed as an agent of the Nassau Hail 
 Bible Society, in exploring the necessities of the 
 county of Warren. The views which this ex- 
 cursion presented him, of ignorance, vice and 
 
13 
 
 degradation, were at times almost sickening to 
 his heart. Nor did he always escape an unkind 
 and repulsive treatment from those whom he 
 wished to enlighten, and to save. Many, how- 
 ever, received him with great cordiality and 
 gratitude, and by their kindness, cheered his ten- 
 der spirit when ready to sink in discouragement. 
 On the whole, he gathered from the scene much 
 valuable instruction, which he treasured up for 
 future use. Nor did he regret the self-denial, or 
 the suffering, by which it was purchased. 
 
 In the course of his third year at Princeton, 
 he was much employed in giving occasional 
 religions instruction in the destitute places 
 around. These benevolent labors did not ma- 
 terially interfere with his theological studies. 
 Indeed, they must have naturally tended rather 
 to excite and invigorate his mind, to warm his 
 heart, and to prepare him to enter with peculiar 
 advantage on the future duties of the ministerial 
 office. 
 
 Early in the year 1829, he received license as 
 a preacher from the Presbytery of New Bruns- 
 wick. From this time, he supplied various des- 
 titute congregations in the country. He likewise 
 preached occasionally in the cities of Philadel- 
 phia and New York. 
 
 At this time, his mind became perplexed, and 
 
14 
 
 at times even agitated, respecting the scene of 
 his future ministerial labors. His honored 
 friend, Dr. Alexander, was much disposed to 
 introduce him to a vacant church in the State 
 of New York, to which he had been requested 
 to recommend a candidate for settlement. About 
 the same time he was much solicited to engage 
 in the service of the American Home Missionary 
 Society, with a view to his being employed in 
 a distant mission. The employment itself seems 
 to have had strong attractions for his pious mind, 
 But his habitual self-diffidence threw obstacles 
 in the way. Writing to a friend, he says, "I 
 know not whether I possess the proper qualifi- 
 cations for a domestic rnissionary — the firmness, 
 the enterprize, but above all, the piety essential 
 to the man who would become extensively use- 
 ful in the great valley of the Mississippi. If 
 not, I certainly ought not to go. And if, after 
 going, and making trial of my powers in that 
 widely-extended moral waste, I should find that 
 I am not calculated for the service which I have 
 undertaken, I trust that I shall have conscience 
 and common sense enough to return." 
 
 To the same friend he writes, on another 
 occasion, "I feel entirely unfit to preach the 
 gospel any where ; and the consciousness of my 
 unfitness is sometimes extremely distressing. It 
 
15 
 
 is my most sincere and earnest wish that God 
 would direct my steps, and place me in the situ- 
 ation where I can be most useful." 
 
 Mr. March was absent from the Seminary 
 during most of the summer of 1829. Visiting 
 his native place, he was engaged by the com- 
 mittee of the Rev. Mr. Dimmick's society (the 
 pastor being absent on a journey for his health) 
 to supply their desk for an indefinite number of 
 Sabbaths. The time proving long, and his pre- 
 pared sermons being but few, he was constrained 
 to use great diligence in writing. This employ- 
 ment, to which were added visits to the sick and 
 afflicted, with preparations for vestry meetings, 
 left him little leisure. But these days were 
 spent among valued and affectionate friends, 
 and they passed pleasantly and rapidly away. 
 
 He returned to his beloved Seminary in Au- 
 gust ; and at the close of the term in September, 
 bade it a final and affectionate adieu. 
 
 He soon made his way to the south-west ; 
 and he went under the impression that some- 
 where, in that extensive and destitute region, he 
 should find a home, and a sphere for his ministe- 
 rial labors. His first engagement to preach was 
 at Maysville, Kentucky. Here he remained three 
 months, or more. But the evils of slavery, as 
 witnessed in that region, pressed heavily on his 
 
16 
 
 mind, and discouraged him not a little, as to the 
 success of his ministerial efforts. 
 
 In the following spring, he returned to New 
 England. For some little time, he preached in 
 various societies in his beloved native place* 
 Afterward, he was employed for a few months 
 in Abington ; and susequently, for a similar pe- 
 riod, in the upper parish of West Newbury. 
 
 Early in January, 1831, the Rev. Mr. Milti- 
 more being somewhat indisposed, Mr. March 
 was invited to aid him in his labors ; but for no 
 specified time ; and probably with no thought, 
 on his part, or that of the people, that this 
 engagement would eventuate in a connection 
 to be dissolved only by his death. 
 
 It was Mr. Miltimore's wish and hope, that 
 after a time, he might resume his customary la- 
 bors ; but his infirmities continuing, Mr. March 
 was engaged in April, to continue for a year. 
 
 His labors were attended with gratifying suc- 
 cess. The religious attention of the people was 
 much excited by a protracted meeting held about 
 this time, in Newburyport, which many of them 
 attended ; and the good influence was deepened 
 and extended during a similar course of exer- 
 cises held afterward in Belleville. In the first 
 year of Mr. March's labors, between forty and 
 fifty were added to the church. 
 
17 
 
 111 January, 1832, he received an invitation to 
 take charge of the people, as a colleague pastor 
 with Mr. Miltimore ; and the call, being given 
 with great unanimity, was unhesitatingly ac- 
 cepted. His ordination took place on the first 
 day of March. The season was attended with 
 deep and solemn searchings of heart, and with 
 many an anxious inquiry, Who is sufficient for 
 these things ? Few, probably, have taken the 
 vows of ordination with a livelier sense of the 
 duties and responsibilities involved in them. 
 
 The first communion which succeeded his 
 ordination, was a season of singular interest* 
 A considerable number were to be received to 
 the church, of whom several were to receive the 
 initiatory ordinance of baptism. The senior pas- 
 tor being confined, the whole burden of the 
 scene fell upon the young and trembling col- 
 league. His feelings on the occasion were 
 described in a letter which he wrote soon after- 
 ward, to a friend. 
 
 " When I first ascended the pulpit in the 
 morning, but more especially, when I went 
 down to administer the ordinance of baptism, 
 I experienced a very uncommon degree of 
 anxiety and trepidation. I trust, however, that 
 nothing occurred in my unworthy administra- 
 tion of it, to derogate from its validity, or to 
 3 
 
18 
 
 shock the feelings of those who witnessed it. 
 At the administration of the Supper, I was fa- 
 vored with a much higher degree of self-posses- 
 sion than I had anticipated. At the same time, 
 I cannot say that I was entirely free from em- 
 barrassment, or that I succeeded by any means 
 as well as I could have wished. The day was 
 uncommonly beautiful, and the congregation 
 very large. I cannot but hope that some good 
 impressions were made by the exercises of the 
 day. If so, to God be all the glory." 
 
 In April, 1832, Mr. March was united in mar- 
 riage with Miss Alice Little Hale, daughter of 
 Thomas Hale, Esq., a much respected member 
 of his Society. The ceremony was performed 
 by his aged Colleague, who was now very in- 
 firm, and, in this instance, administered the 
 marriage ceremony for the last time. 
 
 The new connection was auspicious. In the 
 partner of his life, Mr. March found a cordial 
 and devoted friend ; a deeply interested sharer 
 of his joys and sorrows, and, in some instances, 
 of his most important duties. He was likewise 
 introduced to a large and worthy family, whose 
 esteem and affection he enjoyed to the last, and 
 whose uniform kindness contributed much to 
 heal the deep-seated wounds of his heart, and to 
 compensate those bereavements of dearest friends 
 
19 
 
 by which his earlier life had been so peculiarly 
 darkened and distressed. 
 
 After boarding for nearly a year, with a val- 
 ued friend and relative, and after a subsequent 
 short experiment at house-keeping, Mr. March 
 and his wife became members of the family of 
 her father — a connection which continued to 
 the close of his life. Nor was it a small privi- 
 lege, to be thus exempted from those cares and 
 solicitudes which so often occupy the time, and 
 sometimes distract the minds, of ministers of the 
 gospel. 
 
 But no earthly condition is free from change, 
 or from sorrow. The family of which Mr. 
 March had become a part, was visited with dis- 
 tressing sickness, and with repeated and bitter 
 bereavements. These providential dispensations 
 pressed upon his heart, and awakened its ten- 
 derest sensibilities. The sorrows of his friends 
 were his own. Still, he was to the afflicted, 
 "a son of consolation." And repeatedly was 
 he cheered with the hope that his prayers were 
 answered in the present comfort, and the ever- 
 lasting blessedness of those dear friends who 
 were removed. 
 
 Other dispensations of Providence went still 
 nearer to his heart. In the third year after his 
 marriage, he was gladdened by the birth of a 
 
20 
 
 son. The event seemed to constitute a new 
 era in his existence. So deep and tender was 
 his interest in the young immortal, that he al- 
 most immediately began to provide books which 
 might assist in his early education. The very 
 first opportunities were likewise embraced, for 
 training the infant mind, and conveying lessons 
 of the greatest importance to the heart. More 
 than two years afterward, a daughter was given ; 
 and the father's heart seemed to overflow with 
 gratitude and joy. So powerful was the excite- 
 ment of his feelings on the last occasion, and so 
 deep his sensations at the baptism of the little 
 one, that in performing the ordinance, he was 
 constrained to make a considerable pause, hav- 
 ing forgotten its name. But how fallacious are 
 human prospects and hopes. In less than a 
 year from her birth, the daughter was removed 
 by death. The father's too susceptible mind 
 was filled with anguish ; and for a time, he 
 seemed almost incapacitated for the discharge 
 of his ministerial duties. But gradually his 
 grief was softened, and submission to the will of 
 a sovereign God, spread a calm over his mind. 
 The affection which the parents had divided be- 
 tween the children, was now concentrated in 
 their little boy. And he, as if conscious of their 
 grief, and desirous to soothe it, would sometimes 
 say to them, " / will be your little baby now," 
 
21 
 
 But the cup of sorrow was not full. In a 
 year from the daughter's death, the beloved son, 
 now the only object of parental hope, was called 
 away. On this occasion, Mr. March's affliction 
 was almost overwhelming. A habitual and dis- 
 heartening depression seemed to brood over his 
 mind ; and though he was desirous to live for 
 duty and usefulness, yet the charm of existence 
 seemed to be almost gone. 
 
 Doubtless, in all this, there was something not 
 wholly faultless. Yet the case will be very 
 imperfectly estimated, without taking into view 
 the original structure of his mind, and even his 
 bodily temperament. His constitutional tenden- 
 cies were remarkably tinged with melancholy. 
 In contemplating such a case, it is delightful to 
 recur to that Saviour who can be touched with 
 the feeling of his people's infirmities ; and who, 
 if he sees their spirit willing, pities and pardons 
 the infirmities of their flesh. 
 
 Nor can it be doubted that these deep afflic- 
 tions were made ultimately subservient to Mr. 
 March's spiritual improvement, and his useful- 
 ness. The destruction of his earthly hopes 
 gave a heavenly direction to his mind, and in- 
 creased its spirituality. The bitterness of his 
 sorrow gave him more intimate communion with 
 a suffering Saviour. And doubtless his own 
 3* 
 
22 
 
 experience, both of suffering and of consolation, 
 prepared him to enter with deeper sympathy 
 into the afflictions of his people, and to admin- 
 ister appropriate counsel and comfort. 
 
 Few ministers have been more exemplary 
 than Mr. March, in the discharge of pastoral du- 
 ties. With a marked emphasis, it may be said, 
 that he gave himself wholly to them. From the 
 commencement of his ministry, he deeply felt 
 that the Great Shepherd had committed to 
 him a portion of that flock which he had re- 
 deemed with his own blood ; and that, coming 
 in the clouds of heaven, he would require it at 
 his hands. Hence he was diligent, laborious, 
 unwearied, anxious to lay hold of every occa- 
 sion, and every dispensation of Providence, to 
 promote the spiritual good of his people. With 
 this great object on his heart, he spared no pains, 
 he shrunk from no sacrifices, and he was dis- 
 couraged by no obstacles. His people w^ere 
 constrained to feel that in their Pastor, they had 
 a real and ardent friend to their souls; that their 
 spiritual improvement and eternal salvation were 
 his grand objects, and his dear reward. With 
 great fidelity, and with equal tenderness, he 
 warned the wicked, instructed the ignorant, 
 guided the inquiring, and pointed the anxious, 
 humble soul to the Lamb of God who taketh 
 
23 
 
 away the si?i of the world. None of his congre- 
 gation were too poor to attract his notice, or to 
 engage his efforts for their spiritual good. He 
 rejoiced in his people's joys, and grieved in their 
 sorrows. He treated the aged with respect, the 
 young with affectionate tenderness, and all with 
 the dignified and condescending kindness which 
 becomes a Christian minister. 
 
 "And as the bird each fond endearment tries, 
 To tempt her new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way." 
 
 He was a diligent improver of time. In the 
 preparation of his sermons, he was almost uni- 
 formly in advance. It is a remarkable circum- 
 stance, that though he was seized with his last 
 sickness on Friday, both his sermons were 
 found prepared for the following Sabbath. 
 
 Nor did he neglect the great object of per- 
 sonal improvement. He was, through life, a 
 careful student of theology. Not content with 
 its details, he resorted to its sources, and explored 
 its first principles. He was well acquainted with 
 the Hebrew, the Septuagint, and the Greek Tes- 
 tament. His brethren in the ministry, with whom 
 he was associated for the purpose of mutual im- 
 provement, often found themselves materially 
 
24 
 
 aided by his attainments, and soundness of judg- 
 ment, especially in theology, and the portions 
 of Scripture with which it is connected. 
 
 It was his custom to spend his forenoons in 
 his study, and to employ no small portion of 
 his afternoons in visiting the families of his 
 people. To the last named service, he attached 
 peculiar importance. And there is reason to 
 believe that his usefulness among his people, 
 and the blessing which they received through 
 his ministry, are to be traced, in no small de- 
 gree, to his fidelity and diligence in this duty. 
 
 He was accustomed, in addition to the services 
 of the Sabbath, to deliver one lecture, at least, in 
 each week. In seasons of awakening, or of 
 special religious interest, he appointed various 
 meetings for prayer, and was careful to attend 
 them in person. 
 
 Such exemplary devotion to the great objects 
 of his ministry was not lost. It had its appro- 
 priate reward. Indeed, his labors, it has been 
 seen, were blessed from the first, and while he 
 was preaching as a candidate. When he came 
 to the people as their ordained minister, it was 
 his rare privilege to come to a precious number 
 who were hopefully converted under his preach- 
 ing. No doubt, in many instances, they were 
 the harvest springing from the seed sown by his 
 
25 
 
 pious Colleague. In subsequent years, there 
 were various instances of revival among the 
 people of his charge. In the year 1834, there 
 was a series of meetings, which issued in the 
 hopeful conversion of not a few. 
 
 It would have been strange, if amidst such 
 arduous attentions to the duties of the ministry, 
 Mr. March had not found the necessity of relax- 
 ation. Such a necessity was not unfrequently 
 felt. The relief needed was generally sought 
 in journeying. As the family into which he 
 had entered, had members and near connections 
 in various regions of the country, his journeys 
 were frequently made subservient to the visiting 
 of dear friends. In other instances, he resorted 
 to those places which were objects of curiosity 
 and general interest. He early, in the company 
 of friends, visited the White Hills in New 
 Hampshire. In subsequent instances, he resort- 
 ed to the Falls of Trenton, and of Niagara. 
 With the last object, he connected an excursion 
 to duebec and Montreal — an excursion which 
 he much valued, as giving him a knowledge 
 which he never before had, of Romanism, in its 
 splendor, and its corruptions. 
 
 From his journeys, he generally returned, in- 
 vigorated in health, and improved in spirits, and 
 prepared to engage with increased ardor and 
 
26 
 
 efficiency, in his beloved ministerial duties. 
 He lived for his work ; and delighted to devote 
 all his faculties, his time and strength to his 
 beloved people. 
 
 In the year 1S-A0, Mr. March's health being 
 somewhat impaired by study and pastoral labors, 
 his friends proposed to him a voyage to Europe. 
 Arrangements having been made for the purpose, 
 he left home, about the middle of April, for 
 Alexandria, (D. C.) which was the destined 
 place of his embarkation. By reason of some 
 detention, he spent several days at Washington, 
 where he was introduced to the President (Mr, 
 Van Buren), and where he had repeated oppor- 
 tunities of listening to the debates of the two 
 houses of Congress. 
 
 He embarked at Alexandria, on the first of 
 May, and on the sixth of June, he arrived in 
 London. In this most distinguished city of 
 Europe, and of the world, a mind like his could 
 not but find ample materials to gratify curiosity, 
 and to excite reflection. The advantages offered 
 were seized with avidity, and turned to good 
 account. He employed much time in surveying 
 and examining the almost infinite variety of in- 
 teresting objects with which he found himself 
 surrounded. And he was alternately surprised, 
 delighted and pained with the subjects of his 
 contemplation. 
 
27 
 
 He was introduced, by letter or otherwise, to 
 some of the most distinguished ministers of the 
 metropolis, and by several of them, he was 
 treated with special attention. Not a few of 
 them, he heard with no little interest and grati- 
 fication ; and in some instances, was himself in- 
 vited to occupy the desk. 
 
 Of the celebrated Mr. Noel, he writes in his 
 Journal : " It is delightful to see one so elevated 
 in rank, and possessing a competent fortune, de- 
 voting himself to the arduous and self-denying 
 duties of the Christian ministry. While he de- 
 votes the whole of his time to the duties of his 
 profession, and is very abundant in labors, it is 
 said that he gives away nearly the whole of his 
 salary (about four thousand dollars) in charity." 
 
 Mr. March attended a public exercise of Dr. 
 Harris, the author of The Great Teacher, 
 Mammon, &c, and remarks thus : " It occupied 
 more than an hour in the delivery, and was ex- 
 ceedingly fine. The style was similar to that 
 of his printed productions." He adds : — " I had 
 the pleasure of an introduction to him after the 
 services were ended. His manners are very 
 affable and pleasing. He is quite a small man, 
 and has a very youthful appearance. When he 
 first rose in the pulpit, I could hardly persuade 
 myself that it was the distinguished man whom 
 I expected to hear." 
 
Mr. March travelled somewhat extensively in 
 England. He had a very gratifying interview 
 with Mr. Jay. of Bath, of whom he thus writes : 
 
 u I found him very affable. His manners are 
 both simple and polished : and he soon makes a 
 stranger feel at home in his company. Though 
 nearly seventy years old. his faculties, both of 
 body and mind; seem to be unimpaired. — Re- 
 mained at his house nearly an hour, and then 
 regretted to leave him. Upon reviewing this 
 interesting period. I cannot help being surprised 
 at the number of topics upon which we con- 
 verse;!." 
 
 Mr. March spent a Sabbath in Birmingham, 
 and attended the church of Mr. James, so well 
 known in America by his writings. It was 
 a communion season. Having been previously 
 introduced to Mr. James, and very cordially re- 
 ceived by him. he was much gratified with the 
 discourse, and with the exercises of the com- 
 munion, which he found much like those of the 
 churches at home. At the close of the exer- 
 cises. Mr. James affectionately supplicated the 
 blessing of God on the American churches, one 
 of whose pastors (to use his own language} was 
 present. 
 
 In his journeyings in England, our traveller did 
 not overlook the town of Newbury. He found 
 
29 
 
 it a respectable and thriving place, containing a 
 population of nearly five thousand. A remark- 
 able circumstance was, that the Independent 
 minister of the place, a respectable man, bore 
 the name of March. Availing himself of 
 the peculiar coincidences of the case, the stran- 
 ger visited his house, and was very kindly re- 
 ceived. Conversing with the English gentleman, 
 lie found himself confirmed in an opinion which 
 he had entertained before ; that his family was 
 of Norman descent, and probably came to Eng- 
 land in the time of William the Conqueror. 
 
 Mr. March could not deny himself the pleas- 
 ure of visiting Oxford, the seat of the most 
 celebrated of the English universities. On this 
 classical spot, a variety of interesting associa- 
 tions thronged around him. He took a particu- 
 lar view of the principal colleges, and of those 
 objects which are generally esteemed the most 
 curious. The Bodleian library, the largest in 
 England, powerfully attracted his attention, as 
 did likewise the Arundelian marbles, so cele- 
 brated for their antiquity. Passing through the 
 principal streets, he was shown the very spot 
 where, as is believed, the martyrs, Latimer and 
 Hooper, were burned at the stake, in the reign 
 of Mary. 
 
 From England, Mr. March made an excursion 
 4 
 
30 
 
 to France, where he tarried about a fortnight, 
 Most of this time was passed in Paris. His at- 
 tention was much attracted to its ancient and 
 splendid churches, its gorgeous palaces, its splen- 
 did promenades, and its almost infinite variety 
 of painting and statuary. But his heart was con- 
 tinually pained by the levity and licentiousness 
 which prevailed among all ranks of its inhabitants. 
 Infidelity, in its various degrees and forms, pre- 
 sented itself as the grand and pervading malady. 
 His remarks on Yoltaire, the great corrupter of 
 France and of Europe — remarks elicited by a 
 sight of his statue in the Pantheon — are worth 
 transcribing. " I presume," he says, " it gives 
 a very correct idea of the original, as he was in 
 the days of his glory. The figure is tall, with 
 emaciated, and somewhat ghastly features, im- 
 pressing the beholder at once with the idea of 
 great intellectual force, and a proud, reckless 
 spirit. It certainly looks as we may suppose 
 the great high priest of infidelity must have 
 looked ; reminding me strongly of those cele- 
 brated lines of Young : 
 
 • Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin, 
 Thou seem'st a Milton, with his Death and Sin.' " 
 
 What a relief and delight must it have been to 
 Mr. March, to pass from the Pantheon to the 
 
31 
 
 Cemetery of Pere la Chaise, and to find inscribed 
 on its entrance, in French : "lam the Resurrec- 
 tion and the Life. He that believeth in me, 
 though he were dead, yet shall he live." 
 
 In this city, so devoted to luxury and licen- 
 tiousness, Mr. March had one opportunity of 
 preaching the gospel. This service he performed 
 in the Wesleyan Chapel, in the presence of a 
 large audience. His text was selected from 
 John 3 : 16. — On another occasion, he writes in 
 his Journal : " From what I have seen to-day, 
 I am more and more convinced that there is a 
 remnant, even in Paris ; and that religion is, on 
 the whole, making progress among her gay and 
 thoughtless population." 
 
 Returning from Paris to London, Mr. March 
 soon began to set his face homeward. In this 
 prospect, he quotes, in his Journal, the beautiful 
 lines of Goldsmith : 
 
 " Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see, 
 My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee." 
 
 Having taken leave of friends in London, par- 
 ticularly Mr. Bacon, who, with his family, had 
 shown him particular kindness, he embarked on 
 the seventh of August, and arrived at New York, 
 on the fourteenth of September. Approaching 
 the city, he thus writes : " The shores of New 
 
32 
 
 Jersey and New York are now just before us. 
 O that my heart may be filled with the live- 
 liest gratitude to that God who has watched 
 over me amidst all the perils of the mighty 
 deep, and amidst all my journeyings in foreign 
 lands, and brought me once more, in peace and 
 safety, within sight of the land which gave me 
 birth, — Hope in the course of a few hours, to 
 be restored to the society of beloved friends. 
 How delightful the prospect." 
 
 His Journal closes in these terms: "As the 
 result of my absence, I feel that my health has 
 been greatly improved, that my experience has 
 been enlarged, and that my knowledge of places, 
 of men, and manners has been considerably in- 
 creased. God grant that for all these benefits, 
 my heart may be truly grateful. 7 ' 
 
 Mr. March's labors, while at home, though 
 chiefly pastoral, were not confined to that de- 
 partment. Feeling a lively interest in the in- 
 tellectual, as well as the moral improvement of 
 the young, he labored for many years, and very 
 assiduously, as a member of the school committee 
 of the town of Newbury. He was likewise, for 
 several years, a member of the Board of Trus- 
 tees of Dummer Academy in Byfield, and in the 
 latter period of his life, its President. It cannot 
 be doubted that in each of these spheres of 
 
33 
 
 action, his influence in the promotion of youth- 
 ful knowledge and good morals, was efficient 
 and salutary. He saw in the young, the ele- 
 ments of an immortal existence, and the mate- 
 rials which would constitute the salvation, or 
 the bane, of his country, and the world, in 
 future ages. 
 
 If the view which has been given of Mr. 
 March's ministerial course be correct — and it is 
 believed to be not exaggerated — it is not sur- 
 prising, that by the sober and religious part of 
 his people, he should be most affectionately and 
 highly prized. Such was the real fact. Few 
 ministers have possessed so much of the warm 
 and united affection of their churches. It was 
 a growing affection too. In the most tender 
 and unequivocal form, it was displayed during 
 his protracted sickness, and at his death. It 
 may, however, be thought strange, that with his 
 uniform and uncompromising advocacy of the 
 cause of truth and holiness, he should retain the 
 affection of all classes of his people. Yet this, 
 too, was remarkably the fact. And if the ex- 
 planation be sought, it will probably be found 
 in that meekness which habitually imbued his 
 spirit and his whole demeanor, and which min- 
 gled itself with his most faithful instructions 
 and reproofs, whether public or private. Love, 
 3* 
 
34 
 
 genuine love, has not only an attractive, but a 
 disarming power. The minister who is thus 
 furnished, and whose instructions and rebukes 
 are enforced by a correspondent example, may 
 hope to pass unscathed, even through a cen- 
 sorious world. And he will have an advocate 
 and a friend in the consciences of those whose 
 hearts are not gained. 
 
 Nor was this affectionate estimate of his 
 worth confined to Mr. March's own people. 
 "Wherever he was known — and he was known 
 somewhat extensively — he was valued and re- 
 spected as an exemplary Christian, and an 
 instructive preacher. The churches around 
 considered his presence and his labors among 
 them, as a privilege. This sentiment, which 
 extensively prevailed during his life, seemed to 
 be deepened, as the time of his departure 
 approached. It was felt that his death would 
 make a chasm which could not be easily sup- 
 plied. 
 
 By his brethren in the ministry, he was 
 universally beloved. That veil of modesty 
 which concealed a portion of his excellence 
 from the passing world, did not obstruct their 
 vision. It rather enhanced their sense of his 
 worth, and gave him a deeper interest in their 
 hearts. Those, particularly, who resided in his 
 
35 
 
 native place, frequently resorted to him for aid. 
 And with great readiness and liberality was that 
 aid imparted. His name will long be fragrant 
 in Newburyport. Nor will his memory ever 
 recur to the minds of the pious in that place, 
 but with a sentiment of gratitude that their 
 town was privileged to give birth to such a 
 minister, and of tender regret that his contin- 
 uance on earth was so short. 
 
 It should not be forgotten that Mr. March, 
 while exemplarily devoted to his studies, and 
 his people, was habitually alive to the interests 
 of his country, and to the cause of religion and 
 good morals in the community. He was grieved 
 at the alarming progress of error and infidelity, 
 of vice and crime. He lamented over the wide- 
 spread ravages of intemperance, and the various 
 and nameless evils of slavery. And without 
 sanctioning what was irregular and extravagant 
 in the opposition sometimes made to these evils, 
 he was ever ready to employ for their subver- 
 sion or mitigation, the weapons supplied by 
 truth, and by genuine, enlightened benevolence. 
 He was, for several years, Secretary of the Tract 
 Society of North Essex, and by his annual re- 
 ports manifested not only his lively interest in 
 the cause, but enlightened views of the most 
 efficient means of its advancement. 
 
36 
 
 But his important and useful life must have a 
 close ; and the event occurred at a period when, 
 to human view, he was more than ever prepared 
 for increased and extended usefulness. 
 
 His sickness commenced on Friday, March 
 20th, 1846. He had preached, on the preceding 
 evening, his weekly lecture, from the text, O 
 how love I thy law. On Friday afternoon, he 
 walked out to make some parochial visits. But 
 feeling much indisposed, he hurried back, and 
 before night was in a burning fever. 
 
 For the first eight days, the distress was often 
 so great as to induce delirium, and to deprive 
 him both of sight and hearing. But he was 
 subsequently much relieved, and was viewed as 
 in a low bilious fever. His complaints lingering 
 upon him in a remarkable degree, and no effect- 
 ual relief being obtained, he was removed to 
 Boston, that he might avail himself of the med- 
 ical skill of Dr. Bigelow. That physician, after 
 examination, pronounced the disease " water in 
 the pleura ; " but did not judge it incurable. 
 Subsequently, the difficulty of respiration in- 
 creased ; but after the application of suitable 
 remedies, there was apparently a change for the 
 better. 
 
 It is remarkable that, through a great portion 
 of his sickness, Mr. March, though not unaware 
 
37 
 
 of danger, indulged a hope of ultimate recovery. 
 He had a strong impression that the affliction 
 was designed by his heavenly Father for his 
 " great spiritual benefit." His mind was unusu- 
 ally active, and seemed, at times, full of plans 
 of future usefulness. Still, he manifested an 
 unreserved submission to the disposing will of 
 God, and not unfrequently took near and com- 
 fortable views of death and eternity. 
 
 He continued in Boston about four weeks, 
 and returned on the fifteenth of July, apparent- 
 ly more comfortable than when he left home. 
 Several weeks afterward, he received a visit 
 from Dr. Bigelow, at Belleville, who pronounced 
 him no worse, and apprehended that the water 
 was nearly absorbed. But soon afterward, other 
 complaints supervened ; medicine seemed to lose 
 its power ; and it was judged, on careful exam- 
 ination, that a portion of the lungs was ulcer- 
 ated. 
 
 From this period to the time of his death — 
 two weeks only — his strength rapidly declined ; 
 and his sufferings, which were borne with his 
 usual submission and patience, were, at times, 
 very great. Little remains, therefore, but to 
 gather up a few of those remarks which fell 
 from him during this short interval ; and which, 
 while they indicate the state of his own mind, 
 
38 
 
 are suited to interest and profit the minds of 
 others. If, in what precedes, and what follows, 
 there should seem to any reader, to be too much 
 of detail, let it be remembered that this Memoir 
 has been prepared chiefly for his particular 
 friends, and his affectionate people. 
 
 The day after the state of his lungs was 
 announced to him — it was the Sabbath — he 
 appeared deeply solemn, yet tranquil ; and 
 remarked, in conversation, " I would be willing 
 to live an invalid for years, with an invalid's 
 food and privations, if occasionally I could 
 preach the gospel of Christ." And he thought, 
 as he had an increased view of the value of the 
 soul, he should be much more faithful than 
 ever before. 
 
 On the following day, he expressed to a 
 friend in the ministry, who paid him a visit, his 
 entire submission and pleasure in being in the 
 hand of God. 
 
 The same day, he remarked to another min- 
 isterial brother, who called to see him, that he 
 did not ask so much for the consolations of 
 religion — those were for God to impart as he 
 saw best. "But I do wish," said he, "for a 
 humble and contrite spirit; a broken heart" 
 At the same time, he deplored much that he 
 had been no more faithful as a minister of 
 Christ. 
 
The day following, he spoke much of the 
 privilege of communion with God. He said, 
 that were it possible for him to recover, it 
 would be his greatest privilege and pleasure to 
 spend frequent and long continued seasons of 
 communion with his Maker — certainly an hour 
 at a time, once in a day, and he hoped, oftener. 
 
 The day afterward, he said, " The last visit 
 of Dr. Bigelow (that in which he expressed a 
 more unfavorable opinion of his case) was the 
 most profitable one he ever made me ; for it 
 drove me to the Saviour's feet." Being asked, 
 if he found it a new place, he replied, " O no \ 
 but I was expecting to recover, and almost un- 
 consciously was forming plans for the future j 
 and they savored too much of worldly am- 
 bition." 
 
 On another occasion, he remarked, " Th 
 Christian's only home is heaven." He 
 spoke of his delight in the thought of 
 there ; of his confidence that a seat wai 
 pared for him ; of the friends he woul 
 but more than all, of his dear Saviour, 
 
 To a friend, he remarked, " The c </ ersation 
 of many troubles me ; for if I hav^ ut a 
 weeks to remain, I would spend t/ m a ^ Wlt 
 my God." 
 
 In reply to a lady who visite/ta m > and who 
 
40 
 
 expressed a wish for his recovery, he said, " I 
 feel that to li" be Christ, and to die. will 
 
 gain." He was afterward led to remark ou 
 the short-comings of Christians, and said. •'•' How 
 by not living nearer the Sav- 
 iour. They have so little communion with 
 :\\rr ;-_:-.;:'_!;.- :.:.:e 20 into his prest 
 : there be a feeling oi shame in heaven, I 
 shall certainly feel it, since I h:.~ .;"..- so little 
 :: God." 
 
 The feeling : his own un worthiness was. at 
 
 s. oppressive; but after speaking of it. he 
 
 would rarely fail to advert to the fullness there 
 
 was in his Saviour, and his own unfailing trust 
 
 in his boundless compassion. 
 
 On the Sabbath which was the last of his life ? 
 
 :: 7 : : the fifty-first 
 
 Psalm. He conversed, at noon, with the pre? : - 
 
 rwhc ?c:v"i7._ his ::.rsk. ex^i-ssi;, his wish 
 
 L - his might be a successful ministry, and 
 
 •■ If you a:u e'u: ;::;;;.:; ::- a si:ua;:on like 
 
 1 will feel your responsibilities as you 
 
 -ui.ig. in the even- 
 
 "' on e subject of submission, he said, he 
 believed h wa - wflIing t , ; , -^ ve a ;; s ,,.-.. body> 
 
 fne; ' . thing, to the disoosal of his heav- 
 
 enly Pat] 
 
 Trie followin, d av , h e resumed the same sub- 
 
41 
 
 ject, and earnestly requested his beloved wife to 
 be willing to leave every thing in the hand of 
 God. He wished her not to pray for his life 
 otherwise than incidentally. Being questioned 
 whether he did not ask for life, he replied, that 
 he had, until within a few days ; but now, all 
 he asked, was submission to the divine will. 
 
 On the morning of Thursday, he was visited 
 by a brother in the ministry ; but was so much 
 afflicted by a preternatural drowsiness, as to be 
 able to speak very little. He told his brother, 
 that he had much to say to him, and wished to 
 see him again. But it was their last interview. 
 
 In the afternoon, he seemed brighter, and 
 conversed freely on the things of eternity. He 
 dwelt much on the fullness of Christ, as the 
 great source of his consolation. " He is an 
 ocean — vast — illimitable— else," said he, " I 
 should despair." 
 
 The day following, he conversed with two 
 of his sisters, as one on the borders of the eter- 
 nal world ; and very affectionately and solemnly 
 addressed to each, appropriate instruction and 
 admonition. He performed the same duty, the 
 day following, to a brother and sister, and with 
 much tender earnestness. He said, he would 
 willingly give up his own life, if his death 
 might be blessed to the salvation of those he 
 5 
 
42 
 
 so much loved. To another friend, who soon 
 after entered his room, he expressed the wish 
 " that all his dear people might feel as happy as 
 he did." 
 
 To a brother in the ministry, who preached 
 his preparatory lecture, he spoke with great ten- 
 derness and humility, of his own want of seri- 
 ousness at ministerial associations ; and lamented 
 that he had ever forgotten, for a moment, the 
 great object of the ministry. His regrets, and 
 his humility seemed almost oppressive. 
 
 To a female relative, a member of his church, 
 he said, the day before his decease : " This 
 church, I trust, is a vine of God's own planting ; 
 the church of the living God ; Jesus Christ 
 the Captain of their salvation. I want them all 
 to feel just as I do ; to feel that the Lord is 
 right. I have had many a hard struggle in my 
 own mind ; but now, i" have no will of my 
 own. I am perfectly reconciled. My will is 
 lost in the will of God." He added, " Hezekiah 
 prayed, and God added to his life, fifteen years ; 
 but how much less interesting were the latter, 
 than the former years of his life." 
 
 The last day of his life was now come. It 
 was a day of much bodily suffering, and of 
 much spiritual enjoyment. His wife having 
 read to him the passage, " In my Father's house 
 are many mansions." be he said, " How 
 
43 
 
 consoling." She repeated promises, such as 
 " When thou passest through the waters, I will 
 be with thee," &c. He said, " How precious." 
 She repeated some stanzas of appropriate hymns. 
 He said, "How beautiful; how comforting." 
 A ministerial brother from Newburyport visited, 
 and prayed with him. At parting, he extended 
 the dying hand, and bidding him farewell, said, 
 " When I am gone, do not forget my church or 
 people ; my dear wife or family." 
 
 He was visited, in the afternoon, by an aged 
 friend in the ministry, to whom he expressed, 
 in feeble accents, but very intelligibly, much 
 Christian resignation, and much sweet peace 
 and hope. He had been favored, that morning, 
 as he believed, with a season of communion 
 with his God. His ties to earth were dissolved. 
 He was willing, and more than willing, to de- 
 part, that he might be with his beloved Saviour. 
 He was willing to part with the dearest of 
 earthly friends, and hoped to meet them, never 
 to be separated more, in a Father's house 
 above. 
 
 In a short time after his soul was committed 
 to God in prayer, it took its upward flight, and 
 rested in the bosom of its Saviour. 
 
 This interesting event occurred on Saturday, 
 the 26th of September, 1846, near five o'clocfc 
 in the afternoon. 
 
44 
 
 After the particulars which have been given 
 of Mr. March's life, and closing scene, it seems 
 needless to attempt a formal delineation of his 
 character. Most of its principal features have 
 been already developed. It must have been 
 seen that the essence and the charm of his 
 character was piety ; a, piety not superficial, nor 
 austere, nor obtrusive ; but in-wrought, and 
 meek, and retiring ; a piety not of cold specula- 
 tion, or barren experience, or empty profession ; 
 but a deep-seated principle, subduing the soul, 
 warming the heart, regulating the temper, and 
 spreading its influence over the life. It was this 
 piety which rendered him so diligent in study, 
 and so indefatigable in labor ; which prompted 
 him to be so scrupulously attentive to the sea- 
 sons and duties of devotion, while it suffered 
 him to shrink from no extraneous and active 
 service. It was this which made him so exem- 
 plary as a man ; so faithful and affectionate as a 
 preacher ; so assiduous and devoted as a pastor, 
 and so lovely in all the private and tender rela- 
 tions of life. It was this, in short, which dif- 
 fused a salutary influence over his whole deport- 
 ment, and secured to his character and his 
 exertions, their most efficient power for accom- 
 plishing good. It was justly said of him by a 
 ministerial brother who knew him well, that 
 
45 
 
 * l though grave, he was not austere ; though 
 dignified, he was accessible ; though serious, he 
 was cheerful ; and though a pleasant compan- 
 ion, he never for a moment forgot that he was a 
 minister of Christ." The same brother remarked 
 of him, that " he had the peculiar faculty of dis- 
 arming opposition, and uniting all hearts in his 
 favor, without sacrificing any purpose which a 
 faithful advocate for the truth ought to main- 
 tain." It was the same spirit of uniform piety, 
 which rendered him so useful to his people, so 
 beloved by his ministerial brethren, such an 
 ornament to religion, and such a blessing to the 
 community. It was this which sustained his 
 heart in scenes of severe distress, and tranquil- 
 lized his mind at the approach of death. It was 
 this which enlightened and cheered his sick 
 chamber, and gave it a character so beautifully 
 described by the poet — 
 
 " The chamber where the good man meets his fate, 
 Is privileged above the common walk 
 Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven. 
 
 You see the man ; you see his hold on heaven, 
 
 If sound his virtue 
 
 Heaven waits not the last moment ; owns her friends 
 On this side death ; and points them out to man ; 
 A lecture silent, but of sovereign power; 
 To vice, confusion— and to virtue, peace. " 
 
 5* 
 
46 
 
 The removal of such a man as Mr. March, in 
 the full vigor of his faculties, and the full career 
 of his usefulness, is one of the mysteries of 
 Providence. Yet some of the lessons which it 
 comprises, are as obvious, as they are important. 
 It speaks to us of that world where real good- 
 ness finds its reward^ its perfection, and its 
 noblest sphere of exertion. It speaks to us of 
 the independence, the munificence of that Being 
 who, having prepared the fittest instruments for 
 his service on earth, can lay them aside without 
 injury to his cause. The design, too, of such a 
 dispensation will be well answered, if Christians 
 shall look more simply to God himself, to up- 
 hold and prosper the interests of his Zion ; and 
 if Christian ministers, gathering up the fallen 
 mantle, shall give themselves more entirely to 
 those pious exertions from the midst of which 
 their departed brother was taken to his rest. 
 
SEEMONS. 
 
SERMON I. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY TREASURE. 
 
 The kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field.- 
 Matt. xiii. 44. 
 
 The Kingdom of heaven, is a phrase which 
 has a variety of significations. Sometimes it 
 simply means the gospel dispensation, in con- 
 tradistinction from that which went before it ; 
 as when John the Baptist came preaching in the 
 wilderness of Judea, li Repent ye, for the king- 
 dom of heaven is at hand." Sometimes it seems 
 to signify the visible church in contradistinction 
 from the world ; as when our Saviour declares, 
 " The kingdom of heaven is like unto a net 
 that was cast into the sea, "and gathered of every 
 kind : which, when it was full, they drew to 
 shore, and sat down and gathered the good into 
 vessels, but cast the bad away." Sometimes it 
 means the world of everlasting blessedness ; as 
 
50 
 
 when our Saviour declares, " Not every one that 
 saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the 
 kingdom of heaven ; but he that doeth the will 
 of my Father which is in heaven." Sometimes 
 it seems to have reference to the power of Chris- 
 tianity in the human soul : as when our Sav- 
 iour declares, " The kingdom of God," (a phrase 
 which I apprehend to be equivalent to the 
 phrase, The kingdom of heaven,) " cometh not 
 with observation ; Neither shall they say, Lo, 
 here ! or, lo, there ! for behold, the kingdom of 
 God, (the kingdom of heaven,) is within you." 
 Such I conceive to be its meaning in the passage 
 selected for our text. 
 
 Two thoughts require attention. In what 
 respects is Christianity in the heart of man, a 
 treasure ? And why is it called a hid treasure ? 
 
 I. In what respects is religion a treasure ? 
 
 1. It is excellent in its own nature. Such is 
 an idea which men most naturally associate with 
 the name of treasure. Silver and gold and pre- 
 cious stones seem to them to have an intrinsic 
 value ; in other words, to be valuable on their 
 own account. It is true that this is, to some 
 extent, a mistaken notion. It is in reality their 
 relation to other things, which imparts to them 
 their chief value. If they were not the repre- 
 sentatives of other things, they would be of no 
 
51 
 
 more account than some other species of matter 
 of the same size. At the same time, though the 
 notion be a mistaken one, yet on account of its 
 commonness, it almost necessarily enters into 
 our idea of a treasure. We say, therefore, that 
 the word treasure, carries with it the idea of 
 intrinsic value, of an excellence peculiar to it- 
 self, And, my friends, such is in reality the 
 fact with the kingdom of heaven, or the religion 
 of Jesus Christ in the soul of man. 
 
 To be convinced of the truth of this remark, 
 we have only to consider for a single moment, 
 what it implies. It implies then the love of God 
 shed abroad in the heart by the Holy Ghost 
 given unto us. It implies deliverance from the 
 power and pollution of sin, internal purification, 
 and a partial, but constantly growing conformity 
 to the law and the image of God. It implies 
 an habitual fellowship with the Father, and with 
 his Son Jesus Christ. It implies a peace which 
 passeth understanding, and a joy which is un- 
 speakable and full of glory. It implies, in a 
 single word, all that is excellent in holiness, and 
 all that is desirable in happiness. 
 
 Surely, then, whatever may be thought of 
 earthly treasure, there can be no doubt of the 
 value and the excellence of religion. It is val- 
 uable in itself, independently of its relation to 
 all other beings, and all other things. 
 
m 
 
 2. Religion is a treasure, because it procures 
 for those who possess it. the richest of benefits. 
 The chief value of worldly treasures consists in 
 the benefits which they are capable of procuring 
 for those who possess them. By means of their 
 silver and gold, men may purchase houses, and 
 lands, and merchandise : every thing, indeed, 
 which is an object of traffic. Thus they are 
 enabled to gratify almost every desire of their 
 hearts, and to procure for themselves the sem- 
 blance, and the reputation, if not the reality of 
 happiness. Indeed earthly treasures often pro- 
 cure for men advantages which are not objects 
 of traffic. They impart to them influence 
 amongst their fellow men, They are sometimes 
 the means of elevating them to places of power 
 and trust. Hence the wise man tells us that 
 " the rich man's wealth is his strong city.'* and 
 again, that - wealth maketh many friends/' 
 
 In this respect, experimental religion may be 
 compared to a treasure. It procures for those 
 who possess it. the most abundant and precious 
 advantages. Indeed, to some of these advan- 
 tages I have already alluded. Fellowship with 
 God ; peace and joy in the Holy Ghost : what 
 can be more desirable ? The man. therefore. 
 who possesses the religion of the gospel, secures 
 by it the favor of God. Yes : he is regarded 
 
53 
 
 with an eye of the utmost complacency, and a 
 heart of the warmest love, by the greatest, the 
 holiest, the best of beings. God is his Father, 
 and his Friend. He may therefore rest assured 
 that all things will be bestowed upon him of 
 which he stands in need. " For the Lord God 
 is a sun and shield : the Lord will give grace 
 and glory : no good thing will he withhold from 
 them that walk uprightly." How much is im- 
 plied in this declaration of the Psalmist. By 
 means of that rich treasure which he possesses 
 in the religion of Jesus Christ, he obtains all 
 those things which are necessary for him in the 
 present world. On this account merely, it de- 
 serves to be regarded as the most valuable of 
 treasures. But this is not all. Nay it is but a 
 small part of the benefits which it procures for 
 him. It will procure for him all the blessedness 
 of heaven for ever ; for the Lord will not only 
 give grace, but glory. " Fear not," said the 
 Saviour to his disciples ; " for it is your Father's 
 good pleasure to give you the kingdom." But 
 who can conceive the joys which await the 
 child of God in another and better world ? In 
 comparison with them the present joys of earth 
 are not worthy of the name. 
 
 What an immense difference is there, there- 
 fore, between the benefits which are procured by 
 6 
 
54 
 
 earthly treasures, and the treasure which we are 
 considering. The former can be enjoyed, at the 
 farthest, but for a few short years ; at best, it 
 can afford but a very imperfect, a very unsatis- 
 factory kind of happiness. The latter are eter- 
 nal in their duration ; are all which the soul can 
 desire. 
 
 3. Religion is a treasure, because of the satis- 
 faction which it affords to the man who pos- 
 sesses it. Now there is nothing which would 
 afford to the great majority of men such an 
 exstacy of delight, as the discovery of some rich 
 treasure. To this fact our Saviour alludes in 
 the passage which contains our text, and indeed 
 makes it the ground of the simile employed. 
 " The kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure 
 hid in a field ; the which when a man hath 
 found, he hideth, and for joy thereof, goeth and 
 selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field." 
 
 From the well known cupidity of the human 
 mind, we can easily conceive what would be the 
 emotions of an individual who, digging in the 
 earth, should suddenly strike upon a mine of 
 silver or gold ; more especially if he had previ- 
 ously been a poor man, compelled to support 
 himself and his family, by the labor of his 
 hands, and by the sweat of his brow. What 
 visions of happiness would flit before his excited 
 
55 
 
 fancy. Already would he see himself, in pros- 
 pect, " arrayed in purple and fine linen, and 
 faring sumptuously every day : " the observed 
 of all observers j caressed by the great, and hon- 
 ored by the multitude. 
 
 But, my friends, a much higher and purer 
 satisfaction attends the discovery and the pos- 
 session of the gospel treasure. It excites no 
 extravagant expectations, expectations which 
 ought not to be indulged, and which cannot be 
 fulfilled. Nay, as we have already seen, the 
 benefits which it procures are such as no mortal 
 imagination can conceive. But it does afford 
 the highest, the purest satisfaction. The man 
 who has found it, feels that he has discovered 
 a treasure indeed. Its value, although from its 
 greatness it cannot be appreciated by any finite 
 mind, appears to him so great, that for it, he is 
 willing to sell all that he has ; nay, and to do it 
 with joy. And why should he not ? For he 
 parts only with that which is worthless, which 
 indeed may be positively injurious to him, that 
 he may procure that, whose value is infinite. 
 Such then are some of the respects in which 
 religion is a treasure. But, 
 
 II. In what respect is it a hid treasure ? This 
 is the second point which we proposed to con- 
 sider. 
 
56 
 
 1. It is a hid treasure, as the great majority of 
 men are unconscious of its existence. A hid 
 treasure, as its name imports, is unknown to the 
 generality of men. They pass over the field 
 which contains it, without any conception of 
 the riches which lie underneath its surface. 
 Such is pre-eminently the fact with the treasure 
 of religion. The great majority of men know 
 nothing about it. Many indeed do not even 
 believe in its existence. How many are there, 
 to whom the doctrine of the new birth seems 
 like the very essence of fanaticism and folly. 
 They do not believe that God ever reveals him- 
 self to the souls of men, as he does not unto the 
 world at large. They say that he is to be 
 known only through his works, and his word ; 
 that as to speaking to them by his Spirit, it is 
 an idea which has no foundation either in Scrip- 
 ture, or in reason. They may not doubt, per- 
 haps, that those who profess to have experienced 
 the power of religion upon their souls, are per- 
 fectly sincere in the belief of those things which 
 they assert ; that they imagine that they do in- 
 deed hold communion with God ; that they have 
 views of his glory, such as the majority of men 
 know nothing of ; that they have foretastes of 
 heaven itself. But they believe them to be only 
 the dreams of a glowing and excited imagina- 
 
57 
 
 tion ; vivid enough to impress upon the minds 
 of those who have them an idea of reality, not- 
 withstanding that by the calm eye of philosophy 
 they are seen to be only delusion. To such 
 individuals, it is very certain that experimental 
 religion must indeed be like treasure hid in a 
 field. 
 
 But even some who profess to believe in its 
 reality, can form no just conception of it. 
 When they hear Christians speaking of the 
 great things which God has done for their souls, 
 of the revelations which have been made to 
 them of eternal things ; of the peace and joy 
 which they have found in believing ; it sounds 
 to them almost like a new language ; like a 
 strange tongue. Perhaps, like Nicodemus of 
 old, they are ready to inquire, " How can these 
 things be ? " Men may know much respecting 
 the external forms of religion, who yet remain 
 in utter ignorance of its spirit. The Scriptures 
 tell us of those who have the form of godliness, 
 but who deny the power thereof. 
 
 Now of such individuals there can be no 
 doubt that they are ignorant of its power ; for 
 if they were not, if they were acquainted with 
 it, they would not deny it. But this ignorance 
 is not confined to them. They only share it in 
 common with millions of others \ of all indeed 
 6* 
 
58 
 
 who have not been bora again. O, how many- 
 are there who are accustomed to read the Scrip- 
 tures, from day to day, who regularly attend 
 upon the public worship of God on the Sab- 
 bath, and who really feel and uniformly mani- 
 fest a high regard for all the institutions of 
 religion, who are as ignorant of its real essence, 
 its transforming, purifying, enlightening, conso- 
 ling and elevating influence upon the heart, as 
 if they had never heard of it. Their altars, 
 like those of the ancient Athenians, are erected 
 to the worship of an unknown God. Suppose, 
 then, that they should become the subjects of 
 renewing grace, what an entire change, and 
 how wonderful to themselves, would take place 
 in all their views of religion. They would 
 feel themselves introduced, as it were, into a 
 new world. For if any man be in Christ, says 
 the Apostle, he is a new creature ; old things 
 are passed away ; behold all things are become 
 new. O, would not such an individual feel that 
 he has indeed found a treasure ; ay, a treasure 
 which, up to the present moment, has been hid- 
 den, as it were, in a field ? But, 
 
 2. Religion is a hid treasure, as by the great 
 majority of men, it is undervalued. If the ex- 
 istence of a treasure be entirely unknown and 
 unsuspected, it is of course, as if it were not. 
 
59 
 
 The man who owns the field which contains it, 
 values that field none the more highly on its 
 account. If assured that there is some kind of 
 a treasure there, still if he knows not either its 
 nature, or its amount, he is very likely to put 
 upon it but a low estimate. Now apply these 
 observations to the subject in hand, to experi- 
 mental religion ; and see how closely in these 
 respects it resembles a treasure hid in a field. 
 That it is most exceedingly undervalued by the 
 majority of men, is but too painfully apparent. 
 They value it so little, that they will not put 
 forth a single effort for its acquisition. It is so 
 completely hidden from them, that they can 
 perceive nothing of its excellence. Nay, many 
 who are constantly passing over the field which 
 contains it, have their doubts of its existence. 
 They value it, therefore, at nothing. And even 
 those, who profess to believe in its existence, 
 seem to place upon it scarcely a higher value. 
 They are told that it is so valuable that to pur- 
 chase it, they should be willing to give all that 
 they have. But they obviously do not believe 
 it. Nay, they are unwilling to give up for it, 
 the slightest worldly pleasure. But would it, 
 could it be so, if it were not hidden from then- 
 view ; if they could see it precisely as it is ? 
 What sacrifices are they willing to make for an 
 
60 
 
 earthly treasure. Our Saviour tells us that for 
 joy thereof, they go and sell all that they have, 
 that they may obtain it. And why is it thus ? 
 Is it not because they have discovered its value ? 
 They have seen it as it is. By seeing it, they 
 have been enabled to estimate, to some extent, 
 its amount. They think of the advantages 
 which its possession will confer upon them. It 
 will make them rich ; it will impart to them in- 
 fluence amongst their fellow men. It is no 
 longer a hid treasure to them. It is a treasure 
 discovered. They are therefore willing to give 
 for it all that they possess. If they were able 
 they would give for it all that it is worth. And 
 just such is the case with the treasure of exper- 
 imental religion. If it were known, it would 
 be highly valued. They would not think that 
 the Scriptures place upon it an extravagant esti- 
 mate ; though they require of those who would 
 possess it, that they give up all for it that they 
 have. But alas ! it is to them like treasure hid in 
 a field. It is out of sight. They have only heard 
 about it with the hearing of the ear. They 
 are unacquainted with it, and therefore they do 
 not value it as they do those things with which 
 they are acquainted. This is the reason why 
 they can prefer to it those things which are of 
 infinitely less value ; the smallest trifles of na- 
 ture and of art. But, 
 
61 
 
 3. Religion is a hid treasure, as it is to be 
 obtained only by effort, and by sacrifice. Our 
 Saviour represents it, in the passage from which 
 our text is selected, as treasure hid, not in a 
 man's own field, but in the field of another ; 
 so that before it can be obtained, that field is to 
 be bought, though it may cost him all which 
 he possesses. Sacrifices, therefore, are to be 
 made in order to obtain the treasure of the 
 kingdom of heaven. To this fact we had 
 occasion to allude under the preceding head. 
 But its importance renders it deserving of some- 
 thing more than a mere passing allusion. It 
 deserves to be made prominent. 
 
 Be it then never forgotten, that the treasure 
 which we are describing is a hid treasure ; so 
 that no man can obtain it, who is not willing to 
 part with all that he has for it. We must be 
 willing to give up not only our property, but 
 our friends, our dearest comforts, yea, even life 
 itself. If any man, said the Saviour, will be 
 my disciple, let him deny himself, and take up 
 his cross, and follow me. If any man come to 
 me, and hate not his father, and mother, and 
 wife, and children, and brethren and sisters, 
 yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my 
 disciple. 
 
 But there is still one other respect in which 
 
62 
 
 the kingdom of heaven is like to a hid treasure. 
 To procure it, not only sacrifice, but effort is 
 necessary. It would be of no avail for a man 
 to purchase a field containing some rich treas- 
 ure, if after he has purchased it, he is unwilling 
 to dig for it. He can be none the better for it, 
 so long as it remains in its secret bed. He 
 must therefore break up the soil which covers 
 it, and bring it forth from its hiding place. 
 Just so, my friends, are we commanded to do 
 in reference to the infinitely richer treasure of 
 the kingdom of God. If thou criest after 
 knowledge, says the wise man, and liftest up 
 thy voice for understanding ; if thou seekest her 
 as silver, and searchest for her as for hid treas- 
 ures ; then shalt thou understand the fear of the 
 Lord, and find the knowledge of God. 
 
 The figure employed by the wise man is 
 substantially the same with that employed by 
 the Saviour, and suggests to the mind, the 
 necessity of vigorous effort on the part of those 
 who would secure for themselves the blessings 
 of religion. But this idea is often brought to 
 view in the Bible, not only in figurative, but in 
 plain language. Thus we are commanded to 
 seek that we may find ; to labor not for the 
 meat which perisheth, but for that which en- 
 dureth to everlasting life ; to strive, or as the 
 
63 
 
 word might be interpreted, to agonize, to enter 
 in at the strait gate ; expressions which imply 
 intense and long continued effort. But why 
 should this occasion us any trouble, or any 
 regret, when we consider that it is the richness 
 and the abundance of the gospel treasure which 
 render it necessary ? If it were less rich, or less 
 abundant, it might perhaps be obtained with 
 less effort. By a little digging, and a little 
 searching, the mine which contains it might be 
 exhausted. Should a man discover a mine of 
 silver, or of gold, he would not certainly com- 
 plain because it is so rich in the precious ore, as 
 to render it necessary for him to labor upon it 
 for months or for years, before he could exhaust 
 it. The fact that every effort which he makes, 
 adds to his wealth, causes that effort to appear 
 to him easy and pleasant. We ought then to 
 rejoice in the necessity which is laid upon us to 
 labor, in order that we may obtain the rich 
 treasure of the kingdom of heaven. For when 
 we consider the cause of this necessity, we per- 
 ceive that we are not required to labor in vain, 
 nor to spend our strength for nought. The 
 more deeply we explore the mines of gospel 
 wealth, the more rich will their treasures appear 
 to us. Every step of our progress will be 
 crowned with some new success. However 
 
64 
 
 much we may have already gained, we shall 
 find that there is still more to be gained. 
 
 L How happy then, I would remark in the 
 first place, are all those who have found the 
 gospel treasure. They are happier far than 
 those who have discovered the richest of earth- 
 ly treasures. For what is all the wealth of 
 Peruvian mines, which must perish with the 
 using, in comparison with that which lasts for- 
 ever ? It is but a short time that any earthly 
 treasure can be enjoyed. A few years, at farth- 
 est, and the man who possesses it must bequeath 
 it to his heirs. But the treasures of heaven are 
 eternal in their duration. How wise therefore 
 does that advice of our blessed Lord appear, 
 " Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon 
 earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and 
 where thieves break through and steal : but lay 
 up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where 
 neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where 
 thieves do not break through nor steal." O, 
 which was really the happier man : which was 
 the more deserving to be envied : the rich man 
 who was clothed in purple and fine linen, and 
 who fared sumptuously every day ; or the beg- 
 gar who lay starving at his gate ? The one 
 had earthly treasures in abundance, but he was 
 
65 
 
 soon to leave them, and then his immortal spirit 
 was to suffer the pangs and the privations of an 
 everlasting poverty. He was to be so poor as 
 to need even a drop of water, wherewith to re- 
 lieve his parched and burning tongue. The 
 other was possessed of all the treasures of heav- 
 en. It is true that he could not yet enjoy 
 them. But they were his in reversion ; his in 
 prospect ; ay, in speedy prospect. Happy, then, 
 we repeat it, must be the man who has found 
 that religion which is like a treasure hid in a 
 field. 
 
 2. How naturally, upon a review of our sub- 
 ject, does the question arise in our minds, Can 
 this treasure be obtained by seeking ? My 
 friends, I wish for a moment to fix your 
 thoughts upon this inquiry. I wish, in a spe- 
 cial manner, to bespeak for it the attention of 
 those who do not profess to have found it. 
 Now, all, I presume, will acknowledge, even 
 the infidel himself, if he were present, that if 
 the representations which we have made in the 
 preceding discourse, be true ; if there be such a 
 thing as experimental religion, it must be the 
 greatest of blessings ; it must be more valuable, 
 yea infinitely more valuable, than all things 
 else. It must indeed be the one thing needful. 
 All men in a state of nature, are conscious of 
 7 
 
66 
 
 some mighty want which this world can never 
 supply ; or, as the poet expresses it, of an 
 aching void within, the world can never fill. It 
 is not in the power of silver or gold; of houses 
 and lands, of honor and distinction, of sensual 
 pleasures, of any thing, indeed, which this 
 world can afford, to satisfy the cravings of an 
 immortal spirit. Is it then in the power of re- 
 ligion to do it ? It doubtless is, if it is all 
 which I have represented. It is, if it brings 
 the soul into direct and intimate communion 
 with its God ; if it elevates it above the world ; 
 if it purifies and sanctifies its affections ; if it 
 meets all its demands, adapts itself precisely to 
 its nature, and gives to it both the promise and 
 the pledge of a happy immortality* We have 
 asserted, in the preceding discourse, that such is 
 the fact with religion. And we believe that we 
 have asserted it upon the highest and the best 
 of authority ; the authority of God himself. 
 And we believe, too, that the truth of our as- 
 sertion has been confirmed by the experience of 
 thousands and tens of thousands of God's chil- 
 dren in all ages of the world. Nay, we be- 
 lieve that there are living witnesses of it, and 
 that in great numbers ; and that some of these 
 witnesses may be found even among ourselves ; 
 in this very community, yea, amidst this con- 
 
67 
 
 gregation. At the same time, as the kingdom 
 of heaven is like treasure hid in a field, as the 
 great majority of men know nothing about this 
 hid treasure, we cannot wonder that to many, 
 all we say about it, should seem like idle tales. 
 
 But since such is the infinite importance of 
 the subject ; since such is its relation, not only 
 to the interests of time, but to those of eternity, 
 would it not be the part of wisdom, even for 
 those individuals to inquire whether these 
 things may not be so ? Nay, to put forth every 
 effort in their power to ascertain the fact, if any 
 mode exists, by which it can be ascertained. 
 But it has been our object in the preceding dis- 
 course, to show that there is such a mode. We 
 have declared and we trust that we have proved 
 by our appeals to Scripture, that whilst the 
 kingdom of heaven is like to a treasure hid in a 
 field, in many other respects, it is like it also in 
 this; that its riches may be discovered, yea, 
 may be possessed, by seeking for them. 
 
 Is not the experiment, then, my friends, 
 worth the making? Suppose you were told 
 that in some neighboring field there is a treas- 
 ure of silver or gold; told, too, by some one 
 who professes himself to have discovered it 
 there, and of whose veracity you have no 
 reason to doubt, would it be wise in you to 
 
6S 
 
 ridicule the intelligence ? Indeed would you 
 be likely to do it 1 You might, perhaps, dis- 
 trust its correctness. You might think that the 
 author of it is mistaken. Still, when it is so 
 easy to ascertain the truth in respect to it ; 
 when for this purpose you have only to go to 
 that field, and to dig and to examine for your- 
 selves, would you not be disposed to do it I 
 Now we affirm that the kingdom of heaven : 
 that religion, with all its exalted privileges, and 
 all its precious joys, is like that treasure hid in 
 a field. It is to be obtained by seeking. Will 
 you then, instead of seeking that you may 
 ascertain whether what we tell you is true, 
 content yourselves with disbelieving our decla- 
 ration, declaring that it is not, that it cannot be 
 true ? Is this the part of wisdom ? 
 
 If the declaration were entirely new, if it 
 had never been heard before, if we could pro- 
 duce for it no authority, it might perhaps be 
 wise. But it comes to you from ten thousand 
 different sources. It is as old as the Bible 
 itself, and it has never ceased to be repeated 
 throughout the many ages during which the 
 Bible has existed ; and it has been repeated 
 by those who have declared that they spoke 
 from experience. Their language has been that 
 of the Psalmist, M Come and hear, all ye that 
 
69 
 
 fear God, and I will declare what he hath done 
 for my soul." I ask, then, is it wise that you 
 should reject all these multiplied declarations, 
 without any inquiry into their truth, when such 
 an inquiry is in your power ? We can tell you 
 where the hidden treasures of the gospel are to 
 be found. They are to be found in repentance 
 for your sins, in faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, 
 in giving him your hearts, and devoting your- 
 selves to his service. Will you not, then, go 
 and seek them there ? The conditions, you 
 perceive, are both easy and reasonable ; they 
 commend themselves to your own consciences. 
 O then comply with them ; perform your first 
 and plainest duty, and you will no longer doubt 
 that there is such a thing as experimental relig- 
 ion. Though now it may be to you a hid 
 treasure, it will then be a treasure discovered, 
 and you will find it to be a treasure indeed ; 
 infinite and all sufficient, soul satisfying and 
 everlasting. 
 
SERMON II. 
 
 HOPE, THE CHRISTIAN'S ANCHOR. 
 
 Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stead- 
 fast, and which entereth into that within the veil. — Hebrews vi. 19. 
 
 These words are obviously the continuation 
 of a paragraph ; and therefore to know to what 
 the apostle refers, they must be viewed in their 
 connection. " Wherein God, willing more 
 abundantly to show unto the heirs of promise, 
 the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by 
 an oath : that by two immutable things, in 
 which it was impossible for God to lie, we 
 might have a strong consolation, who have fled 
 for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before 
 us ; which hope we have as an anchor of the 
 soul, both sure and steadfast, and which enter- 
 eth into that within the veil." It is then the 
 hope of eternal salvation through the merits of 
 a crucified Redeemer, of which the apostle is 
 
71 
 
 speaking, and which he represents as an anchor 
 of the soul. 
 
 The figure is one of peculiar beauty. The 
 soul is represented as a ship embarked upon the 
 ocean of life, exposed to all the winds of 
 heaven, and tossed about by its tempests. Still 
 there is no danger of its being wrecked, for it is 
 held fast by its anchor, an anchor which is sure 
 and steadfast ; for it is cast within the veil ; it 
 is attached to the Rock of Ages. From this 
 strong hold, no earthly power can separate it. 
 
 Such, then, my friends, is the strength, and 
 such the influence, of the Christian's hope. 
 The sentiment, therefore, contained in our text, 
 when stripped of its figurative garb, amounts to 
 this : that there is nothing like the hope of the 
 gospel, to keep the soul steadfast amidst the 
 adverse and dangerous influences to which it is 
 exposed. To illustrate this sentiment, will be 
 my object in the following discourse. 
 
 In pursuing this object, it will of course be 
 necessary for me to point out some of the 
 adverse and dangerous influences to which I 
 have referred ; and to show in what manner 
 hope operates to preserve the soul steadfast and 
 immovable amidst them all. 
 
 1. We live in a world of error — a world in 
 which the light of truth shines but feebly. 
 
72 
 
 Whilst in a Christian land like ours, vast multi- 
 tudes possess the Bible, and profess to believe 
 it, a great diversity of opinions exist in respect 
 to the doctrines which it contains. What one 
 affirms, another denies. One theory after 
 another, is broached upon the most interesting 
 and important subjects, until the memory be- 
 comes burdened with their number, and some 
 are ready to ask, is there any such thing as 
 certainty ; or is the Bible merely a riddle to 
 exercise the ingenuity, and to puzzle the under- 
 standings of men ? How numerous, for in- 
 stance, are the speculations in respect to the 
 character of God. Whilst one represents him 
 as so just, that he will inflict upon every 
 impenitent sinner the penalty of everlasting 
 death, another declares that he is too merciful 
 to do it. Nay, he stigmatizes the opposite doc- 
 trine as not only false, but barbarous ; as 
 clothing the Almighty w r ith the attributes of a 
 tyrant ; and as utterly subversive of his claims 
 to the character of a Father to his creatures. 
 
 How different, too, are the speculations of 
 men in respect to the object for which Jesus 
 Christ came into the world. Whilst some con- 
 tend that it was to make an atonement for the 
 sins of the world, others contend that such an 
 atonement was entirely unnecessary. Whilst 
 
73 
 
 the former declare that he became the propitia- 
 tion for our sins, and that he died that man 
 might live, the latter declare that he came only 
 as a teacher of the race, to make known to 
 them the truth of God, to illustrate the excel- 
 lence of it in his own pure and spotless exam- 
 ple, and after having given to it the testimony 
 of his whole life, to seal that testimony with 
 his blood. How various, and how contra- 
 dictory, too, are the speculations of men in 
 respect to the nature of Christ. Some affirm 
 that he was equal with the Father, God mani- 
 fest in the flesh, possessed of all his attributes, 
 and as such entitled to an equal degree of 
 reverence and honor. Others, on the contrary, 
 affirm that he was a mere man, born into the 
 world like other men, and though vastly superi- 
 or to most of them in point of character, charge- 
 able with many of their infirmities and defects. 
 Others, again, take a sort of intermediate 
 ground. They acknowledge that Christ was 
 more than man : that he was even greater than 
 angels. They do not, however, believe that he 
 was God. They believe that he stands next to 
 God in point of rank ; that he was the first- 
 born of his creatures, that he has been invested 
 with authority over them, and that he is en- 
 titled to receive from them, honors almost, if 
 
74 
 
 not quite divine. All these doctrines have been 
 defended, perhaps, with an equal degree of 
 ability. Error has sometimes had advocates 
 who are no less gifted with education and 
 talent, than the advocates of truth. They have 
 been men of powerful minds, of great natural 
 shrewdness, well skilled in all the arts of debate, 
 insinuating in their style, and above all, of great 
 weight of character. 
 
 In the hands of such men, it is easy to 
 perceive what advantages the cause of error 
 must possess. Those who have perused their 
 writings, know with what extreme plausibility 
 they have often maintained their ground, and 
 how difficult it has been even for those who 
 have not been convinced by their arguments, to 
 meet and to overthrow them. It cannot, there- 
 fore, seem strange to us that every teacher of 
 error should have his disciples ; more especially 
 when that error falls in with the corrupt in- 
 clinations of our own hearts, and those who 
 listen to him have no means of confuting his 
 statements, and are not accustomed, perhaps do 
 not even wish, to think for themselves. But 
 whilst, from the causes which I have mentioned, 
 there are thousands in our world who are blown 
 about by every wind of doctrine, there are some 
 who believe the truth, and who remain firm in 
 
75 
 
 their attachment to it. Such is the fact with 
 those who have been taught by the Spirit of 
 God. 
 
 But what is it which holds them firm ? I 
 answer, it is in part, that hope which is as an 
 anchor of the soul. Now that hope is founded 
 in the truth, and so interwoven and incorporated 
 with it, that you cannot destroy the one, with- 
 out destroying the other. The Christian be- 
 lieves that he shall be saved ; but he believes it, 
 because he also believes that Christ has made 
 an atonement for his sins according to the 
 Scriptures ; and he believes that such an atone- 
 ment has been made, because the attributes of 
 God required it ; because without such an atone- 
 ment, God could not have been just, and yet 
 the justifier of sinners. He also believes that 
 such an atonement could have been made by no 
 finite, no created being ; and that consequently 
 he by whom it was made, could have been none 
 other than God in human flesh, " the bright- 
 ness of the Father's glory, and the express im- 
 age of his person." Thus we perceive how 
 closely the hope of the Christian is connected 
 with the orthodoxy of his belief. What though 
 his understanding, therefore, may be plied with 
 the most specious and potent arguments in favor 
 of some popular error ? What though, for in- 
 
76 
 
 stance, all that has been said, all that can be 
 said, against the doctrine of the atonement, 
 should be arrayed before him in the most for- 
 cible and impressive style ; what though he 
 should be told that such a doctrine is dishonor- 
 able to God, since it represents him as an impla- 
 cable being, whose anger against the sinner can 
 be appeased only with blood ; or that it is in- 
 consistent with the dictates of reason and com- 
 mon sense, to which nothing analogous in any 
 human government can be found : that the in- 
 nocent should be made to suffer for the guilty ; 
 or that it is contradicted by all those numerous 
 passages of the Bible in which God is said to be 
 merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abundant in 
 goodness and in truth : — he knows that all his 
 hope of pardon and salvation is founded upon 
 this controverted doctrine. He knows that when 
 his conscience was burdened with a sense of sin, 
 and he felt as if the avenger of blood was just 
 behind him, and the wrath of God seemed just 
 ready to burst upon him in torrents of over- 
 whelming and eternal ruin, he could find no 
 peace to his troubled spirit, until he found it in 
 believing ; ay, in believing that Jesus Christ 
 had made an atonement for his sins. The mo- 
 ment that his eye fell distinctly upon the cross, 
 he felt the burden of his guilt removed. Hope 
 
77 
 
 sprung up in his stricken and darkened soul. 
 And O how great were the consolations of that 
 hope. It seemed to open before him a new 
 world. Floods of joy were poured into his 
 soul, of which he can never lose the remem- 
 brance. Perhaps I ought rather to say, a foun- 
 tain of joy was opened there, whose streams 
 still continue to flow, and which he desires, nay 
 which he firmly believes, will be perennial. 
 Those, therefore, who have never had a similar 
 experience ; who know nothing of the hope by 
 which his breast is animated ; may say what 
 they please in respect to the unreasonableness, 
 nay the absolute impossibility of the atonement ; 
 they may set up their own merits in opposition 
 to the merits of Christ ; it will still be the lan- 
 guage of his heart, " God forbid that I should 
 glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I 
 unto the world." He may not be able to an- 
 swer all the objections which are alleged against 
 the doctrine of the atonement ; he may be con- 
 scious of a great deficiency of skill in defending 
 it ; he may be charged with holding it without 
 reason, and contrary to argument and to evi- 
 dence ; he may be completely silenced by the 
 cavils of his opponent ; and yet his belief in it 
 will remain unshaken. And why ? Not from 
 8 
 
78 
 
 that pertinacity which adheres to any opinion 
 which it may happen to embrace, whether it be 
 right or wrong ; not from any obtuseness of in- 
 tellect which cannot feel the force of an argu- 
 ment, and which knows not how to weigh an 
 objection ; but simply because his hope, the an- 
 chor of his soul, is moored to it ; that hope 
 which he would not exchange for ten thousand 
 worlds. Thus we see that there is nothing like 
 a good hope through grace, to preserve men 
 from the dominion of error. In the language 
 of the eloquent Melville, " You may liken the 
 believer in Christ to a vessel launched on troub- 
 led waters ; and you may consider skepticism 
 and false doctrine as the storm which threatens 
 him with shipwreck. And when you express 
 surprise that a bark which seems so frail and so 
 poorly equipped against the tempest, should ride 
 out the hurricane, whilst others, a thousand 
 times better furnished with all the resources of 
 intellectual seamanship, drive from their moor- 
 ings, and perish on the quicksand; we have 
 only to tell you, that it is not by the strength of 
 reason, and not through the might of mental 
 energy, that moral shipwreck is avoided ; but 
 that a hope of salvation will keep the vessel 
 firm, when all the cables which man weaves for 
 himself have given way like tow ; and that thus 
 
79 
 
 in the wildest of the storms which evil men 
 and evil angels can raise, this hope will verify 
 the apostle's description, that it is an anchor of 
 the soul, and that too, sure and steadfast." 
 
 2. We live in a world of temptation. There 
 is everything, both from without and from 
 within, to draw us aside from the paths of duty j 
 to induce us to go astray from God. The world 
 is continually spreading out before us its silken 
 nets. Sometimes it seeks to allure us by its 
 riches. It appeals with an almost irresistible 
 power to our love of possession. It speaks to 
 us of the advantages which those riches, if ac- 
 quired, would purchase for us. It seems to show 
 us, as did the evil one to our Saviour, all the 
 kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them ; 
 and says to us, "All these things will I give 
 thee, if thou wilt fall down, and worship me." 
 How hard the great majority of men find it, to 
 resist the temptation, is but too obvious from 
 the ease with which they yield to it. 
 
 O how many are there in our world, how 
 many even in Christian lands, who live amidst 
 the light and under the sound of the Gospel, 
 who are the avowed, the open worshippers 
 of Mammon ; who make gold their hope, and 
 the fine gold their confidence. But the honors 
 of the world, are no less attractive to multi- 
 
80 
 
 tudes, than its riches. It is exceedingly grati- 
 fying to the natural aspirations of the human 
 heart to sit down upon the high places of the 
 earth, and then to put forth an influence which 
 is felt and acknowledged by thousands. To 
 gain such a distinction, what efforts have men 
 sometimes been willing to make. No danger 
 has been esteemed too great to be encountered 
 for its acquisition. It has been sought amid all 
 the carnage and horrors of the battle field, 
 amid the studies of the cloister, in the senate 
 chamber, the popular assembly, and sometimes 
 (shall I say it?) in the sanctuary, and even be- 
 fore the altars of religion. It has stimulated all 
 the worst passions of the human heart. It has 
 led to falsehood, to treachery, to meanness, to 
 cruelty, to the violation, in a single word, of 
 the most sacred and solemn obligations. 
 
 O what havoc has ambition made in our 
 world. How in every age has it stained the 
 pages of its history with blood. Millions of 
 wealth have been expended to support its pre- 
 tensions : millions of lives have been sacrificed 
 at its shrine. How alluring, too, to the great 
 majority of men are the pleasures of the world. 
 But we cannot surely be surprised at it, when 
 we reflect how loudly the appetites of our na- 
 ture are continually clamoring for their gratifi- 
 
81 
 
 cation. Men wish to gratify those appetites, and 
 the world affords to them the means for so do- 
 ing. And these means it knows how to present 
 before them under the most seductive and cap- 
 tivating forms. It knows how to excite the 
 imagination, to dazzle the senses, to please the 
 taste, to suit, indeed, its temptations to the char- 
 acter, the temperament, the age, and the cir- 
 cumstances of every one whom it seeks to 
 subdue. Whilst therefore some of its victims 
 are found wallowing in the lowest depths of 
 sensuality, others are seen moving amidst the 
 most refined and polished circles ; mingling in 
 the giddy dance with all that is high in rank, 
 resplendent in beauty, commanding in influence. 
 Such then is the power which the world exerts; 
 such are the temptations which it throws in the 
 way of men. But to help forward the influence 
 of the world, and to give to its temptations a 
 greater power, we are told that the powers of 
 darkness withhold not their aid. " Your adver- 
 sary, the devil," says the apostle, " as a roaring 
 lion, goeth about seeking whom he may de- 
 vour." We find, accordingly, that he is contin- 
 ually tempting men to do wrong ; to trample on 
 the laws of God. To accomplish his purposes 
 there is no art to which he does not resort. He 
 knows the weakness of human nature. Its vul- 
 8* 
 
82 
 
 nerable points are all familiar to him. He 
 knows, therefore, when he can make his attacks 
 with the greatest hope of success. What has 
 not man to fear from his intelligence and cun- 
 ning. Is it strange that his power over the 
 children of men should be so great, and in so 
 many instances undisputed? that he should even 
 have acquired for himself the portentous title of 
 the Prince of this world ? 
 
 But the worst enemies of man are, after all, 
 to be found in his own heart. Were there no 
 traitors in the citadel itself, it might be defended 
 against outward attacks. The world and the 
 devil could not prevail against man, if they had 
 no confederates, no auxiliaries in his own bosom. 
 But alas ! the human heart is depraved. It loves 
 the world, and the things of the world. It is 
 naturally averse to holiness, and to God. It is 
 predisposed, therefore, to yield to every tempta- 
 tion which may assail it. Nay, it not unfre- 
 quently invites temptation. It throws open the 
 door for its admission, and almost constrains it 
 to enter. 
 
 With such a proneness to sin, and with such a 
 constant exposure to temptation, what is it which 
 can keep even the Christian firm ? I answer, 
 that hope which is an anchor to his soul. That 
 hope is worth more to him than all the treas- 
 
83 
 
 ures, all the honors, and all the enjoyments of 
 earth. It is the hope, indeed, of treasures which 
 are vastly more abundant and valuable than 
 those for which he is tempted to barter his soul ; 
 the hope of an inheritance in heaven which is 
 incorruptible, undefiled, and which fadeth not 
 away. It is the hope of honors infinitely great- 
 er than any which the regal crown or the impe- 
 rial purple could confer ; honors such as God 
 only can bestow ; even the honor of standing 
 with acceptance before his throne, and of being 
 acknowledged as a son of the Highest. It is 
 the hope of pleasures, compared to which all 
 the enjoyments of this world deserve to be re- 
 garded only as pains ; those pleasures which 
 flow from constant communion with God, and 
 from dwelling continually in the light of his 
 countenance ; which consist in freedom from 
 the power of sin, and in entire and everlasting 
 exemption from its consequences. 
 
 O how great, how unspeakably great, is the 
 blessedness of the Christian. How bright are 
 the prospects which open before him beyond 
 the grave. "God," saith the Scripture, "shall 
 wipe away all tears from their eyes ; and there 
 shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor cry- 
 ing, neither shall there be any more pain ; for 
 the former things are passed away." " And 
 
84 
 
 there shall be no more curse ; but the throne 
 of God and of the Lamb shall be in it : and his 
 servants shall serve him. And they shall see his 
 face j and his name shall be in their foreheads. 
 And there shall be no night there ; and they 
 need no candle, neither light of the sun ; for 
 the Lord God giveth them light ; and they shall 
 reign forever and ever." Such are the objects 
 of the Christian's hope. And now shall he ex- 
 change this hope, so bright, so glorious, for any 
 thing, yea, for all which the world can give ? 
 He knows that if he yield to the temptations 
 which surround him, he must relinquish this 
 hope. It becomes therefore the language of his 
 heart, 
 
 In vain the world accosts my ear, 
 
 And tempts my heart anew ; 
 I cannot buy your bliss so dear, 
 
 Nor part with heaven for you. 
 
 We see, therefore, how the hope of the Chris- 
 tian operates to keep him firm and immovable 
 amidst the temptations to which he is exposed. 
 3. We live in a world of sorrow. For man 
 is born to trouble, even as the sparks fly upward. 
 Sorrow is the necessary, the inevitable conse- 
 quence of sin. We find, accordingly, that in 
 the present world none are exempted from sor- 
 row. Even those who profess to be the children 
 
85 
 
 of God are sometimes called to drink the bitter 
 cup. Indeed the Psalmist informs us that many 
 are the afflictions of the righteous. And the 
 Psalmist spoke from his own painful experi- 
 ence. In instances almost innumerable, his 
 heart had been made to bleed. He had been 
 afflicted by the loss of some of his children un- 
 der the most distressing and aggravated circum- 
 stances, and by the perverse and wicked conduct 
 of others. He had suffered from the treachery 
 of pretended friends, and from the malice of 
 open and avowed enemies. His spiritual sor- 
 rows had been great. He knew what it was to 
 experience the marks of God's displeasure, and 
 to mourn the hidings of his countenance. But 
 the experience of the Psalmist, if not in its mi- 
 nuter details, at least in its general features, has 
 been the experience of all the people of God. 
 For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and 
 scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. 
 
 So long as Christians remain in a world of 
 changes, they must expect like other men to be 
 affected by those changes. As it is appointed 
 unto all men once to die, they must expect that 
 death will sometimes invade their own circle. 
 They must expect to be separated from parents, 
 from partners, from children, from brothers and 
 sisters. As riches are constantly liable to take 
 
to themselves wings and fly away as an eagle 
 toward heaven, they must not be surprised if, 
 like other men, they are sometimes called to 
 experience the most painful reverses of fortune ; 
 if their ships should be wrecked by the tempest, 
 their fields be blasted by the mildew, their 
 houses be consumed with fire, their stocks be 
 made valueless by causes which they could not 
 foresee, and over which they have no control ; 
 their earnings be wrested from them by vio- 
 lence, or by fraud. But affliction, as its very 
 name implies, is always hard to be borne. We 
 know what its influence not unfrequently is 
 upon the ungodly. It sinks them in despond- 
 ency. It drives them to despair. Sometimes 
 it is ruinous to their moral character, for it in- 
 duces them to seek relief in some vicious and 
 ruinous gratification ; to drown their griefs in 
 the intoxicating bowl. Sometimes it is destruc- 
 tive to their health. They brood over their 
 misfortunes until the tone of their system is 
 destroyed, and disease comes in to finish the 
 work which mental anxiety had begun. It is 
 to this fact that the apostle is supposed to refer 
 when he declares that the sorrow of the world 
 worketh death. Sometimes it deprives men of 
 reason. Go to our insane hospitals, and how 
 many will you find there, who have been re- 
 
87 
 
 duced to their present pitiable condition by the 
 loss of property or friends. Now it is obvious 
 in respect to a great portion of these individuals, 
 that their souls had no anchor to keep them 
 firm and steady amidst the pitiless blasts, and 
 fierce storms of adversity. Left, therefore, to 
 their mercy, they were driven upon the rocks 
 and the quicksands upon which they have made 
 shipwreck. But the Christian has such an an- 
 chor. That anchor is hope ; the hope of ever- 
 lasting blessedness beyond the grave. Let what- 
 ever may befall him in the present world ; 
 though he should be deprived of every earthly 
 dependence, and every earthly comfort, he can- 
 not sink down into absolute despair, because 
 hope whispers to him that the treasures of his 
 soul remain untouched. He knows, or may 
 know, that he has in heaven a better and an en- 
 during substance ; and that when his present 
 trials shall all be over, he will be admitted to 
 its full and everlasting enjoyment. He hopes, 
 too, that his present trials will only constitute 
 a preparation for that enjoyment. For he finds 
 it recorded in that blessed book which sets be- 
 fore him the foundations of his hope, that all 
 things shall work together for good to them that 
 love God ; to them that are the called according 
 to his purpose ; that his light affliction which is 
 
88 
 
 but for a moment, shall work out for him, in the 
 end, a far more exceeding and eternal weight of 
 glory. And now must not such a hope as this 
 keep his soul firm amidst the fiercest storms of 
 adversity, and enable him to ride them out, if 
 not in perfect peace, at least in safety ? The 
 ship which lies at anchor cannot help feeling the 
 storm which beats against her ; she must rise 
 and fall with the excited billows. Sometimes 
 those billows may break over her, and she may 
 seem to be almost submerged beneath them. But 
 the storm cannot prevail. She is anchored to a 
 rock. When, therefore, the clouds shall be dis- 
 persed, and the winds shall cease to blow, and 
 the heavens shall recover their serenity, and the 
 bosom of the great deep its calmness and its 
 stillness, that gallant ship will be seen reposing 
 there uninjured. And so it is with the Christian. 
 Notwithstanding that he has an anchor to his 
 soul, both sure and steadfast, when the storms of 
 adversity are blowing around him he cannot 
 help feeling them. Sometimes he may even be 
 heard crying, Save me, O God ; for the waters 
 are come in unto my soul. But although buffeted 
 by the waves, and tossed up and down, like the 
 billows, he cannot sink beneath them. His soul 
 is in a sure place. Its anchor is cast within the 
 veil. It has laid hold upon the Rock of Ages, 
 
 
89 
 
 and no created power can tear it thence. How 
 beautifully is this idea illustrated in those splen- 
 did declarations of the Psalmist ; " Deep calleth 
 unto deep at the noise of thy water spouts ; all 
 thy waves and thy billows are gone over me." 
 But although danger seemed thus to threaten 
 him, he could not sink ; and hence we hear him 
 immediately after, exclaiming, " Why art thou 
 cast down, O my soul ? and why art thou dis- 
 quieted within me ? Hope thou in God ; for I 
 shall yet praise him, who is the health of my 
 countenance, and my God." Yes ; it was hope 
 which sustained him, and carried him safely 
 through. It was the anchor of his soul, and 
 therefore he felt that he had no reason for dis- 
 couragement or fear. 
 
 How precious, then, how unspeakably pre- 
 cious, must be this hope. My friends, do you 
 possess it ? O have you ever cast your anchor 
 within the veil ? If not, how can you expect 
 to encounter the storms and the tempests which 
 are so common upon the ocean of life ? How 
 far have they already driven you from the right 
 and the safe course. And if you have not al- 
 ready made shipwreck of the soul, it is only 
 because the mercy of God has prevented it. — 
 But that mercy, be assured, will not continue 
 for ever. The rocks and the quicksands of 
 9 
 
90 
 
 everlasting ruin, although concealed from the 
 view, are nigh at hand. You may therefore 
 fall upon them before you are aware. And then, 
 O how dreadful will be the shock. Let me 
 urge you, therefore, to seek immediately, and 
 with all your heart, the Christian's hope ; that 
 hope which is as an anchor of the soul, both 
 sure and steadfast, and which entereth into that 
 within the veil. If thus sought, it may, through 
 the mercy of God, be found. If you delay un^ 
 til to-morrow, to-morrow may prove too late. 
 Your souls may be lost ; irrecoverably, eternally 
 lost. 
 
SERMON III. 
 
 THE RAINBOW AROUND THE THRONE. 
 And there was a rainbow round about the throne. — Rev. iv. 3. 
 
 The rainbow is a beautiful object. It is 
 interesting alike to the man of science, and to 
 the most untutored savage ; to the little child, 
 and to the hoary headed sage. The philosopher 
 beholds in it an illustration of some of the laws 
 of light, and a confirmation of the Newtonian 
 theory of colors ; the poet, a theme for song, un- 
 surpassed, if not unrivalled, amidst all the won- 
 ders of the creation ; the most casual observer, 
 an object which charms his senses, and gratifies 
 his taste. But to no class of men does it come 
 invested with so many interesting associations, 
 as to the Christian ; for it carries him back to 
 that period in the history of our world, when 
 after the whole human family had been des- 
 
92 
 
 troyed with the waters of a flood, with the 
 exception of Noah and his household, God 
 declared to this distinguished saint, "I will 
 establish my covenant with you ; neither shall 
 all flesh be cut off any more by the waters 
 of a flood ; neither shall there any more be 
 a flood to destroy the earth. And God said, 
 this is the token of the covenant which I 
 make between me and you, and every living 
 creature that is with you, for perpetual gen- 
 erations : I do set my bow in the cloud, and 
 it shall be for a token of a covenant between 
 me and the earth. And it shall come to pass, 
 when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the 
 bow shall be seen in the cloud : and I will 
 remember my covenant, which is between me 
 and you, and every living creature of all flesh ; 
 and the waters shall no more become a flood to 
 destroy all flesh. And the bow shall be in the 
 cloud ; and I will look upon it, that I may 
 remember the everlasting covenant between 
 God and every living creature of all flesh that 
 is upon the earth." 
 
 What object can be conceived, better fitted to 
 represent the divine mercy, spanning as it does 
 the visible horizon ; its top reaching to heaven, 
 and its ends resting apparently upon the earth ; 
 as if it formed the medium of intercourse be- 
 
93 
 
 tween these distant worlds ; whilst its transcen- 
 dent beauty, contrasting with the dense black 
 clouds which are round about and underneath 
 it, speaks only of love, forgiveness, ' reconcili- 
 ation and joy. It is probably for this reason, 
 that in our text, the throne of God is represent- 
 ed as encompassed with the rainbow. Not that 
 such is in reality the fact ; but that so it was 
 represented to the apostle in vision. " And 
 immediately," he tells us, " I was in the spirit : 
 And behold a throne was set in heaven, and 
 one sat on the throne. And he that sat, was to 
 look upon, like a jasper, and a sardine stone : 
 and there was a rainbow round about the 
 throne, in sight like unto an emerald." The 
 description is evidently figurative ; but, like all 
 the other figurative language of the Bible, it 
 is full of meaning. There is, no doubt, a 
 meaning in the jasper and sardine stone, to 
 which he who sat upon the throne, is compared. 
 Whether the speculations of learned men upon 
 it are correct, I shall not now attempt to deter- 
 mine. I will only remark, that it appears to 
 me to be more uncertain, and more recondite, 
 than the meaning of that part of the descrip- 
 tion contained in our text. By the rainbow 
 round about the throne, I think it can hardly be 
 doubted that God's gracious covenant with his 
 9* 
 
94 
 
 own people is meant. By the words of our 
 text, therefore, we are naturally led to consider, 
 
 I. The nature of this covenant. 
 
 II. Why it is compared to a rainbow ; and 
 
 III. Why this rainbow is said to be round 
 about the throne. 
 
 I. Let us consider, for a few moments, the na- 
 ture of God's gracious covenant ; or, as it is more 
 frequently, and perhaps more correctly styled, the 
 covenant of grace. That such a covenant does 
 indeed exist, is obvious from numerous passages 
 of Scripture, of which the following may be 
 considered as a specimen. " And for this cause, 
 he is the mediator of the new testament." The 
 original word more properly signifies a covenant ; 
 and for this reason, it should thus have been 
 rendered, " He is the mediator of the new cov- 
 enant, that by means of death, for the redemp- 
 tion of the transgressions that were under the 
 first testament (or first covenant) they which 
 are called, might receive the promise of eternal 
 inheritance. 5 ' "By so much was Jesus made a 
 surety of a better covenant." " Likewise also 
 the cup, after supper, saying, This cup is the 
 new testament (the new covenant) in my blood, 
 which is shed for you." Indeed, the book 
 which contains the records of our faith, should 
 be denominated, the New Covenant, rather than 
 
95 
 
 the New Testament of our Lord and Saviour 
 Jesus Christ ; since such is altogether a more 
 literal interpretation of the Greek title by which 
 in all ages it has been called ; and is altogether 
 more in accordance with the strain of its teach- 
 ings. There is therefore a great abundance 
 of authority for the expression, " covenant of 
 grace." 
 
 But what does this covenant imply ? The 
 word grace implies that it must be made with 
 the undeserving, with sinners. Grace is unmer- 
 ited favor, or rather favor shown to those who 
 had forfeited it by their sins. Such, my friends, 
 was the fact with the whole family of man. 
 At an early period after their creation, they be- 
 came corrupt. For " by one man's disobe- 
 dience many were made sinners." They incur- 
 red the penalty of that law which declares, 
 " The soul that sinneth, it shall die." For "sin 
 entered into our world, and death by sin ; and 
 so death hath passed upon all men, for that 
 all have sinned." After the fall, the whole hu- 
 man race were in a lost condition. They were 
 unfit for heaven, and the wrath of a holy God 
 impended over them. The covenant of works, 
 as it has been sometimes called, was violated ; 
 and therefore could avail them nothing. As 
 they could do nothing for themselves, what 
 
96 
 
 could God do for them ? It is evident that he 
 could save them only by entering into some 
 new covenant with them : a covenant which, 
 whatever might be its specific character, must 
 necessarily be a covenant of grace. 
 
 But how could he enter into such a cove- 
 nant with them, consistently with his own glo- 
 rious perfections, and with the honour of that 
 law which they had broken, and whose every 
 precept seemed to cry out for their destruction ? 
 It would seem at nrst view, almost as impossible 
 as it would for any earthly sovereign to enter 
 into a covenant with a set of hardened rebels 
 who, by their crimes, had rendered themselves 
 deserving of death, and who by their weakness, 
 and by their entire subjugation, are lying at his 
 :y. But God. as the Scriptures inform us, 
 contrived a plan by which all the difficulties 
 which lay in the way of showing mercy to sin- 
 ners, were removed. This plan is thus describ- 
 ed to us by the Apostle : " For what the law 
 could not do, in that it was weak through the 
 flesh, God. sending his own Son in the likeness 
 of sinful flesh, and for sin (or as it is rendered 
 in the margin, by a sacrifice for sin) condemned 
 sin in the flash.' 3 Christ "who knew no sin, 
 became sin .'that is. a sin offering) for us. that 
 we might be made the righteousness of God in 
 
97 
 
 him." "He was wounded for our transgres- 
 sions, he was bruised for our iniquities ; the 
 chastisement of our peace was upon him ; and 
 with his stripes we are healed." It appears, 
 then, that Jesus Christ became our substitute in 
 relation to the law of God ; so that in conse- 
 quence of what he did and suffered on our be- 
 half, it has no longer any penal claims upon us, 
 if we become interested in his atoning sacrifice. 
 Thus was the foundation laid for the establish- 
 ment of a new covenant with the human race ; 
 a covenant of mercy and of grace. 
 
 But a covenant always implies conditions upon 
 the part of both the contracting parties. What, 
 then, does God agree to do for those who be- 
 come interested in this covenant ; and what, on 
 their part, are they required to do ? To answer 
 these questions, may be regarded as the chief 
 object for which all Scripture is given. Hence 
 we find that the great central truth of all reve- 
 lation is, that " God so loved the world, that he 
 gave his only begotten Son, that whosever be- 
 lieveth in him should not perish, but have ever- 
 lasting life." In other words, if men will only 
 believe in his Son Jesus Christ, God engages to 
 bestow upon them all the blessings of salvation. 
 Such may be considered as the most general or 
 comprehensive view of what is meant by tho 
 
98 
 
 covenant of grace. But in order to perceive all 
 its excellence, and all its glorious fullness, it may 
 be necessary to view it a little more in detail. 
 We find it thus summarily described in the 
 Westminster Confession of Faith. " The first 
 covenant made with man was a covenant of 
 works, wherein life was promised to Adam, and 
 in him to his posterity, upon condition of per- 
 fect and persona] obedience. Man, by his fall, 
 having made himself incapable of life by that 
 covenant, the Lord was pleased to make a 
 second, commonly called the covenant of grace; 
 wherein he freely offereth unto sinners life and 
 salvation by Jesus Christ, requiring of them 
 faith in him that they may be saved, and prom- 
 ising to give unto all those that are ordained un- 
 to life, his Holy Spirit, to make them willing 
 and able to believe. This covenant was differ- 
 ently administered in the time of the law, and 
 in the time of the Gospel : under the law, it 
 was administered by promises, prophecies, sac- 
 rifices, circumcision, the paschal lamb, and other 
 types and ordinances delivered to the people of 
 the Jews ; all fore-signifying Christ to come, 
 which were for that time sufficient and efficacious 
 through the operations of the Spirit, to instruct 
 and build up the elect in faith in the promised 
 Messiah, by whom they had full remission of 
 
99 
 
 sins, and eternal salvation ; and is called the Old 
 Testament. Under the Gospel, when Christ the 
 substance was exhibited, the ordinances in which 
 this covenant is dispensed, are the preaching of 
 the word, and the administration of the sacra- 
 ments of baptism and the Lord's supper ; which 
 though fewer in number, and administered with 
 more simplicity, and less outward glory, yet in 
 them, it is held forth in more fullness, evidence, 
 and spiritual efficacy > to all nations, both Jews 
 and Gentiles ; and is called the New Testa- 
 ment." 
 
 We perceive therefore that the foundation of 
 the covenant of grace is laid in the sufferings of 
 Christ. He became a sin-offering for us, who 
 knew no sin, that we might be made the right- 
 eousness of God in him. Its conditions are, on 
 our part, the acceptance of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ for our Saviour ; an act which implies a 
 hearty sorrow and true repentance for all our 
 sins, a cordial forsaking of them, a total renun- 
 ciation of self, and an entire reliance upon the 
 merit of Christ ; — on the part of God, salvation, 
 with every thing which it implies, such as the 
 pardon of our sins, the sanctification of our na- 
 tures, the aid and the guidance of the Holy 
 Spirit, victory over death, and life everlasting in 
 heaven. " As for me, this is my covenant with 
 
100 
 
 them, saith the Lord ; my Spirit that is upon 
 thee, and my words which I have put in thy 
 mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor 
 out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the 
 mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from 
 henceforth and for ever." "A new heart also 
 will I give you, and a new spirit will I put 
 within you ; and I will take away the stony 
 heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an 
 heart of flesh ; and I will put my Spirit within 
 you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and 
 ye shall keep my judgments and do them." 
 " All that the Father giveth me," says the 
 Saviour, " shall come to me ; and him that Com- 
 eth to me, I will in no wise cast out." " No 
 man can come to me, except the Father which 
 hath sent me draw him ; and I will raise him 
 up at the last day." " No good thing will he 
 withhold from them that walk uprightly." 
 Such are the blessings included in the covenant 
 of grace ; all promised to man upon the plain 
 and reasonable condition of believing in the 
 Lord Jesus Christ. Having thus considered its 
 nature, we are now prepared to inquire, 
 
 II. Why, in our text, it is compared to a 
 rainbow. 
 
 One reason, perhaps, may be, that it affords 
 so interesting a subject for human contempla- 
 
101 
 
 tion. As the rainbow is the most beautiful 
 object which the eye can contemplate ; as its 
 various colors, bright, soft, harmonious, com* 
 bined into the arch, that most symmetrical and 
 perfect of all geometrical forms, affords the 
 highest possible gratification to the sense of 
 sight ; so the covenant of grace is the most 
 cheering, the most delightful subject which the 
 mind can contemplate. It is full of brightness, 
 symmetry and beauty. The Christian never 
 tires in gazing upon it. Sometimes, indeed, 
 by reason of the darkness which is in him, he 
 may lose sight of it. The throne of God may 
 seem to him to be surrounded only with thick 
 clouds. He may be able to discover no rain* 
 bow there. He may therefore be seen turning 
 away his thoughts and contemplations from it. 
 But let it break upon his soul in all its match- 
 less and perfect beauty, and it cannot help 
 fixing his admiring gaze. O, think you that 
 the vision which the apostle saw in our text 
 palled upon his senses, or that he wished it to 
 be withdrawn ? Think you not rather that the 
 effect upon him was entrancing ; that he would 
 have been willing to die amidst all the glories 
 of such a scene ? 
 
 Another reason for representing the covenant 
 of grace under the image or figure of the rain- 
 10 
 
102 
 
 bow, may be traced to the cause assigned for 
 that promise of God, of which the first rain- 
 bow, referred to in sacred history, was the 
 token. " And the Lord smelled a sweet savor ; 
 and the Lord said in his heart, I will not again 
 curse the ground any more for man's sake." 
 So the sacrifice of Christ is styled by the 
 apostle a sweet smelling savor, and that, too, 
 to God ; and therefore he resolves no more to 
 visit with a curse those in whose behalf it was 
 offered. As a pledge and a promise of which, 
 he has set his rainbow, not in the visible heav- 
 ens, but round about his throne. 
 
 Another reason for the employment of this 
 figure may be, that the rainbow round about 
 the throne is significant of a covenant which 
 shall endure as long as that which was made 
 with Noah. The latter implied perpetuity, and 
 so does the former. God calls it an everlasting 
 covenant between himself and every living 
 creature of all flesh that is upon the earth. So 
 the covenant of grace is everlasting. Says 
 David, " Although my house be not so with 
 God, yet hath he made with me an everlasting 
 covenant, ordered in all things and sure." 
 " The mountains shall depart, and the hills be 
 removed ; but my kindness shall never depart 
 from thee, neither shall my covenant of peace 
 

 103 
 
 be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on 
 thee." " Incline your ear, and come unto me ; 
 hear, and your soul shall live ; and I will make 
 an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure 
 mercies of David." " I will make a covenant 
 of peace with them ; it shall be an everlasting 
 covenant with them ; and will set my sanc- 
 tuary in the midst of them forever more." "I 
 will betroth thee unto me forever, in righteous- 
 ness, in judgment, and in loving kindness, and 
 in mercies ; I will even betroth thee to me in 
 faithfulness, and thou shalt know that I am the 
 Lord." O, if the covenant of grace could be 
 annulled, what a death-blow would it give to 
 the hopes of the Christian. But no ; the rain- 
 bow about the throne assures him that it is as 
 firm and as durable as the pillars of heaven. 
 
 But there may be still another reason why 
 the covenant of grace is represented to us under 
 the image of the rainbow. The rainbow is 
 said by the natural philosopher to be occasioned 
 in part, by the reflection of the sun's rays from 
 the rain-drops of the falling shower. So the 
 covenant of grace, the rainbow round about the 
 throne, may be regarded as a reflection of tha 
 brightest glories of the Sun of Righteousness. 
 O yes, there is nothing more glorious than this 
 covenant. It is illumined by the brightest 
 
104 
 
 beams of heaven. " For if the ministration of 
 condemnation be glory/' says the apostle, 
 " much more doth the ministration of righteous- 
 ness exceed in glory. For even that which 
 was made glorious, had no glory in this respect, 
 by reason of the glory that excelleth." God is 
 most eminently glorified by the salvation of 
 sinners. But the glories of the natural sun are 
 manifested in the rainbow in a very peculiar 
 way. By means of the refracting and reflect- 
 ing influences of the drops of rain upon which 
 his rays fall, those rays are decomposed, and 
 they are shown to us in all their original colors. 
 We see exhibited before us, as it were, the 
 elements of light, and are made to see how 
 they are combined together by the wisdom of 
 God, to produce their cheering and benign 
 effects. So in the covenant of grace, the rain- 
 bow round about the throne, all the elements of 
 the divine character are exhibited, as it were, to 
 our view, and we are made to see what it is 
 which constitutes his holiness, his perfection, 
 his glory. There we see those attributes 
 which, at the first view, seemed to be at vari- 
 ance with each other, mingling harmoniously 
 together ; justice and mercy, righteousness and 
 grace. At the same time, as the colors of the 
 rainbow are perfectly distinct 2 so these attri- 
 
105 
 
 butes are all distinct. Not one interferes with, 
 or obscures another. The covenant of grace 
 may be regarded as a sort of spiritual prism, in 
 which the holiness of God, by which we under- 
 stand the perfection of his character, is sep- 
 Etrated into its essential or component parts. 
 All the colors of the rainbow are there ; from 
 the fiery red of his eternal justice, down to 
 those softer hues, which indicate his mercy. 
 The rainbow in our text, is said to have been 
 in sight like unto an emerald. The emerald, it 
 is known, is green ; the color which perhaps of 
 all colors is the most refreshing to the eye. 
 Hence it is that with which God has seen fit to 
 clothe the grass of the field, and the leaves of 
 the trees. The reason, therefore, why this 
 color is said to predominate in the rainbow 
 about the throne, is obvious. It is emblemat- 
 ical of the mercy of God ; the attribute which, 
 of all attributes, is the most attractive to the 
 eye of sinners ; the only one indeed, which 
 affords them any ground for encouragement ; 
 any foundation for hope. Such are some of 
 the reasons which have suggested themselves 
 to my own mind, why the covenant of grace is 
 compared to a rainbow. But why is this rain- 
 bow said to be about the throne ? This, you 
 10* 
 
106 
 
 will remember, is the third point which we 
 proposed to consider. 
 
 III. One reason doubtless is, that this throne 
 would otherwise be unapproachable by sinners. 
 They could not even bear to gaze upon it, for 
 it would seem to them to be encompassed only 
 with the clouds and darkness of God's dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 Once 'twas a seat of dreadful wrath, 
 
 And shot devouring flame ; 
 Our God appeared consuming fire, 
 
 And vengeance was his name. 
 
 Yes, my friends, before the rainbow encom- 
 passed the throne, it was an object of unspeak- 
 able terror to the sinner. And if that rainbow 
 were not still round about it, it would be an 
 object of terror now. Let the sinner cast his 
 eye toward the heavens when the thunderstorm 
 is rising out of the west. As he sees the 
 clouds gathering blackness, and rolling rapidly 
 up toward the zenith, casting their fearful shad- 
 ows upon the waters beneath, and filling the 
 very atmosphere with gloom ; as he hears the 
 sound of the thunder, at first apparently remote, 
 but at each successive clap approaching nearer 
 and nearer ; as he sees the forked lightning in- 
 creasing in vividness, until its bolts seem just 
 ready to fall upon his devoted head ; who 
 
107 
 
 can describe the anxiety and alarm with which 
 his bosom is filled? He hardly dares look 
 toward the heavens, for they seem to him to be 
 charged with the wrath of the Almighty, and 
 big with his own ruin. What then must be 
 his emotion, when suddenly the clouds which 
 had just now looked down upon him with 
 so threatening an aspect, are seen rolling away 
 to some distant point in the horizon ; when the 
 bright sun breaks forth in all his glory from un- 
 derneath the veil which they had spread over 
 him ; and when in accordance with nature's 
 eternal laws, he sees the rainbow painted in 
 colors of light and beauty, upon the opposite 
 heavens, a token that the storm is over ; that the 
 danger is passed. 
 
 Must not he gaze upon it, not only Avith the 
 pleasure of one who beholds an object of sur- 
 passing loveliness, but with the rapture of one, 
 who beholds in it, a pledge of deliverance from 
 danger and destruction. O, to him the heavens 
 are never as beautiful, as when spanned with 
 this arch of promise and mercy. The very 
 cloud which lately appeared to him so terrible, 
 adds, by its contrast, to the glory of the scene. 
 When it constituted the fore-ground of the pic- 
 ture, he could not bear to look upon it ; as its 
 back-ground, it seems to him to be essential to 
 its perfection. 
 
108 
 
 Now to man without a Saviour, that heaven 
 which is the throne of the Almighty is shroud- 
 ed in darkness. Observe with what sublimity 
 of thought and of language, this sentiment is 
 expressed by the Psalmist. "He bowed the 
 heavens also, and came down ; and darkness 
 was under his feet. And he rode upon a cherub, 
 and did fly : yea, he did fly upon the wings of 
 the wind. And he made darkness his secret 
 place ; his pavilion round about him were 
 dark waters and thick clouds of the skies. 
 The Lord thundered from heaven, and the 
 Highest gave his voice. Yea, he sent out his 
 arrows, and scattered them ; and he shot out 
 lightnings, and discomfited them. Then the 
 channels of waters were seen, and the founda- 
 tions of the world were discovered at thy re- 
 buke, O Lord, at the blast of the breath of thy 
 nostrils." 
 
 Such my friends, are the terrors which sur- 
 round God's throne in the heavens, so long as 
 man continues without a Saviour. How then, 
 in all his feebleness and all his guilt, can he 
 dare to gaze upon it ? He has reason to fear, 
 that the next flash which issues from it will 
 strike him down to perdition. 
 
 But amidst all the terrors of the scene, the 
 clouds and thick darkness, the storm and tern- 
 
109 
 
 pest of almighty wrath, let the Sun of Right- 
 eousness break forth in all his transcendent glory, 
 and lo, upon the very clouds which but just 
 now appeared so full of terror, a rainbow is seen, 
 reflecting the brightest glories of that sun, and 
 affording a pledge to him who beholds it, of the 
 cessation of the tempest, of deliverance from 
 danger, of reconciliation and peace. And that 
 rainbow spans the heavens. It is round about 
 the throne. The sinner, therefore, may now 
 gaze upon that throne without one emotion of 
 terror; nay, with gratitude and joy. What 
 though the cloud is still upon it ? Its thunders 
 are hushed. Its lightnings sleep. It holds the 
 tokens of mercy in its bosom, and by the dark- 
 ness of its own aspect, its contrasted gloom 
 onty causes the brightness and the beauty of 
 that token to appear the more conspicuous. 
 That man, therefore, may approach the throne 
 of God without apprehension, the rainbow is 
 seen to be round about it. 
 
 But still another reason, perhaps, may be as- 
 signed for the expression. Its nearness to the 
 throne denotes how much God thinks of it. 
 He has placed it so near to his own seat, that 
 we may be sure he will never lose sight of 
 it. Not that we would be understood to insin- 
 uate that a God of infinite knowledge needs. 
 
110 
 
 like forgetful man, to be reminded of his cove- 
 nant by any external sign ; but only that in ac- 
 commodation to our habits of thought and con- 
 ception, he has been pleased thus to represent 
 it; so that faith may be aided by imagination, 
 and confidence in God increased by a figurative 
 representation of that which increases our con- 
 fidence in man. And in the language employed 
 upon this subject, I find myself borne out by 
 the language of the Bible. Thus in reference 
 to the rainbow which God set in the cloud after 
 the deluge, we hear him declaring, " And it shall 
 come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the 
 earth, that the bow shall be seen in the cloud ; 
 and I will remember my covenant which is be- 
 tween me and you, and every living creature of 
 all flesh ; and the waters shall no more become 
 a flood to destroy all flesh. And the bow shall 
 be in the cloud ; and I will look upon it, that I 
 may remember the everlasting covenant between 
 God and every living creature of all flesh that 
 is upon the earth." God here speaks of setting 
 his bow where he may behold it, as if he need- 
 ed to be reminded of the covenant of which it 
 is the emblem, and the pledge ; a mode of ex- 
 pression which is evidently adapted to our own 
 habits of thought and expression. 
 
 We feel, therefore, justified in asserting that 
 
Ill 
 
 the rainbow which the apostle saw in vision, 
 is said to have been round about the throne, as 
 a proof that God will never lose sight of it, will 
 never forget it, or rather will never lose sight of 
 the covenant of which it is the token. " For 
 this is, as the waters of Noah unto me ; for as I 
 have sworn that the waters should no more go 
 over the earth; so have I sworn that I would 
 not be wroth with thee, nor rebuke thee. For 
 the mountains shall depart, and the hills be re- 
 moved ; but my kindness shall not depart from 
 thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace 
 be removed, saith the Lord, that hath mercy on 
 thee." 
 
 Yes, my friends, because the rainbow is round 
 about the throne, the Christian has nothing to 
 fear. Not only is the tempest hushed for the 
 present, but it is hushed forever. God will 
 never forget his covenant ; he will never suffer 
 it to be annulled. 
 
 In conclusion I would remark, 
 
 1. What consolation does our subject afford 
 to the Christian. O, with what glories does the 
 throne of God appear to him to be invested. 
 Although oppressed with a sense of his unwor- 
 thiness, he need not fear to cast his eye towards 
 it, for he will behold the rainbow there. Let 
 him then fix his eye upon it, until his heart be- 
 
112 
 
 comes filled with all that love, and gratitude, 
 and joy, which it is calculated to inspire. O, 
 who can gaze upon it, and still remain unaffect- 
 ed by its beauty, and unmoved by all its inter- 
 esting and heart-stirring associations. We ought 
 to regard the rainbow round about the throne, 
 as our greatest stimulus to the cultivation of 
 every Christian grace, and the exercise of every 
 Christian virtue. But 
 
 2. Are there any here, who, conscious of their 
 own inherent vileness, tremble in view of de- 
 served wrath, and who dare not lift up their 
 eyes toward the throne of God, lest they should 
 see it shooting forth those flames of vengeance, 
 which are destined to consume their souls ? My 
 friends, our subject tells you that you may dis- 
 miss your fears. That throne is no longer the 
 seat of wrath which it once was. The Sun of 
 Righteousness is shining upon the clouds on 
 which it rests, and has painted the rainbow 
 there. O then, banishing your despair, look 
 toward it with the eye of faith, and in the name 
 of God, I am authorized to assure you that your 
 souls shall live ; shall live forever. 
 
SERMON IV. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY CITY.* 
 
 And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine 
 in it 3 for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light 
 thereof. — Rev. xxi. 24. 
 
 In the chapter before us, heaven is exhibited 
 to view under the image of a city, whose mag- 
 nificence can be represented only by the richest 
 and brightest of earthly objects. Its streets 
 are therefore said to be paved with gold, its 
 foundations to be inlaid with all manner of 
 precious stones, its gates to be of pearl. But 
 when the sacred writer attempts to describe the 
 light which shines upon it, and by which its 
 inhabitants are illuminated, all earthly analogies 
 seem to fail him. He can find no image within 
 
 * It is a significant and touching circumstance, that this is 
 the last sermon which Mr. March ever wrote. It was finished 
 the day on which he was seized with his mortal sickness ; and, 
 of course, was never preached. 
 
 11 
 
114 
 
 the compass of human knowledge which is able 
 to set it forth. Even the sun and the moon 
 grow dark before it. " The city had no need 
 of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it ; 
 for the glory of God did lighten it, and the 
 Lamb is the light thereof." And yet it is from 
 these luminaries that we derive all our best ideas 
 of brightness, and of beauty. To ourselves, 
 nothing can be more glorious than the sun, 
 shining in his strength ; nothing more beautiful 
 than the moon, reflecting w^ith her chaste and 
 softened radiance, his beams. 
 
 What, my friends, would be the condition 
 of our earth without these luminaries ? We 
 should have no day ; but one long, dismal, 
 everlasting night would brood over all the 
 works of creation. Our eyes would be useless, 
 for there would be nothing for them to gaze 
 upom In vain would be the graceful or majestic 
 form. In vain would the mountain rise toward 
 heaven, and the valley lie stretched out at its 
 feet. In vain would the river wind its way 
 toward the ocean ; and that ocean would heave 
 its billows in vain. In vain would the forest 
 put forth its leaves, and the flower unfold its 
 petals, and the pastures of the wilderness be 
 clothed with verdure ; for there would be no 
 sun to shine upon them by day ; no moon by 
 
115 
 
 night. For all our conceptions of majesty and 
 beauty, it is to these sources of light that we 
 are indebted. So long therefore as we continue 
 in the present world, we need them ; we could 
 not dispense with their aid, and they are all 
 that we need. A brighter light than that of the 
 sun, a softer radiance than that of the moon, can. 
 hardly be conceived. 
 
 What then must be the splendors of that 
 world where they have no need of the sun, 
 neither of the moon, because of the glory which 
 fills it, and which far outshines them both ; a 
 glory proceeding from him who is the Author of 
 light, and who, in the expressive language of 
 Scripture, is the Light itself ; by whom the sun 
 and the moon were created, and from whom, of 
 course, all their effulgence was derived. Yes, my 
 friends, God himself is the light of the heaven- 
 ly world, as the sun and the moon, those crea- 
 tures of his power, are the light of this world. 
 
 How far the language of our text is to be 
 understood in a literal sense, may, perhaps, be a 
 matter of doubt. That it is not, however, to 
 be understood altogether in a figurative sense, 
 seems to me to be obvious. We shall, doubt- 
 less, possess in heaven, if permitted to enter 
 there, the faculty of vision. I know not why it 
 may not even be predicated of the disembodied 
 
116 
 
 spirit ; for whilst in the body, it surely possesses 
 this faculty. It is not the eye which sees, but 
 the spirit which stands, as it were, behind it, 
 and which makes use of it, as the astronomer 
 makes use of his telescope. The eye is a mere 
 instrument, without perception and without in- 
 telligence : curiously contrived indeed, and most 
 wonderfully adapted to its purpose. But of 
 what use would it be without the intelligent 
 spirit upon whom it has been bestowed to aid 
 its power of vision, or rather to enable it, so long 
 as it continues in the body, to exercise that 
 power. But when it leaves the body, why 
 may we not suppose that it will no longer need 
 such an instrument; that it will see directly, 
 and no longer through a glass ; not darkly, as 
 now, but clearly : 
 
 But the Scriptures teach us that even the 
 body is to be raised again : and although it will 
 be incorruptible and immortal, free from all its 
 present grossness, and present infirmities, that it 
 will be substantially the same body that it now 
 is. All that is essential to its identity will still 
 remain. But if so, the eye which was dimmed 
 by death, must be once more lighted up, and as 
 we have reason to believe, it will be vastly im- 
 proved. All its present imperfections will be 
 removed. It will be capable of seeing more 
 
117 
 
 clearly than ever before. But if we possess the 
 faculty of vision, we shall need to dwell in 
 light ; for without light, this faculty would 
 prove to us of no avail. But from whence can 
 this light proceed, in a world where there is no 
 sun, no moon ? From whom can it proceed, 
 but from Him who created these luminaries, and 
 hung them in our own visible heaven, and who 
 has declared that when they have accomplished 
 all the objects for which they were created, he 
 means to extinguish them ? We believe, then, 
 that to interpret the words of our text in a liter- 
 al sense, would not be inconsistent with truth. 
 We believe that heaven is made light by the 
 glory of God, and of the Lamb. But we be- 
 lieve, too, that this glory infinitely exceeds, both 
 in its brightness and beauty, the glory of our 
 own bright and beautiful sun, when he is pour- 
 ing down upon us his noon-day beams, and 
 filling the whole creation with splendor. 
 
 But whilst we believe, in a qualified sense, 
 in the literal interpretation of our text, we be- 
 lieve that it is susceptible of a figurative inter- 
 pretation ; an interpretation far more important 
 and precious. To this, therefore, it will be my 
 object, in the following discourse, to call your 
 attention. 
 
 Our text, then, asserts that the glory of God 
 11* 
 
118 
 
 lightens heaven, and that the Lamb is the light 
 thereof. From these words we infer that the 
 glory of God is concentrated, as it were, in the 
 Lamb ; or in other words, that it shines forth 
 through the Lamb. These two expressions are 
 certainly represented as synonymous, or equiva- 
 lent. It will be, then, in heaven, as the apostle 
 informs us it is now and ever will be on earth. 
 "For God who commanded the light to shine 
 out of darkness hath shined in our hearts, to 
 give the light of the knowledge of the glory of 
 God in the face of Jesus Christ." Christ, then, 
 it seems, the Lamb of God, is the great moral 
 light of the universe. He is not only the Sun 
 of Righteousness to those who dwell in this 
 world, but to those who dwell in heaven ,* to 
 angels, no less than to men. Indeed this seems 
 to be a most natural inference from the words 
 of our text. " The Lamb is the light thereof." 
 But if so, every order of beings, from the high- 
 est to the lowest, who inhabit that blessed 
 world, must derive their light from him. Pie 
 pours his beams upon the archangel, no less than 
 upon the humblest saint. But this idea is an 
 important one, since it tends to confirm, in a 
 signal and most interesting manner, the great 
 doctrine of our Lord's divinity. If he be in- 
 deed the light of heaven, and if, as this light, 
 
119 
 
 he is the glory of God, must he not be divine ? 
 I have made these remarks in order to show 
 that the whole essence of our text is in reality- 
 contained in the latter clause of it. " The 
 Lamb is the light thereof." This is the point 
 which I shall now seek to illustrate. In what 
 respects then is Christ the Lamb, in a figurative 
 sense, the light of heaven ? 
 
 1. He is so, because of his own inherent 
 beauty and perfection. Light, as I have al- 
 ready suggested, is the fairest of the works of 
 God. Hence in all ages, and so far as we 
 know, in all languages, it has been regarded as 
 the emblem of all that is excellent, and all that 
 is glorious. As such, you know it is often em- 
 ployed by the sacred writers. It is indeed the 
 emblem under which they exhibit to us God 
 himself. " God is light." In Milton's sublime 
 apostrophe to light, therefore, there is nothing 
 unnatural, nothing extravagant. 
 
 " Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first born, 
 Or of the Eternal, co-eternal beam ! 
 May I express thee unblam'd ? since God is light, 
 And never but in unapproached light, 
 Dwelt from eternity, dwelt there in thee, 
 Bright effluence of bright essence increate." 
 
 The sun, which is to us the source of light, 
 is the glory of this lower world. But what the 
 
120 
 
 sun is to this lower world, such is Christ to 
 heaven. He is its chief glory ; nay the source 
 of all its glory. So far as light is the emblem 
 of excellence, he is light, and in him is no dark- 
 ness at all. Where is to be found moral beauty, 
 compared with that of the Saviour ? He pos- 
 sesses every conceivable excellence, and that in 
 the highest perfection. Wisdom, power, holi- 
 ness, justice, goodness, truth, all unite to form 
 in him a character which all holy beings rever- 
 ence, admire, and love. 
 
 2. Christ is the light of heaven, because of 
 the knowledge which he imparts to its blessed 
 inhabitants. Now for most of the knowledge 
 which we possess in the present world, we are 
 indebted to the light. It is literally true, as the 
 apostle declares, that whatsoever maketh mani- 
 fest is light. Without light, we should not be 
 acquainted with the size, the form, the color, 
 or the situation, of the ten thousand objects by 
 which we are surrounded. All that we should 
 know about visible things, would be what oth- 
 ers had taught us, or what may be ascertained 
 by other senses than that of sight. We might 
 become acquainted by the sense of smell, with 
 the fragrance of the rose ; by the sense of touch, 
 we might become acquainted with ite form and 
 structure ; but what should we know of its 
 
121 
 
 actual beauties ? If born blind, we should be 
 compelled to dispense, in great measure, with 
 that kind of knowledge, which is derived from 
 books. We should remain everlasting strangers 
 to the choicest beauties of nature, and of art ; 
 we should remain forever ignorant of the fea- 
 tures of our fellow-men, not excepting our best 
 beloved friends. We perceive, then, how much 
 we are indebted to the light for our knowledge 
 of earthly things. But through the Lamb of 
 God, light is thrown upon a multitude of sub- 
 jects most interesting and most important to be 
 known, of which the inhabitants of heaven 
 must have remained forever ignorant, but for 
 this light. Some of the perfections of the God- 
 head could never have been revealed, at least 
 so far as we can see, but for the Lamb who was 
 slain. 
 
 The fact that Christ is represented to us 
 under the figure of the Lamb, is a proof that it 
 is in the particular relation which this figure is 
 employed in the sacred Scriptures to indicate, 
 that he is the light of heaven. This relation, 
 you know, is that of the Redeemer and Saviour 
 of men. Now the Scriptures inform us that 
 " God is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, 
 forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin." But 
 how could these attributes, which to us appear 
 
122 
 
 the brightest which adorn the character of 
 God, ever have been revealed to the universe, 
 to angels, or to men, if Christ had not become 
 incarnate, or if he had not suffered and died on 
 our behalf? That God should forgive sin, 
 appears, at the first view, inconsistent with his 
 holiness, his justice and his truth; inconsistent 
 with his holiness, because it implies reconcilia- 
 tion with one whom sin has polluted ; inconsis- 
 tent with his justice, because it restores him to a 
 rank which he has plainly forfeited, and to 
 which he deserves not to be restored ; incon- 
 sistent with his truth, because he has declared 
 that the soul, the spirit, which sinneth, be it 
 human or angelic, shall die. 
 
 How then can such an attribute as mercy 
 exist in the divine character ; or if it exists 
 there, how can it possibly be manifested ? Now 
 it is obvious that the more perfectly the divine 
 character is known, the greater satisfaction must 
 it afford to all holy beings. It is important, 
 therefore, that all its attributes should be devel- 
 oped to their view ; that no one of them should 
 be concealed. How then can it be seen that 
 God is merciful and gracious, as well as holy 
 and just? How it might have been seen, we 
 are not qualified, perhaps, to say. How it has 
 been seen, we know. In the cross of Christ (to 
 
123 
 
 employ the language of the Psalmist) mercy 
 and truth are met together ; righteousness and 
 peace have kissed each other. Yes, in the 
 Lamb of God, the Lamb that was slain, we see 
 mercy triumphing over judgment, and that too 
 without any sacrifice of those attributes to 
 which it seemed to be opposed ; nay, even 
 combining with them, satisfying all their claims, 
 and shedding over them a new lustre. Yes, 
 in the Lamb of God we see, and all holy beings 
 see, how God may be just, and yet the justifier 
 of the ungodly. What a light, therefore, is 
 poured by him over the divine character. How 
 clearly and how wonderfully does he reveal to 
 us that most cheering of all truths, that truth 
 which sends such a thrill of rapture through all 
 the heavenly hosts, through seraph bands, as 
 well as through the company of the redeemed ; 
 God is love. 
 
 Whilst I have declared that the glory of God 
 will probably be manifested to the universe, 
 only through the Lamb, I would not be under- 
 stood to assert that a portion of it, at least, 
 might not be manifested in some other way. 
 There are certain attributes of the divine char- 
 acter which did not need the aid of the cross 
 for their manifestation. Thus the power of 
 God is most strikingly manifest in all the works 
 
124 
 
 of creation, especially in the ten thousand suns 
 which sparkle in the regions of space, with the 
 ten thousand times ten thousand worlds which 
 revolve around them. His goodness is manifest 
 in all the life, intelligence and joy, which are 
 spread over our own world ; in all the benev- 
 olent arrangements which the inanimate portion 
 of the creation exhibits for that which is ani- 
 mate. O how does it breathe forth in the sweet 
 odors of spring, and in the gentle gales of 
 summer. How is it inscribed on every flower 
 which blooms, and in every opening leaf. How 
 has it written itself in letters of light on the 
 heavens ; and how has it robed the earth in 
 beauty. 
 
 But in the works of creation, the wisdom of 
 God is no less apparent. " O Lord, how mani- 
 fold are thy works ! in wisdom hast thou made 
 them all." If, therefore, God were not mani- 
 fested to the universe under the figure of a 
 Lamb, but simply as a pure and infinite spirit, 
 his glory would enlighten heaven. His natural 
 attributes would at least be seen in all those 
 wonderful works which his hands have formed. 
 And we have reason to believe that some of his 
 moral attributes also might thus be manifested. 
 Let him come out against all the transgressors 
 of his law, in the terrors of his wrath, dooming 
 
125 
 
 them, as he did the angels who kept not their 
 first estate, to an eternity of wretchedness ; and 
 what an evidence, what an illustration would it 
 afford of his justice, his holiness, and his truth. 
 
 But to see God precisely as he is, we should 
 need a brighter light to shine upon his character 
 than would thus be afforded to us by the works 
 of his hands, and the moral dispensations of his 
 providence. In these we might discover his 
 knowledge, wisdom, power and goodness ; his 
 justice, holiness and truth. But mercy, for- 
 bearance, grace, forgiveness would be wanting 
 to fill up our idea of the divine perfection. 
 But when God is exhibited to us, as in our text, 
 under the image of a Lamb, we see these latter 
 attributes, blending most delightfully with the 
 former. Yes, and even adding to them a new 
 lustre ; so that our conceptions of the sterner 
 attributes of his character are enlarged and 
 elevated. His holiness, his justice, his truth 
 appear more conspicuous, more glorious. Thus 
 we see in how significant a sense, the Lamb 
 is the light of heaven. 
 
 3. The natural light is a source of joy to the 
 inhabitants of earth. All creatures whose senses 
 are adapted to the day, rejoice in the light. 
 With what enraptured notes, what songs of 
 gladness, does a great portion of the feathered 
 12 
 
126 
 
 tribes welcome the return of the morning. No 
 sooner is the eastern sky illuminated with its 
 first dawning beams, than the forest and the 
 field are made vocal with their melodies. Just 
 so is it with a large portion of quadrupeds. 
 With the return of day, they seem to wake up 
 to a new life. Just so is it with man. Who 
 has never felt himself inspired with the fresh- 
 ness of the morning ? Some physiologists have 
 contended that the light produces a change in 
 the system itself ; imparting to it a sensation of 
 vigor and of joyousness to which, during the 
 darkness of night, it is a stranger. How wel- 
 come is the light to the man who has spent the 
 night in watching. The Psalmist makes use of 
 this fact, to set forth the intensity of his own 
 spiritual longings ; " My soul waiteth for the 
 Lord, more than they that watch for the morn- 
 ing : I say, more than they that watch for the 
 morning." 
 
 But as the natural light is thus a source of joy 
 on earth, so is Christ the source of all joy in 
 heaven. On this account, therefore, as well as 
 the others which have been specified, the Lamb 
 is the light of the celestial world. O what rap- 
 ture will his presence afford throughout the ages 
 of eternity, to those who have been saved by 
 his merits. It is now the language of their 
 
127 
 
 hearts, " whom have we in heaven but thee ; 
 and there is none upon the earth whom we de- 
 sire besides thee." But when they shall see 
 him as he is, how much more lovely, and how 
 much more precious will he seem to them. 
 What joy will it afford them to study his per- 
 fections. What joy to sing forth his praises. 
 With what rapturous emotions will they sing 
 the new song, " Thou art worthy to take the 
 book and to open the seals thereof: for thou 
 wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy 
 blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and 
 people, and nation ; and hast made us unto our 
 God kings and priests ; and we shall reign on 
 the earth." Thus in this sense, the Lamb will 
 be the light of heaven to the redeemed. But 
 from what follows the remarkable passage we 
 have recited, it appears that he will be so, too, 
 to those who have never needed redemption. 
 "And I beheld," says the apostle, " and I 
 heard the voice of many angels round about the 
 throne, and the beasts, and the elders : and 
 the number of them was ten thousand times ten 
 thousand, and thousands of thousands ; Saying 
 with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was 
 slain, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, 
 and strength, and honor, and glory, and bless-* 
 ing." 
 
128 
 
 To all beings, therefore, who inhabit the 
 bright world of glory, from the highest archan- 
 gel to the meanest saint, we perceive that the 
 Lamb is the light thereof. 
 
 1. We are then led to remark, in the first place, 
 how important was the object for which our 
 blessed Lord became incarnate. It was not mere- 
 ly that he might save earth, but that he might 
 enlighten heaven. It was not merely that he 
 might manifest good will to men, but to angels. 
 Not only to secure the happiness of the former, 
 which they had forfeited by their sins ; but to 
 add inconceivably and immensely to the happi- 
 ness of the latter. Indeed, I know not how 
 any man can study the great plan of man's re- 
 demption as revealed to us in the sacred Scrip- 
 tures, without being convinced that it has impor- 
 tant relations to other worlds beside our own, 
 and to other creatures beside ourselves. That 
 man was the immediate object, for whom it 
 was contrived, and that he has derived from it 
 the most important benefits, there can be no 
 doubt. It is the great central truth of revela- 
 tion, that Jesus Christ came to seek and to save 
 that which was lost ; that he gave himself for 
 us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, 
 and purify unto himself, a peculiar people. But 
 whilst the plan of redemption had reference 
 
129 
 
 primarily to ourselves, it has poured its flood of 
 light and glory over the whole intelligent uni- 
 verse. In these, as we have seen to-day, the 
 highest angels will eternally rejoice. With 
 what an infinite importance does this fact invest 
 the great doctrine of our Lord's incarnation. It 
 would be important, if we could discover in it 
 only the ground of our own salvation, if the 
 Lamb were only the light of earth. But when 
 we are told, as in our text, that he is the light 
 of heaven, who can even conceive of its impor- 
 tance ? We can only exclaim with the apostle, 
 "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. 
 
 2. If the representations in the preceding 
 discourse be true, how certain is it that those 
 who deny the great doctrine of the atonement, 
 know not what they do. They extinguish the 
 light of earth. What hope can there be for 
 man, if it be not true, as we have been taught, 
 and as many firmly believe, that Christ died for 
 oar sins, according to the Scriptures ? What 
 hope can there be for man, if he has no merits 
 to rely upon for salvation, but his own ? If he 
 can enter heaven only through his own unaided 
 exertions, by satisfying all the demands of 
 12* 
 
130 
 
 God's violated law, and by yielding to it that 
 perfect obedience which it requires ? No, my 
 friends, if you succeed in removing from the 
 Bible the great doctrine of atonement, you 
 extinguish at once the sun of our own moral 
 world, and envelope its inhabitants in the 
 thickest of moral darkness. In the language of 
 the apostle, " Then is our preaching vain, and 
 your faith is also vain." The curse of the law 
 has never been repealed ; and although its 
 execution may, for a season, be delayed, it must 
 eventually come. I repeat, therefore, that by 
 the denial of this great doctrine, you extinguish 
 the light of earth. You quench, as it were, the 
 beams of the Sun of Righteousness. But sure- 
 ly in doing this, you know not what you do. 
 Yet this is not all. You extinguish also the 
 light of heaven. For the Lamb is the light 
 thereof. Yes, much of the light which shines 
 upon that blessed world, proceeds directly from 
 the Lamb that was slain. The great plan of 
 redemption, as we have seen to-day, has relations 
 to the whole intelligent universe ; to angels and 
 to archangels, scarcely less important than those 
 which it sustains to ourselves. It sheds light 
 and glory over the heavenly plains. Surely 
 then those who disbelieve in its existence, and 
 who take upon them to deny it, know not 
 
131 
 
 what they do. Not only do they deprive the 
 Christian of the foundation of his hopes here 
 on earth, but the redeemed spirit, and the un- 
 redeemed because sinless angel, of the chief 
 sources of their joy in heaven. 
 
 3. Does not our subject teach us, that what 
 the Christian considers to be his light on earth, 
 will continue to be his light throughout the 
 ages of eternity. He has heard his Saviour 
 declaring to him, I am the light of the world ; 
 and he has found him to be so by his own 
 blessed experience. O how has that promise 
 been verified to his soul ; " Awake thou that 
 sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ 
 shall give thee light. 7 ' And how does he rejoice 
 in that light. It is the source of all his knowl- 
 edge, purity, and comfort. It shines upon the 
 dark path, which he is required to tread in his 
 pilgrimage from this world to a better. And 
 such is his love for it, that he hopes it may 
 continue to shine upon him after he has got 
 beyond it, throughout the ages of eternity. 
 And in this hope, our text informs him, he will 
 not be disappointed. For the Lamb is the light 
 of heaven, no less than of earth. Yes, in a 
 degree inconceivably greater. Here the light 
 shineth in the midst of darkness. Its rays, 
 therefore, are sometimes obscured. But there it 
 
132 
 
 will pour forth its full, uninterrupted and 
 unmingled effulgence. The sun shall be no 
 more their light by day ; neither for brightness 
 shall the moon give light unto them ; but the 
 Lord shall be unto them an everlasting light, 
 and their God, their glory. 
 
 We may learn, therefore, from our subject, 
 that in one sense, the Christian's heaven com- 
 mences upon earth. The moment that he 
 believes in a crucified Redeemer, its light be- 
 gins, though perhaps with a dim and imperfect 
 ray, to shine upon him. We find, accordingly, 
 that the songs which he sings on earth are sub- 
 stantially the same with those which he sings 
 in heaven ; differing indeed in the loudness and 
 sweetness of their tone ; but referring to the 
 same subject, and breathing the same spirit. 
 " Now unto him who loved us, and washed us 
 from our sins in his own blood, and hath made 
 us kings and priests unto God and his Father ; 
 to him be glory and dominion forever and ever." 
 
 Finally, may we not learn from our subject, 
 that no man can be fit for heaven, who does not 
 love the Lord Jesus Christ. As he is the light 
 of that bright world, what joy would it afford 
 to those who love darkness rather than light, to 
 be admitted there ? But alas ! how great is the 
 number of such. They shrink from the light 
 
133 
 
 which he sheds, even upon this dark world. 
 The beams of the Sun of Righteousness are 
 hateful to their sin-diseased souls. How then 
 could they bear its full, unmitigated effulgence, 
 as it shines forth in heaven ? 
 
 Let me, then, my impenitent hearers, leave 
 you with this single but most solemn inquiry ; 
 What, with your present feelings towards the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, can be 
 your fitness for that world, respecting which we 
 learn from the text, that he is the everlasting 
 light and glory ? 
 
SERMON 
 
 FUNERAL OF THE REV. MR. MARCH, 
 
 SEPTEMBER 30, 1846. 
 
FUNERAL SERMON. 
 
 Luke xii. 37. 
 
 Blessed are those servants whom the Lord, when he cometh ; shall 
 find watching. 
 
 How faithful and how kind is the admonition 
 conveyed in these words of our heavenly Friend 
 and Saviour. Alas ! how needful is it too. 
 Where is the dying immortal, who is not apt 
 to forget both death, and the eternity beyond 
 it? And where is the Christian, who is not 
 prone to slumber — to slumber on the brink of 
 the grave — to slumber at the very threshold of 
 immortal joys ? 
 
 Our blessed Master, in dispensing divine in- 
 struction, employed every species of address 
 which was calculated to win attention. He as- 
 sailed the consciences and hearts of his hearers at 
 every avenue where truth might find admission. 
 He often presented eternal realities through the 
 medium of sensible images ; of objects and 
 13 
 
138 
 
 events frequent in their recurrence, and famil- 
 iarly understood. In the passage which has 
 furnished the text, he illustrates his coming at 
 death, and our duty in reference to it, by the 
 solemnities of a marriage. As these occasions 
 were celebrated among the Jews in the night ; 
 and as the hour at which the married pair, with 
 their attendants, would arrive at the bride- 
 groom's mansion, was uncertain, it was the 
 duty of the servants to be ever on the watch, 
 and ever prepared to meet and welcome their 
 coming Lord. Such is the exhortation, " Let 
 your loins be girded about, and your lights 
 burning ; and ye yourselves like unto men that 
 wait for their Lord, when he shall return from 
 the wedding ; that when he cometh and knock- 
 eth, they may open to him immediately. — 
 Blessed" adds the Saviour, "are those servants 
 whom the Lord, vjhen he cometh, shall find 
 watching" 
 
 My brethren ; our nature, and our circum- 
 stances, as creatures destined to death, and to 
 an eternal state, loudly declare that we too ; that 
 all of us without exception, are interested, deep- 
 ly interested, in this divine admonition. Yes ; 
 if an eternity is before us all, it must be the 
 proper business of us all, to prepare for eternity. 
 For everlasting joys and everlasting woes are no 
 
139 
 
 trifles. Nor will any who are not deplorably 
 infatuated, treat them as trifles. If death and 
 judgment may be at our very doors, what have 
 we to do, but to be constantly looking out for 
 them ; constantly preparing to welcome the 
 glorious and awful Judge ? If, in addition to 
 the solemn and reiterated warnings of God's 
 word, his providence gives us its daily admo- 
 nitions ; if every dying bed, and every opening 
 grave is a preacher ; if the grave which opens 
 this day, preaches with unwonted eloquence ; 
 it must be a criminal indifference, to remain un- 
 moved. 
 
 Let us consider, first, the great duty suggested 
 in the text ; and then, the solemn and interesting 
 motives by which it is recommended and en- 
 forced. 
 
 The duty here exhibited, is that of watching ; 
 and this, with special reference to the coming 
 of Christ at death. Watching, all know, is op- 
 posed to sleep. It is a truth — painful and mor- 
 tifying, but still a truth — that spiritual slumber 
 has overtaken the whole human race. In re- 
 gard to the things of religion and eternity, all 
 mankind are naturally in a profound sleep. In 
 the things of the world, they are awake and 
 engaged ; and often, they are all ardor, anima- 
 tion a„nd activity. But here ) every sense ap- 
 
140 
 
 pears enchained ; every faculty, torpid and in- 
 active. The glory of the blessed God shines 
 around them ; but they perceive it not. He 
 speaks, with the authority of a Sovereign, and 
 the melting tenderness of a Father ; but they 
 hear not his voice. Mercies and judgments, in- 
 vitations and warnings, commands, reproofs and 
 threatenings are equally lost upon the slumber- 
 ers. And how deplorably insensible are they, 
 like men asleep, to their guilt and danger, to 
 their truest interest, and their highest happiness. 
 How inactive, too, as really as if asleep, in the 
 proper business of life ; that of glorifying their 
 Maker, and benefiting their fellow-creatures ,* 
 that of preparing for a future account, and a 
 happy eternity. How do they suffer those 
 days, months, and years, on which their im- 
 mortal salvation depends, to glide by them un- 
 noticed, unimproved. Surely, there needs no 
 farther proof that they are asleep. Thus to 
 live, cannot be worthy the name of life. It is 
 but to doze and dream away a useless, and a 
 guilty existence. 
 
 Far different from this is the case with the 
 real Christian. Divine mercy has dispelled his 
 guilty slumbers ; has opened his eyes, and ears, 
 and heart to eternal realities. He has begun to 
 perceive the infinite glory, and excellency, and 
 
141 
 
 claims of the ever-blessed God ; the base and 
 destructive nature of sin ; the vanity of this 
 dying world, and the transcendent worth of a 
 soul immortal. He perceives that in that single 
 word eternity, are embosomed realities the most 
 interesting and awful. No longer can he close 
 his ears to the thunders of a violated law, or to 
 the melting accents of divine compassion in the 
 gospel. The beauties, the glories, the merciful 
 invitations of the Saviour now irresistibly attract 
 him. He rouses up from the long sleep of 
 death, and applies with diligence and vigor, to 
 the great end of his being. Abandoning the 
 follies of the world, and rising above its grovel- 
 ling pursuits, he aims at far nobler objects. To 
 please, to serve and glorify his God, is now 
 his great concern. While he sheds tears of 
 penitential sorrow over his past life — lost to God 
 — lost to duty — lost to real happiness ; he wish- 
 es to consecrate every moment of the future to 
 his Maker, and to eternity. Not that he is 
 wholly disenthralled from spiritual slumber. 
 Alas! it frequently creeps upon him still. It 
 frequently enchains those faculties, and con- 
 sumes that precious time, which he would wish 
 to consecrate invariably and entirely to religion. 
 This is his burden and grief. He honestly 
 strives against it. He longs to be wholly free. 
 13* 
 
142 
 
 He longs to serve his God with the activity and 
 ardor of " the rapt seraph that adores and 
 burns.'' He maintains a vigorous conflict with 
 indwelling corruption. He carefully avoids 
 those objects and those indulgences which tend 
 to lull him into a state of carnal security and 
 slumber. Thus, by the grace of God, he does 
 habitually maintain some degree of spiritual ac- 
 tivity and watchfulness. 
 
 Let us, for a moment, consider this watchful- 
 ness with a special reference to the hour of death, 
 and to the solemn account which the Christian 
 will then give to his glorious Master. These 
 are scenes which he habitually keeps in view. 
 He does not, with the giddy multitude, endeav- 
 or to drown the thoughts of death in the cares, 
 the pleasures, or the dissipations of the world. 
 He wishes it to be ever uppermost in his heart, 
 and familiar to his thoughts. Nor does he 
 merely believe in the reality and certainty of 
 death, and a judgment to come. He thinks 
 upon them with seriousness and solemnity, yet 
 with a sublime pleasure. He feels that "were 
 death denied, to live would not be life." How 
 insupportable would be the thought of being 
 always thus in a state of exile from his God 
 and Saviour : of being condemned to spend an 
 eternity in these abodes of sin and sorrow. In 
 
143 
 
 those favored seasons when his evidences are 
 bright, and his affections ardent, how does he 
 spring forward to meet his Redeemer and his 
 Judge. How does the thought of enjoying 
 his approving smile, enhance every earthly com- 
 fort, and soothe every present trial. Especially, 
 how does it reconcile him to all the self-denial, 
 and toil, and neglect, and reproach which he 
 encounters for the dear name of Jesus. How 
 does it weaken every tie to earth. How does 
 it illumine and cheer the valley of death. 
 Amidst the transports of this thought, he is 
 willing to bid adieu to every friend, to close 
 his eyes on the glories of the sun, and venture 
 down the gloomy vale. 
 
 Doubtless, the watchfulness Ave now describe, 
 includes an active and diligent preparation for 
 the coming of Christ at death and at judgment. 
 This is the habitual aim, this the grand object 
 of the good man's life. To this he wishes to 
 subordinate every other object. And how does 
 he endeavor to accomplish this great and all-ab- 
 sorbing design? Obviously, by cultivating the 
 very same disposition and temper, and by pursu- 
 ing the same course of conduct, in which he 
 would wish to be found by his blessed Master 
 at his coming. Is he a private Christian? He 
 aims habitually to imbibe the spirit of his Sa- 
 
144 
 
 viour ; to imitate his example of humility, self- 
 denial, compassion, forgiveness, and universal 
 love ; to be faithful to his interest ; to do all to 
 his glory ; in a word, to consecrate time, talents, 
 property, influence, heart and soul to his sacred 
 cause. Is he a Christian minister? He su- 
 premely loves his Master ; loves his study ; 
 loves his closet ; loves his people ; preaches in 
 simplicity the holy, humbling, saving doctrines 
 of the cross ; feeds the sheep and the lambs of 
 the flock ; watches for souls as one that must 
 give account ; and esteems not even his life 
 dear, so that he may finish his course with joy, 
 and the ministry which he has received of the 
 Lord Jesus. 
 
 Thus we have some imperfect view of the 
 watchfulness recommended in the text. We 
 now hasten to consider some of the great and 
 interesting motives by which it is enforced. 
 
 The first motive seems naturally derived from 
 the certainty of our Lord's coming. This cer- 
 tainty is obviously intimated in the text. In- 
 deed, the nature of the case excludes all doubt. 
 Unless we firmly believe that we are accounta- 
 ble creatures ; and that He who made us, and 
 assigned our respective duties and spheres of ac- 
 tion, will call us into judgment, and treat us ac- 
 cording to our respective characters, we may as 
 
145 
 
 well commence infidels and atheists at once. 
 On the other hand, these truths duly felt, and 
 deeply familiarized, cannot fail to engage us to 
 all that diligence and watchfulness which has 
 been described. Will our great Lord and Mas- 
 ter assuredly come and call us to account ? Will 
 He who is now our invisible, but ever present 
 witness, shortly be our Judge ? Will it be im- 
 possible to avoid an appearance at his awful bar ? 
 Will he bring every work into judgment ; , and 
 every secret thing ? Shall all that we have ever 
 done, and said, and thought, and felt, and wish- 
 ed, pass in solemn and particular review before 
 him ? — It is impossible that stronger arguments 
 than these, can be presented to the human mind. 
 If we do not feel their force, we must be 
 strangely hard and insensible indeed. O why 
 is it, that the thought of death, of meeting an 
 omniscient and holy Judge, of receiving from 
 his lips a sentence irreversible and everlasting, 
 a sentence whose every word will be fraught 
 with rapture, or with anguish inconceivable — 
 why does not this thought penetrate every hu- 
 man heart to its centre ? Why does it not fill 
 every immortal creature with the liveliest solici- 
 tudes ? For what was life given us, but to pre- 
 pare for this dread account ? And if we are not 
 habitually and anxiously preparing for it, how 
 
146 
 
 are we sporting with the patience and goodness 
 of God. How are we abusing and (must it be 
 said ?) murdering days, months, and years, and 
 even our own souls. 
 
 Secondly. The time of our Lord's coming is 
 utterly uncertain. It may be perfectly sudden, 
 unforewarned, and unexpected. " Be ready," 
 says the Saviour ; "for the Son of mancometh 
 at an hour when ye think not." "Watch ; for 
 ye know not when the Master of the house 
 cometh .... lest, coming suddenly, he find you 
 sleeping." 
 
 Most wisely and most kindly has our Creator 
 concealed from every human being, the time of 
 death. And what is the lesson to be learned 
 from this divine arrangement ? Obviously that 
 suggested by the poet. 
 
 Is death uncertain ? Therefore thou be fixed : 
 Fixed as a sentinel ; all eye, all ear, 
 All expectation of the coming foe. 
 
 True, thousands derive a contrary lesson 
 from the uncertainty of death ; and thousands, 
 perhaps, whom the world esteems wise. They 
 would not, if they could avoid it, put the 
 smallest portion of their worldly treasure to a 
 moment's hazard ; but they will be content, for 
 months and years, to hazard the loss of their 
 
147 
 
 souls. The thought of enduring a few months 
 of sickness, or pain, is insupportable ; but the 
 thought of plunging into miseries which never 
 end, scarcely robs them of a moment's quiet. 
 We need not, my brethren, attempt to find a 
 name for this folly. It is impossible. Human 
 language is far too poor. But O, let us shun it. 
 Let us shun procrastination — that rock on 
 which thousands and thousands have split, and 
 made shipwreck of their immortal hopes. Let 
 us not, O let us not commit these souls to the 
 mercy of an unknown, an unpromised hereafter. 
 As we would not treasure up materials for 
 unavailing repentance, for the bitterest anguish, 
 for overwhelming despair, let us without a 
 moment's delay, flee to the hope of the gospel, 
 consecrate our all to our Creator and Redeemer, 
 and thus prepare to meet our Judge in peace. 
 
 Again. Consider, for a moment, the sad 
 state of those whom their Lord, at his coming, 
 shall surprise asleep. This must be an awful 
 case indeed. Suppose it the case of one who 
 was never truly awakened, and never began to 
 make any real preparation to meet his Judge. 
 How full of horror must be such a condition. 
 To slumber on to the last ; to cry peace, peace, 
 till sudden destruction comes ; to be summoned 
 into eternity unprepared ; to meet a frowning 
 
148 
 
 Deity, an angry Judge, — O, how inadequate is 
 the language of mortals to portray the terror 
 and the anguish of such a scene. To lose the 
 soul, that invaluable, neglected, abused treasure ; 
 to lose the smiles of God, and the bliss of 
 heaven ; to be banished far from the source of 
 all good ; to depart under his tremendous, in- 
 supportable frown ; to dwell forever amidst 
 condemned spirits, and devouring flames — these 
 are horrors which it might seem unkind even 
 to mention, were it not to warn the impenitent, 
 the secure, the presumptuous, to escape them 
 without a moment's delay. 
 
 But suppose a different case. The Saviour, 
 as we have seen, bade his own disciples beware, 
 lest, coming suddenly, he should find them 
 sleeping. There was danger, then, that even 
 they might be thus found. Elsewhere, he 
 gives us to understand that while the bride- 
 groom tarried, the wise virgins, as well as the 
 foolish, slumbered and slept. Truly melan- 
 choly and humbling is the thought, that Chris- 
 tians are capable of such folly, such gross 
 inconsistency, in any degree. But it is the 
 fact. And what if they should be called to die 
 in such a state. Death must be a surprise 
 indeed. How poorly prepared must they be 
 for that last awful conflict. How destitute, 
 
149 
 
 probably, of the light of the divine coun- 
 tenance, and the evidence of a pardoned state. 
 Such, indeed, is the wonderful mercy of God, 
 and such the stability of the new covenant, 
 that no real Christian can lose his soul. But 
 can it be a small thing to want, at such a period, 
 the consolations of religion ? Can it be a small 
 thing that the pangs of death should be exacer- 
 bated by the agonies of doubt, and of remorse ? 
 Can it be a small thing that a circle of broken- 
 hearted friends should be deprived of the com- 
 fort, and the surrounding world of the edifica- 
 tion, arising from a death-bed cheered with the 
 sensible presence of Christ, and the dawning 
 light of heaven ? 
 
 In a word : How blessed, as the Saviour 
 declares, are those servants whom the Lord, 
 when he cometh, shall find watching. Death, 
 it is conceded, is terrific to nature ; and it is 
 doubly appalling to the unpardoned, unpre- 
 pared sinner. But what of evil, or of terror, 
 has death for the watchful Christian ? It takes 
 him from earth, and its enjoyments ; but not 
 until his heart is thoroughly weaned from them. 
 It closes the period of trial ; but not until its 
 great end is accomplished ; not until his title to 
 heaven is established, and his preparation for its 
 felicities, matured. It separates him from earthly 
 14 
 
150 
 
 friends ; but it unites him, and that inseparably, 
 to friends still more beloved, and more holy. It 
 leads him down a dark valley ; but even there, 
 the splendors of an eternal day begin to dawn 
 upon his mind. It places him in the immediate 
 presence of a holy God ; but it is a presence 
 which he has habitually and ardently longed 
 for ; the presence of a Father, and a Friend. 
 And what is the reception, and what the felicity 
 which he may expect from the Saviour, when 
 he shall have come at death, and found him 
 ready and waiting for his advent ? Let the 
 Saviour himself declare. Blessed, says he, are 
 those servants whom the Lord, ichen he co-met h f 
 shall find tvatclmig. He adds, Verily I say 
 unto yon, that he shall gird himself ] and will 
 make them to sit down at meat, and will come 
 forth, and serve them. Wonderful, astonishing 
 words ! We shall never, never comprehend 
 their full meaning, till we arrive at heaven. 
 But they tell us significantly, even now, that 
 He who, on earth, condescended to wash the 
 feet of his dear disciples, will not, in heaven, be 
 less condescending, or less kind. No ; he will 
 be bringing forth to them forever a fullness of 
 unceasing, ever-growing delights and consola- 
 tions. And those delights and consolations will 
 be a thousand times endeared to their hearts, as 
 
151 
 
 coming to them, not only as the purchase of his 
 blood, but as the immediate gifts of his beloved 
 hand. Yes ; they are with their Saviour. 
 They behold his unveiled glory. They bear 
 his perfect image. They receive endless and 
 uninterrupted communications of his love. 
 This is the heaven which, while here, they 
 longed for. This is the heaven to which sove- 
 reign, infinite, abounding mercy has exalted 
 them. 
 
 We have taken some view of the character of 
 the Christian ; the watchful Christian. And by 
 the aid of revelation, we have cast a glance at 
 his blessedness ; his blessedness in death, and to 
 eternity. And is it possible, my beloved hear- 
 ers, that any of our depraved and sinful race, 
 have ever attained this sublime character. Is it 
 possible that any whom we have known, and 
 loved, and conversed with — any whom we have 
 but recently seen struggling with toils and trials, 
 with infirmities and sin, have escaped from them 
 all, and are, this moment, enjoying this pure 
 and immortal blessedness ? Yes ; it is more 
 than possible. We believe that it is a glorious 
 and incontestible fact. And we humbly trust 
 that the dear friend whose mortal part reposes 
 in that coffin, is now added to the great cloud of 
 witnesses who give their testimony to the de- 
 
152 
 
 lightful fact ; and thus to the transcendent ex- 
 cellence and blessedness of Christian piety. It 
 is consoling to reflect that his perfected and 
 happy spirit is now with its God and Saviour. 
 With many tender regrets, we shall soon com- 
 mit his mortal part to the silent tomb. But let 
 us first pause a moment, and take a parting look 
 at one in whose character and example, there is 
 so much to instruct, and to animate. 
 
 Mr. March was born at Newburyport, of 
 worthy and respected parents. In his very 
 childhood, he gave evidence, not only of a 
 docile mind, and a tender conscience, but, as 
 was thought by many of his friends, of hopeful 
 piety — evidence which, as they conceived, was 
 not discredited, but rather confirmed, by his 
 subsequent years. In his own view, however, 
 the great work of conversion occurred at a period 
 considerably later. It was, as he believed, in 
 the closing year of his college life, that he ob- 
 tained the first distinct and effectual impressions 
 of his own state as a sinner, and of the way of 
 salvation revealed in the gospel of Christ. His 
 early religious exercises were marked with ten- 
 derness, humility, and self-distrust. His views 
 of sin, and of his own unworthiness were, at 
 times, deeply distressing. Nor was it otherwise 
 
153 
 
 than gradually, that he arrived, through much 
 scrutiny and self-suspicion, at a confirmed hope 
 of his interest in the Saviour. 
 
 He had cherished, very early, a strong incli- 
 nation to the Christian ministry ; and having 
 completed the usual course at Yale College, re- 
 ceived his theological education at the Seminary 
 in Princeton, New Jersey. Amidst the instruc- 
 tions of this seminary, he obtained very clear 
 and discriminating views of the great doctrines 
 of the gospel — views which were confirmed 
 and expanded by his subsequent study of the 
 Scriptures, and which imparted an evangelical 
 stamp to his preaching, through the course of 
 his future life. 
 
 Having commenced his career as a Candidate 
 for the ministry, and preached, for a time, in 
 various places in New England, and beyond its 
 bounds, he was invited, in the beginning of the 
 year 1831, to supply the desk in this place. 
 The proposal was occasioned by the indisposi- 
 tion of the aged Pastor, the Rev. Mr. Miltimore ; 
 whose infirmities being rather increased, than, 
 alleviated in the course of the year, the Society 
 invited Mr. March, and with great unanimity, 
 to take part in the pastorship, as a Colleague. 
 Their overture was accepted ; and it is well 
 known with what assiduity and tenderness the 
 14* 
 
154 
 
 young Pastor devoted himself to soothe and 
 brighten the declining years of his aged and 
 revered Father. 
 
 This connection, so auspicious, and so delight- 
 ful, was but too short. In little more than four 
 years from its commencement, the Society was 
 called to shed tears of affectionate sorrow over 
 the grave of the venerable Miltimore. From 
 this period, the surviving Pastor, on whom had 
 previously devolved a great portion of the ac- 
 tive duties of the place, found himself left to 
 bear, alone and unaided, the entire burden and 
 heat of the day. 
 
 As a preacher of the gospel, Mr. March was 
 greatly and justly esteemed. His sermons were 
 not mere cool and general discussions of Chris- 
 tian doctrine. Nor were they flighty and su- 
 perficial addresses to the imagination, and the 
 feelings. They were animated, and occasionally 
 they were impassioned. Yet they were lumi- 
 nous and instructive too. They dwelt mainly 
 on those doctrines by which Christians are 
 nourished, quickened and comforted : and sin- 
 ners awakened, converted and saved. They 
 judiciously placed the stress of religion where 
 the Scriptures place it. Proceeding obviously 
 from the heart, they were very apt to reach the 
 conscience, and the heart. Hence it was, that 
 
155 
 
 while they were generally acceptable, they were 
 most highly prized by the most serious, and the 
 most judicious. 
 
 His prayers were not less instructive and ed- 
 ifying than his sermons. They were judiciously 
 adapted to times, places, subjects, occasions and 
 circumstances. They indicated a heart habitu- 
 ated to communion with God, deeply impressed 
 with his majesty; humbly and tenderly confiding 
 in his mercy. They indicated a lively sense of 
 the value of spiritual blessings, and of the worth 
 of souls immortal. Occasionally, and not un- 
 frequently, they took the style of that importu- 
 nity, that fervent wrestling with God, which 
 could scarcely fail to bring the supplicated bless- 
 ings down. 
 
 He was a devoted and affectionate pastor ; 
 prompt at the call of duty ; punctual to every 
 engagement ; solicitous to detect, and to cherish 
 any serious impressions among his people ; 
 watching for their souls as one that must give 
 account. His addresses to the sick, the dying, 
 the bereaved, the awakened and inquiring, ex- 
 hibited that union of fidelity and tenderness, of 
 discrimination and sound judgment, which was 
 calculated to give them force, and to secure for 
 them the best effect. 
 
 Such fidelity, and such exertions were not in 
 
156 
 
 vain. They were crowned with rich blessings. 
 Under his care, the church was gradually in- 
 creased. And there were seasons in which the 
 divine influence was signally bestowed, quick- 
 ening the zeal of Christians, and adding not a 
 few to their number. 
 
 Mr. March felt a cordial interest in all those 
 great enterprises of piety and benevolence which 
 have distinguished the present age ; and em- 
 ployed an energetic influence in their support. 
 His zeal in the cause of reformation was 
 warm and active. It was the fruit, not of 
 mere excitement, but of principle and reflec- 
 tion. It was regulated by a sound judgment, 
 and of course, was the more efficient, as well 
 as more enduring. 
 
 It was remarkable that amidst so much active 
 labor, he should find so much time for mental 
 improvement. But he was diligent in study, 
 and extensive in his investigations. His visit 
 to Europe, some years since, while it furnished 
 him a variety of valuable books, seemed to im- 
 part a new impulse to his mind. And he evi- 
 dently advanced in knowledge, to the close of 
 life. 
 
 On the whole, Mr. March established for him- 
 self, with the judicious and candid who knew 
 him, the character of a good minister, and a 
 
157 
 
 good Christian ; of a sincere friend to God and 
 man ; to society, and its best interests ; to his 
 country, and his species. He was a tender hus- 
 band, and an affectionate father ; a kind neigh- 
 bor, and a faithful friend. 
 
 He was most unusually endeared to an affec- 
 tionate people. During a ministry of nearly 
 fifteen years, their confidence was unshaken ; 
 their attachment unabated. Never, indeed, were 
 the evidences of this confidence and attachment 
 so manifest, as in the last year of his life. 
 
 He was highly esteemed by his ministerial 
 brethren, to whom he was ever ready to impart 
 his valuable services j and his praise is in all 
 the churches. 
 
 We aver not that he was faultless. This 
 would be to take him out of the pale of 
 humanity. Still, his character, to human view, 
 made an approach, at least, to the faultless. 
 While it attracted a general esteem, it might 
 almost be said to bid defiance to reproach. For 
 himself, however, he felt, and he deeply, 
 humbly felt, that he was a fallible, sinful man. 
 He centered all his hopes in the merits and the 
 compassion of that Saviour who, we doubt not, 
 has pardoned his every error, and received him 
 to his everlasting mercy. 
 
 His last sickness was protracted and dis- 
 
158 
 
 tressing. But it was signalized, throughout, 
 with serenity, and sweet submission to the will 
 of God. So peculiar and equivocal were its 
 symptoms, that hope and fear seemed long to 
 alternate in the minds of his friends. The 
 sufferer himself sometimes expressed strong 
 desires to recover; and this chiefly, that he 
 might do some farther service for his Master, 
 and his beloved flock. He was particularly 
 anxious to address the dear youth, and to stim- 
 ulate Christians to a closer communion with 
 their Saviour, and a more active devotion to his 
 cause. Throughout his sickness, many precious 
 truths and counsels were uttered, which can 
 never be forgotten, nor ever, we trust, be 
 remembered but with profit. 
 
 His reason continued to the last. Somewhat 
 more than an hour before his departure, it was 
 my privilege to sit by his bed, and to find him 
 full of peace and hope. He had been favored 
 that morning, as he believed, with a season of 
 sweet communion with his God. He was per- 
 fectly willing to depart. He even longed to go 
 and be with his Saviour. He could willingly 
 leave his dearest friends, in the joyful hope of 
 soon meeting them in a Father's house, never 
 to be separated more. 
 
159 
 
 Our tenderest sympathy is due to her who, 
 on this afflicting occasion, is the chief mourner. 
 The cup which she is called to drink, is indeed 
 a bitter cup. Yet it has been mingled by an 
 unerring hand — a kind hand — a Father's hand. 
 And that Saviour who once wept at the grave 
 of a dear friend, permits her tears, and compas- 
 sionates her sorrows. To his all-sufficient 
 grace, to his all-supporting arm, we tenderly 
 commend her. May she meekly kiss the rod 
 of the heavenly Chastener. May she be puri- 
 fied in the furnace. May her heart, so repeat- 
 edly bereaved of its loved ones, and now so 
 emphatically desolate, be filled, more than ever, 
 with the love of God, and with the divine, 
 undying consolations which that love imparts. 
 Blessed be his name ! there is a world where 
 love is perfect, and friendship unbroken and 
 eternal. May every recollection of joys de- 
 parted contribute to raise and rivet her heart to 
 that better scene, and to prepare her for its 
 unfailing peace and blessedness. 
 
 To the respected and numerous family with 
 which our lamented friend was, by marriage, 
 connected, we offer our sincere and tender con- 
 dolence. With no common affection did they 
 receive and love him ; and he was worthy of 
 their love. His friendship, his example, his 
 
160 
 
 counsels and his prayers were all precious to 
 their hearts. And not a few of them are con- 
 soled by the hope, that the friendship begun on 
 earth, will be perfected and immortalized in 
 heaven. And what better wish can our hearts 
 form, than that they may all, without exception, 
 be thus divinely favored and blessed ; that 
 following their lamented friend wherein he 
 followed Christ, they may be re-united to him 
 in that world where all are completely blessed, 
 and where the pure delights of friendship are 
 never embittered by the danger, or even the 
 possibility of separation. 
 
 My friends of this church and society : The 
 heart which lately throbbed with unutterable 
 desires for your salvation, is now cold and 
 motionless. The tongue which proclaimed to 
 you the messages of a Saviour's love, and the 
 warnings of his mercy, is now silent in death. 
 Your minister is no more. He who besought 
 you to be reconciled to God ; he who invited 
 you to a Redeemer's arms ; he who warned 
 you to flee from the wrath to come ; he who 
 prayed and wept over you ; who counselled 
 you in your difficulties, comforted you in your 
 sorrows, and watched by your sick and dying 
 beds — is withdrawn forever from your sight. 
 His last message is delivered ; his last prayer is 
 
161 
 
 uttered ; his work is done ; his account is ren- 
 dered to the great Judge of quick and dead. 
 And before the bar of that eternal Judge, you 
 will one day meet him. It will then appear 
 how he has preached, and how you have heard ; 
 what were the privileges which you have 
 enjoyed under his ministry, and how far you 
 have profited by those privileges. And O my 
 friends ! eternal consequences are depending. 
 It is a melancholy and startling thought, that 
 the minister may be loved, and the gospel he 
 preaches, be disregarded and disobeyed. Yes ; 
 the minister may be loved, while the Saviour 
 and the salvation he recommends, may be re- 
 jected and lost. Are you, then, prepared to 
 have the momentous point decided ? Are you 
 prepared for the scrutinies and decisions of the 
 final day ? — Not a few of you, we doubt not, 
 will be the joy and crown of your beloved min- 
 ister in the great day of the Lord. For the 
 rest, we have but one wish and prayer. It is, 
 that what all the counsels and warnings of your 
 living minister have not accomplished, may, 
 through the boundless mercy of God, be accom- 
 plished by his lamented removal, by the elo- 
 quence of his dying bed, by the soul-subduing, 
 heart-melting services of this day. Yes, my 
 friends ; from the coffin which encloses those 
 15 
 
162 
 
 dear remains ; or may I not rather say, from the 
 heaven to which the released spirit has taken 
 its flight ; a voice addresses you — a voice of 
 compassionate warning, of tender entreaty. 
 Will you not listen ? Will you not obey ? 
 Can you bear the thought that the heart-rending 
 separation from a beloved minister, shall be an 
 everlasting separation ? Will you not aspire to 
 meet him with joy before the Judge ? Will 
 you not aspire to be his glory and his crown in 
 the regions above ? 
 
 My brethren in the Christian ministry : The 
 early and lamented exit of our departed friend, 
 and the solemn services of this day, speak a lan- 
 guage to us, most significant and affecting. 
 Why he was so early removed ; why a life so 
 precious, and so useful, should be so speedily 
 terminated, we may not too curiously inquire. 
 To some of us, perhaps, who have been long 
 spared, (to one, I am sure,) the fact seems equal- 
 ly mysterious and humbling. And it suggests 
 inquiries most interesting to us all. Were ive 
 called soon away, could we meet our omnis- 
 cient Judge in peace ? Would ours be the bless- 
 edness of those servants whom their Lord, when 
 he comes, finds watching ? Are we faithful — 
 faithful to the Master who sent us — faithful to 
 our ordination vows — faithful to the souls of 
 
163 
 
 our people ; souls redeemed with blood, and 
 solemnly committed to our charge ? Are we 
 living and acting as under our glorious Master's 
 eye ? Are we sedulously preparing for his final 
 appearing ? Are we wholly absorbed in this 
 great object, and honestly endeavoring to spend 
 each day, each hour, as if each would be the 
 last ? Should our Lord come by a sudden call, 
 should he come to-day, would he find us ready 
 to give him a joyful welcome ? — Awful indeed 
 will be that meeting, if we are found unfaithful, 
 unprepared. No words can describe it. No 
 imagination can conceive it. But if we are 
 faithful, we have nothing to fear. Our blessed 
 Master will kindly accept our poor imperfect 
 services ; will present us the palm of victory, 
 and place on our unworthy heads, the crown of 
 glory. 
 
 May the God of infinite mercy sanctify the 
 removal of our dear departed brother to the 
 whole circle of mourning relatives and friends ; 
 to all the inhabitants of this, and the neighbor- 
 ing towns ; to the ministers and churches by 
 whom he was so extensively known and es- 
 teemed; and to all the friends of religion, and 
 of man. 
 
 In view of this afflicting dispensation, who is 
 not ready to exclaim; Help, Lord; for the godly 
 
164 
 
 man ceaseth ; for the fait hf id fail from among 
 the children of men. The righteous are taken 
 away ; they are taken from the evil to come. — 
 And who shall fill their places ? Who shall 
 supply the chasm caused by their removal ? In 
 a season too evidently marked by the frowns of 
 God on our country, where are the men who 
 shall rise up in the spirit of our departed broth- 
 er, and avert, by the holy importunity of prayer, 
 the righteous anger of Heaven ? Amidst the 
 sad declensions and degeneracies in religion, 
 where are the men anxious and eager to restore 
 its primitive purity, and arrest its downward 
 progress ? When error, and delusion, and infi~ 
 delity, and vice, and crime sweep over the land 
 like a flood, where are the noble spirits, still 
 faithful to the cause of truth and righteousness, 
 and courageously resisting the incursions of the 
 enemy ? 
 
 How emphatically, by the late dispensation, 
 has our great Lord and Judge proclaimed, Be- 
 hold, I come as a thief; blessed is he that watch- 
 eth, and keepeth hi \ garments, lest he walk na- 
 ked, and they see his shame. Behold I come 
 quickly, and my reward is with me. May we 
 all be prepared to reply with sincerity and ardor ; 
 Amen ; even so come, Lord Jesus ; come quickly. 
 
TRIBUTE OF AFFECTION. 
 
 STANZAS SUGGESTED BY TPIE DEATH OF REV. J. C. MARCH. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MRS. M . 
 
 [ By a Lady of the Society. ] 
 
 Weep not for him, his work is done, 
 
 And peaceful is his slumber now ; 
 Calmly hath sunk his setting sun, 
 
 While beams of glory tinged his brow. 
 Though earth was beautiful and bright, 
 
 And love would fain have bound him here, 
 Reflections from a purer light 
 
 Illumed his path when death was near. 
 
 Weep not for him, a holy song, 
 
 Unmingled with discordant strains, 
 He tunes amid the angel throng, 
 
 Who tread with joy the heavenly plains. 
 Eye hath not seen that better land, 
 
 Ear hath not heard its joyous tone, 
 Nor dreams with their enchanted wand, 
 
 Portrayed its bliss to man unknown. 
 
 For thee the bitter tear we shed, 
 
 We blend the silent sigh with thine ; 
 Sad mourner o'er the holy dead, 
 
 With whom thy life was wont to twine. 
 The beaming eye is closed in death, 
 
 The sunlight of thy earthly way, 
 And with the gasp of parting breath, 
 
 Faded from thee each cheering ray. 
 
166 
 
 Ye shared life's changing hopes and fears,— 
 
 When joys were radiant in the sky, 
 Or when the light was dimmed by tears, 
 
 Love blest each hour that hasted by. 
 Henceforth, a lonely path you tread; 
 
 Yet while the strongest ties are riven, 
 Hope softens every tear you shed, 
 
 And points the aching heart to heaven ! 
 
 We mourn for those without a guide, 
 
 Amid their wanderings day by day, 
 To point them o'er time's fleeting tide, 
 
 To Christ, the Light, the Truth, the Way ! 
 No more his voice in fervent prayer, 
 
 Shall plead for blessings on his flock, 
 No more shall they his counsels share, 
 
 Who led them to the Living Rock! 
 
 Oh ! when the scenes of time are o'er, 
 
 When earthly pageants pass away, 
 When parting tears are shed no more, 
 
 Nor Death the Conqueror comes to slay ; 
 May you the loved and lost one meet, 
 
 Pastor and people join again, 
 Rejoicing at the Father's feet, 
 
 And blend in one eternal strain ! 
 
 H. S, G, 
 Oct. 8, 1846,